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THE 



P0ETre¥:iD works 



o* 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



WITH ALL HIS INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES 



VARIOUS KEADINGS, AND TKE EDITOR'S NOUS 



ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 



NEW YORK: 
OLIVER S. FELT, 

36 Walker Stkeet. 

BOSTON: 

CROSBY AND NICHOLS, 

117 Washington St. 






!▼ Tr«i»fcr 
JUN 6 1907 



CONTENTS. 



»,' THE PIECES MAKKED WITH A5 asterisk (*) HAVE NOT BEEN INCLUDED IH AHT FOSMEB EDITIOH 
OF SIK WALTER SCOIT's POETICAL WORKS. 



PAGE 

The Lay OF TUB Last MiNSTHEi. 9 

Advertisement to editionl833 ih 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 16 

Preface to the first edition 1805 ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Canto 1 17 

Canto II 23 

Canto IIL 28 

Canto IV 33 

Canto V 40 

Canto VI 46 

Appendix to the Lay of the Last Minstrel . 54 

MiKMION 80 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 83 

Advertisement to the first edition ib. 

Introduction to Canto I. — To W illiam 

Stewart Rose, Esq ib. 

Canto I.— Tlie Castle 87 

Introduction to Canto II. — To the Rev. 

John Marriott, A. M 94 

Canto II.— The Conv.ent 97 

Introduction to Canto III. — To William 

Erskine, Esq 104 

Canto III— The Hostel, or Inn 107 

Introduction to Canto IV. — To James 

Skene, Esq 113 

Canto IV.— The Camp 116 

Introduction to Canto V. — To George 

ElUs, Esq 124 

Canto v.— The Court ..; 126 

Introduction to Canto VI. — To Richard 

Heber, Esq 137 

Canto VL— The Battle 140 

Appendix to Marmion 154 

Thb Lady of the Lake 180 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 183 

Argument , ib. 

Canto I.— The Chase 184 

Canto IL— The Island 193 

Canto III.—The Gathering 202 

Fac-Simile of the MS., Stanza I ib. 

(Placed afui tho Conteata.) 

Canto IV.— The Prophecy 210 

Canto v.— The Combat 219 



The Laoy of the Lake, 

Canto VI.— The Guard-Room 229 

Appendix to the Lady of the Lake 240 

The Vision of Don Rodebiok 269 

Preface ib. 

Dedication 270 

Introduction ib. 

The Vision 272 

Conclusion 281 

Appendix to Vision of Don Roderick 286 

Rokkbt 292 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 296 

Advertisement ib. 

Canto I ib. 

Canto IL 306 

Canto in 314 

Canto IV 323 

Canto V 332 

Canto VL .'. 343 

Appendix to Rokeby 356 

The Bridal of Teieemain 379 

Preface to the first edition ib. 

Introduction 382 

Canto 1 383 

Canto II 388 

Canto III 396 

Conclusion. 407 

Appendix to the Bridal of Triennain 410 

The Lord of the Isles 412 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Advertisement to the first edition 414 

Canto L 416 

Canto II. 422 

Canto III 430 

Canto IV.... 437 

Canto V. 446 

Canto VL 455 

Conclusion 468 

Appendix to the Lord of tho Isles. 469 

The Field OF Wateeioo 602 

Conclusion 609 

Appendix ••> ■ • 611 



CONTENTS. 



Habold tee DAUNTLxas. 612 

Introduction ib. 

Canto L 613 

Canto IL 617 

Canto III. 521 

Canto IV 524 

Canto V. 528 

Canto VL 532 

Conclusion 635 

CONTEIBUnONS TO THE BoEDKE MiKSTIlELST. 

Introductory Remarks on Popular Poetry . 537. 

Appendix 553 

Essay on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad 555 

Appendix 671 

Imitations of the Ancient Ballad. 

Thomas the Rhymer, Part L 674 

Part n 577 

Part IIL 684 

Appendix 686 

Glenfinlas ; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach... 689 

Appendix 693 

The Eve of St. John 594 

Appendix 697 

Cadyow Castle 698 

Appendix 602 

The Gray Brother 604 

Appendix 606 

War-Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons 607 

(SALLADS fEANSLATED OE IMITATED FROM THE 

Geeman, ike 609 

WiUiam and Helea ib. 

The Wild Huutsman 613 

The Fire-King 616 

Frederick and Alice... 618 

The Battle of Sempach 619 

The Noble Moringer 621 

* The Erl-King 626 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
In the order of their composition or publi- 
cation 627 

* Juvenile Lines. From VirgiL 1782.... ib. 

* On a Thunder Storm ib. 

*0n the Setting Sun ib. 

The Violet ib. 

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman 

WaU 628 

» Bothwell Castle ib. 

*The Shepherd's Tale ib. 

•Cheviot 631 

* The Reiver's Wedding ib. 

The Bald's Incantation 632 

HellveUyn 633 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

The Dying Bard 

The Norman Horse-Shoe 

The Maidof Toro. 

The Palmer 

The Maid of Neidpath 

Wandering Willie 

•Health to Lord MelviUe, 1806 

Himting Song 

The Resolve 

Epitaph, designed for a Monument in 

Lichfield Cathedral, at the Burial-place 

of the family of Miss Seward 

Prologue to Miss BaiUie's Play of the 

Family Legend 

The Poiicher 

Song — " Oh, say not, my love, with that 

mortified air" 

The Bold Dragoon; or, the Plain of 

Badajos 

On the Massacre of Glencoe 

" For a' that an' a' that." — A new eong to 

an old tune 

Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the 

Pitt Club of Scotland 

Ph-oros Loquitur 

Lines, addressed to Ranald Macdonald, 

Esq., of Staffa 

* Letter in Verse, on the Voyage with the 

Commissioners of Northern Lights. — 

To his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch, 

1814 



684 
•i. 
635 
ib. 
6S« 
ib. 
687 
638 
638 



ib. 

ib. 
640 

64'J 

ib. 
ib. 

644 

ib. 

648 



ib. 



Verses from Waverley. 

» Bridal Song 647 

* Waverley 648 

* Davie GeUatley's Song ib. 

* Scene in Luckie Macleary's Tavern.... C49 

* Hie away. Hie away ib. 

* St. Switliin's Chair :.. ib. 

* Davie GeUatley's Song 650 

* Janet GeUatley's alleged Witchcraft . . . ib. 

* Flora Macivor's Song ib. 

* Lines on Capta'm Wogan 65] 

* Follow me, Follow me 652 



* ITie Author of Waverley ib. 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail — From the Gaelic ib. 

Imitation of the preceding Song 65S 

War-Song of Laclilan, High Chief of Mac- 
lean. — From the Gaelic 663 

Siiint Cloud 654 

Tlie Dance of Death ib. 

Roma' ce of Dunois 666 

The roubadour to. 

Fr m the French 667 



CONTENTS. 



PAOE 

tnilCAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECEa 
Song, on the lifting of the Banner of the 
House of Buccleuch, at a great Foot- 
Ball Match on Carterhaugh 657 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief. 658 

Feom Guy Mannebino. 
Songs of Meg Merriliea — 

* Nativity of Harry Bertram 668 

•Twist ye, Twine ye 658 

* The Dying Gipsey Smuggler ib. 

» The Prophecy 659 

* Song3 of Dirk Hatteraick and Glossin ib. 

The Return to Ulster ib. 

Jock of Hazeldean 660 

■' Pibroch of Donald Dhu ib. • 

Norah's Vow , 661 

Macgregor's Gathering ■. ib. 

Verses composed for the occasion, and 
siuig by a select band, after the Dinner 
given by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh 
to the Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia 
and his Suite, 19th December, 1816 .., 662 

Krom the Amtiquakv. 

*Time ib. 

* Epitaph on Jon o'ye Girnell 663 

♦Elspeth's Ballad ib. 

*Mottoesinthe Antiquary, 1-20 ib. 

FaoM THE Black Dwabp. 

* Mottoes, 1, 2 665 

Veom Old Mortaijty. 

* Major Bellenden's Song 686 

* Verses found in Bothwell'a Pocket- 

Book ib. 

* Epitaph on Balfour of Burley ib. 

» Mottoes, 1, 2, 3 ib. 

The Search after Happiness; or, The 

Quest of Sultaim Solimaun 667 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on taking 

leave of the Edinburgh Stage 671 

Lines written for Miss Smith ib. 

The Sun upon the Weirdliiw Hill 672 

The Monks of Bangor's March ib. 

* Letter to his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch 673 

Fbom Rob Rot. 

* To the Memory of Edward the Black 

Prince 673 

* Translation from Ariosto 674 

•Mottoes, 1-5 t6. 

Kpilogue to The Appeal 675 



PAU 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Mackrimmon's Lament 67J 

Donald Caird 'a come again 678 

Fbom the Heabt of Mid-Lothian. 

♦Madge Wildfire's Songs .... 677 

•Mottoes, 1-7 678 

Fkom the Beide of Lammermooe. 

* Lucy Ashton's Song tj. 

* Norman, the Forester's Song ib. 

•The Prophecy 67» 

•Mottoes, 1-6 ib. 

Fkom the Legend of Montbose. 

* Ancient Gaelic Melody ib. 

* The Orphan Maid 680 

•Mottoes, 1, 2,3 '. ib. 

From Ivanhoe. 

•The Crusader's Return 681 

•The Barefooted Friar ib. 

•Saxon War-Song 682 

* Rebecca's Hymn ib. 

* The Black Knight's Song 683 

* Song — The Black Knight and Wamba ib. 

* Funeral Hymn t6. 

•Mottoes, 1-9 684 

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 685 

From the Monastery. 

Songs of the White Lady of Avenel — 

* On Tweed River ib. 

•To the Sub-Prior ib. 

•ToHalbert 686 

* Halbert's Second Interview 687 

•To Mary Avenel 688 

•To Edw.ard Glendinning ib. 

*Tl\e Wliite Lady's Farewell ib. 

* Border BiiUad 689 

•Mottoes, 1-20 ib. 

From the Abbot. 

* Tlie Pardoner's Advertisement 691 

•Mottoes, 1-17 ib. 

Fbom Kenilworth. 

* Goldthred's Song 699 

* Speech of the Porter at Kenilworth 

Castle 693 

•Mottoes, 1-13 ib 

From the Pieate. 

•The Song of the Tempest 694 

•Claud Halcro'sSong 894 

* Harold Harfajer's Song ib 



CONTENTS. 



I.VRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
Feom the Pieate. 

* Song of the Mermaids and Mermen ... 696 
*Noma'8Song 696 

* Claud Halcro and Noma ib. 

* Song of the Zetland Fishermen .-. 697 

* Cleveland's Songs 698 

* Claud Halcro's Verses ib. 

* Noma's Incantations ei. 

* Bryce SnaUsfoot's Advertisement 700 

'Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 



On Ettrick Forest's Mountains dun 701 

Farewell to the Muse 702 

The Maid of Isla ib. 

Carle, now the King's come : being new 

words to an auld spring ib. 

Part Second 703 



Fkom the Fortunes of Niqeu 
•Mottoes, 1-24 



FsoH Peveril of the Feax. 
•Mottoes, 1-19 



706 



707 



From Quentin Duewaed. 

» Song— County Guy 709 

•Mottoes, 1-10 ib. 

Feom St. Roman's Well. 

•Mottoes, 1-9 710 



The Bannatyne Club ib. 

* Letter in Verse to J. G. Lockhart, Esq., 

on the composition of Maida's Epitaph 712 
Lines, addressed to Monsieur AJexandi-e, 

the celebrated Ventriloquist 713 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on " St. 

Ronan's Well" ib. 

EpUogue — (Queen Mary) 714 

Feom Redgauntlet. 

* " As Lords their Laborers' Iiire delay" 716 

Feom The Betrothed. 

•Song — Soldier, Wake ib. 

» The Tiuth of Woman ib. 

* I asked of my Harp ib. 

•Mottoes, 1-6 716 

Feom the Talisman. 

* Ahriman 716 

* Song of Blondel— The Bloody Vest ... 717 

The Bloody Vest — Fytte Second ... 718 
•Mottoes. 1-10 ib. 



rAsi 
LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

•Lines — " When with Poetry dealing" 719 

From Woodstock. 

•An hour with thee 720 

•Mottoes, 1-8 lA. 

•Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp 72. 

* Mottoes from Cheonicles of the Canon- 
OATE ib. 

From the Faie Maid of Peeth. 

• The Lay of Poor Louise ib. 

•Death Chant 722 

•Song of the Glee-Maiden ib. 

•Mottoes, 1-5 723 

•The Death of Keeldar «i. 

Feom Anne of GErEESTEiN. 

• The Secret Tribunal 724 

•Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 

The Foray 726 

Liscription for the Monument of the Rev. 
George Scott 726 

* Lines on Fortune ib. 

* Mottoes from Count Robeet of Paris, 

1-13 ib. 

* Mottoes from Castle Danoerodb, 1-5.... 728 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 

Halidon Hill ; a Dramatic Sketch from 

Scottish Histoet 729 

Preface ib. 

Act L— Scene L 731 

Macduff's Ceoss 748 

Dedication. ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Scene I ib. 

The Doom of DEVOEGon, 763 

Preface ib. 

Act I. — Scene L 754 

AUOHINDEANE ; OE, The Atbshire Teagedt 784 

Preface ib. 

Act L — Scene L 790 

The House of Aspen 812 

Advertisement ib. 

Act I.— Scene L 811 




^ 






/^ 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



^■^ 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



5ll)c l^^ of tl)c Cast jninstrcl: 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS 



Dam relego, acripsisse pndet ; qaia plarima ceroo, 
Me qaoqnc, qni feci, jadice, digna linl. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO EDITION 1833. 

The Intkoduction to the Lay of The Last Min- 
ETHEL, ■written in April, 1830, was revised by the 
Author in the autumn of 1831, when he also made 
some corrections in the text of the Poem, and sev- 
eral additions to the notes. Tlie work is now 
printed from his interleaved copy. 

It is much to be regretted that the original MS. 
of this Poem has not been preserved. We are 
thus denied the advantage of comparing through- 
out the Author's various readings, which, in the 
case of Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, the Lord 
of the Isles, Ac, are often highly curious and in- 
Btructive.-^Eo. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

A POEM of nearly thirty years' standing' may be 
»U])po3ed liardly to need an Introduction, since, 
witliout one, it has been able to keep itself afloat 
llirough the best part of a generation. Ncverthe- 
le.^^, as, in the edition of the Waverley Novels now 
in course of publication [1830], I have imposed on 
myself the task of saying something concerning the 
purpose and history of each, in their turn, I am 
desirous that the Poems for wliich I tu'st received 
•ome marks of the pubUc favor, should also be ac- 
companied with such scraps of their literary hia- 

1 Published in 4to (£\ Sa.), January, 1805. 
2 



tory as may be supposed to carry interest alon^ 
with them. Even if I should be mistaken in think- 
ing tliat the secret liistory of what was once sc 
popular, may still attract public attention and cu 
riosity, it seems to me not without its use to record 
the manner and chcumstances under which the 
present, and other Poems on the same phm, at- 
tained for a season an extensive reputation. 

I must resume the story of my literary labors at 
the period at wliich I broke off in tlio Es.say on the 
Imitation of PopiJar Poetry [see post\ when I had 
enjoyed the first gleam of public favor, by the suc- 
cess of the first edition of tlie Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. The second edition of that work, 
pubhshed in 1808, proved, in the language of the 
trade, rather a heavy concern. The demand in 
Scotland had been supplied by the first edition, and 
the curiosity of the English was not much awaken- 
ed by poems in the rude garb of antiquity, accom- 
panied witli notes referring to the obscure feuds of 
barbarous clans, of whose very names civilized his- 
tory was ignorant. It was, on the whole, cne of 
those books which ai"e more pi'aisod than they aio 
read.' 

At this time I stood personally m a tUfferent po- 
sition from that which I occupied when I first dipt 
my desperate pen in ink for otlier purposes tlian 
those of my profession. In 1706, wlien I first pub- 

a '* Tlio ' Lay' is the best of all possible eovimcnta on th« 
Border Minstrelsy."— BrifisA Critic, JHgxisI, 1805 



10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lished the translations from Biiiger, I was an insu- 
lated individual, with only my own wants to pro- 
vide for, and having, in a gieat measure, my own 
inclinations alone to consult. In 1S03, when the 
eecond edition of the Minstrelsy appeared, I had 
arrived at a period of life when men, however 
thoughtless, encounter duties and circmi^tances 
whieli jn-ess consideration and plans of life upon 
the most careless minds. I had been for some time 
maiTied — was the father of a rising family, and, 
though fully enabled to meet the consequent de- 
mands upon me, it was my duty and desire to place 
myself in a situation which would enable me to 
make honorable provision against the various con- 
tingencies of lile. 

It may be readily supposed that the attempts 
vhich I had made in literature huid been unfavor- 
able to my success at the bar. The goddess The- 
mis is, at Edinbm'gh, and I suppose everywhere 
else, of ft pecuharly jealous disposition. She will 
not readily consent to share her authority, and 
sternly demands from h£r votaries, not only that 
real duty be caj'efuUy attended to and discharged, 
but that a certain air of business shall be observed 
even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, 
if not absolutely necessaiy, in a young barrister, 
to appear completely engi'ossed by liis profession ; 
however destitute of employment he may in real- 
ity be, he ought to preserve, if possible, the ap- 
peai'ance of full occupation. He sliould, therefore, 
seem perpetually engaged amoD'' his law-papers, 
dusting them, as it were ; and, as Ovid advises 
the fair. 

*' Si nullus ent polvia. tamen e.vcale nullum."! 

Perhaps such extremity of attention is more espe- 
cially required, considering the great number of 
counsellors who are called to the bar, and how very 
small a proportion of them are finally disposed, or 
find encouragement, to follow the law as a profes- 
sion. Hence the number of deserters is so great, 
that the least lingering look behijid occasions a 
young novice to be set down as one of the mtend- 
ing fugitives. Certain it is, that the Scottish The- 
mis was at this time peculiiu'ly jealous of any flh-t- 
ntiou with the Muses, on the part of those who had 
ranged themselves under her banners. This was 
probably owing to her consciousness of the superior 
ftttractions of hei rivals. Of late, however, she has 
relaxed in aime instances in tliis prn'ticular, an em- 
inent example of wliich has been shown in the case 
of my fiiend, Mr. .Jeffrey, who, after long conduct- 
ing one of the most inlluentiai literary periodicals 
of the ago, with unquestionable ability, has been, 

' If dust be none, yet brush that none away. 

* Mr. Jeffrey, after conducting the Edinburgh Review for 
iweoty-seven years, withdrew from th£t office iu ifi^, on being 



by the general consent of his brethren, recentlj 
elected to be their Dean of Faculty, or President, 
— being the highest acknowledgment of his pro- 
fessional talents which they liad it in theu* powel 
to offer.^ But this is an mcident much beyond the 
ideas of a period of thirty years* distance, when a 
barrister who really po.ssessed any turn for lighter 
literatm'e, was at as much pains to conceal it, as ii 
it had in re.ality been something to be ashamed of; 
and I could mention more than one instance in 
which literatm'e and society have suffered much 
loss, that jurisprudence might be enriched. 

Such, however, was not my case ; for the reader 
will not wonder that my open interference with 
matters of light literature dimuiished my employ- 
ment in the weightier matters of the law. Nor 
did the solicitors, upon whose choice the coimsel 
takes rank in liis profession, do me less than jus- 
tice, by regarding others among my contempora- 
ries as fitter to discharge the duty due to their 
clients, than a young man who was taken up with 
running after ballads, whether Teutonic or national. 
My profession and I, therefore, came to stand near- 
Iv upon the footitig which honest Slender consoled 
himself on having established with Mistress Anne 
Page ; " Tliere was no great love between us at 
the beginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease 
it on farther acquaintance." I became sensiole that 
tlie time was come when I must either oucKle my- 
self resolutely to the " toil by day, the lamp by 
night," renouncing all the DeUl-alis of my imagina- 
tion, or bid adieu to the profes&ion of the law, 
and hold anotlier com'se. 

I confess my own inclination revolted from the 
more severe choice, wliich might have been deemed 
by many the wiser alternative. As my tran.sgres- 
sions had been numerous, my repentance must have 
been .signalized by unusual sacrifices. I ought to 
have mentioned, that smce my fourteenth or fif- 
teeuth year, my health, originally delicate, had 
become extremely robust. From infancy I had 
labored under the infirmity of a severe lameness, 
but, as I behove is usually the case witli men of 
spirit who suffer under personal inconveniences of 
tills nattu'e, I had, since tlie iraproveincn* of my 
health, in defiance of this iticapacitating circum- 
stance, distinguished myself by the endur-ance oi 
toil on foot or horseback. Laving often walKed thirty 
miles a day, and rode upwards of a hundred without 
resting. Il tliis manner ! made u",any pleasant jom-- 
ueys through parts of the country then not very ac- 
cessible, gaining more amaseiuent aud instruction 
than 1 have been able to acquii'e since I have travel- 
led in a more commodious manner. I practised most 

elected Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. In 1830, undel 
Earl Grey's Ministry, he was appointed Lord Advocate oi 
Scotland, and, in 183-1, a Senator of the College of Justice bt 
the title of Lord JelTrey. — Ed. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



11 



nlvan sports also, with some success, mid with great 
dehght. But tlicse ]ileasurcs must luive been all 
resigned, or used witli groat moileration, had I de- 
termined to regain my station at the bar. It \"is 
even doubtful whether I could, witii perfect ch;u'- 
Bcter ;i8 a jurisconsult, retain a situation in a vol- 
unteer c jrps of cavalry, wliich 1 tlken held. The 
thi-eats of ijivasion were at this time instant and 
menacing ; the call by Britain on her cluldren was 
tirivorsal, and was answered by some, who, like 
myself, consulted rather their desne tlian their 
ability to bear arms. My services, liowever, were 
found useful in assisthig to maintain the discipline 
of the corps, bemg the point on which their consti- 
tution rendered them most amenable to military 
criticism. In other respects, the squadron was a 
fine one, con.sisting chiefly of handsome men, well 
mounted, and armed at their own expense. My 
attention to the corps took up a good deal of time ; 
and wliile it occupied many of the happiest hours 
of my life, it furnished an additional reason for my 
reluctance again to encounter tlie severe com-se of 
study indispensable to success in the juridical pro- 
fession. 

On the other hand, my father, whose feehngs 
miglit have been lun-t by my quitting the bar, liad 
been for two or tlu*ee years dead, so that I had no 
control to thwart my own inclination ; and my in- 
come being equal to all the comforts, and some of 
the elegancies, of life, I was not pressed to an irk- 
!ome labor by necessity, that most powerful of mo- 
lives • consequently, I was the more easily seduced 
to choose the employment which was most agree- 
able to me. This was yet the easier, tliat m 1 800 
I had obtahied the preferment of Sheriff of Sel- 
fcirksliu-e, about £3U0 a year in value, and wliich 
was the more agreeable to me, as in that county 
[ had several friends and relations. But I did 
not abandon the profession to wliich I had been 
aducated, without certain prudential resolutions, 
wliich, at tlie risk of some egotism, I will here 
mention ; not without the hope that they may be 
useful to yoiuig persons who may stand ui circum- 
Btances similar to those m wliich I then s( ood. 

In the first place, upon considering tlie lives and 
fortunes of persons who had given themselves up 
to literature, or to the task of pleasing tlie public, 
t seemed to me tliat the cu-cumstances wliich 
cliiofly affected then' happiness and character, were 
those from wliich Horace has bestowed upon au- 
thors the epithet of the Irritable Race. It re- 
quires no depth of philosopliic reflection to per- 
ceive, that the petty warfare of Pope with the 
Dunces of liis period could not have been canied 
jn without his suffering the "most .acute torture, 
inch as a man must endure from niusquitoes, by 
sliose stings he suffers agony, .although he can 
tnish them in liis grasp by myriads. Nor is it ne- 



cessary to call to memory the many humiUating 
instances in which men of the greatest genius have, 
to avenge some pitiful quarrel, made themselvea 
ridiculous during their Uves, to become the stiU 
more degraded objects of pity to future thnes. 

Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to the 
genius of the distinguished persons who had falleD 
into such errors, 1 concluded there could be no oc- 
casion for imitating them in their mistakes, or what 
I considered as such ; and in adopting literary pur- 
suits as the principal occupation of my future life, 
I resolvstl, if possible, to avoid those weaknesses 
of temper which seemed to have most easily beset 
my more celebrated predecessors. 

With this view, it was my first resolution to 
keep as f;u' as was in my power abreast of society, 
continuing to maintain my place in general com- 
p.any, without yielding to the very natural temp- 
tation of narrowuig myself to what is called liter- 
ary society. By doing so, I imagined I should es- 
cape the besetting sin of Hsteuing to language, 
which, from one motive or other, is apt to ascribe 
a very undue degree of consequence to literary 
pursuits, as if they were, indeed, the business, 
r<ather than tlie amusement, of life. The opposite 
course can only be comp.ared to the uijudicious con- 
duct of one who pampers himself with cordial and 
luscious draughts, untU he is unable to endure 
wholesome bitters. Like Gil Bias, therefore, I re- 
solved to stick by the society of my comviis^ ia- 
stead of seeking that of a more literary cast, and 
to maintain my general interest in what was going 
on around me, reserving the miui of letters for the 
desk and the libriiry. 

My second resolution was a corollary from the 
first. I dctermuied that, without shutting my 
e.ars to the voice of true criticism, I would pay no 
regard to that which assumes the form of satire 
I therefore resolved to arm myself with th.at triple 
brass of Horace, of wliich those of my profession 
ai"e seldom held deficient, .against all the roving 
warfare of satue. parody, and sarcasm ; to laugh 
if the jest w.as a good one, or, if otherwise, to let 
it hum and buzz itself to sleep. 

It is to the observance of these rules (according 
to my best belief), that, after a life of thirty years 
engaged in literary labors of various kinds, I at- 
tribute my never having been ent.angled m any 
literary quarrel or controversy ; and, which is a 
still more pleasing result, that I have been distin 
guishcd by the personal friendship of my most ap 
proved contemporaries of all parties. 

I adopted, at the same tune, another resolution, 
on wliich it may doubtless be remarked, that it 
was well for me that I had it in my power to di. 
so, and tliat, therefore, it is a line of conduct wlucli, 
de|)eii(!ing upon accident, can be less generaUy ap- 
plic;ible in other casef. Yet i faU not to re.'orrt 



12 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



thifl part of my plan, convinced that, though it 
may not be in every one's power to adopt exactly 
the 8ame resolution, he may nevertheless, by his 
OTvn exertions, in some shape or other, attain the 
obj-ict on -which it was founded, namely, to secure 
the means of subsistence, without relying exclu- 
eivcly on literary talents. In this respect, I de- 
termined that literatm'e should be my staff, but 
not my crutch, and that the profits of my literary 
labor, however convenient otherwise, should not, 
if I could help it, become necessary to my ordi- 
nary expenses. With this purpose I resolved, if 
the interest of my friend? could so far favor me, 
to retire upon any of the respectable offices of the 
law, in which persons of that profession are glad 
to take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are 
judged by others, incompetent to aspire to its 
higher honors. Upon such a post an author might 
hope to retreat, without any perceptible alteration 
of circumstances, whenever the time .should arrive 
that the pubhc grew weary of Iiis endeavors to 
please, or he himself sliould tire of the pen. At 
this period of my life, I possessed so many friends 
capable of assisting me in this object of ambition, 
that I could hardly overrate my own prospects 
of obtaining the preferment to which I limited my 
wishes ; and, in fact, I obtained in no long period 
the reversion of a situation which completely met 
them. 

Thus far all was well, and the Author had been 
guilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, when he 
relinquished his forensic practice with the hope of 
making some tigm-e in the field of literature. But 
an estabUshed diaracter with the public, in my new 
capacity, still remained to be acquired. I have 
noticed, tkat the translations from Biirger had been 
nnsuccessful, nor had the origmal poetry which ap- 
peared under the auspices of Mr. Lewis, in the 
"Tales of Wonder," in any great degree raised 
my reputation. It is true, I had private friends 
disposed to second me in my efforts to obtain pop- 
ularity. But I was sportsman enough to know, 
that if the gre\diound does not run well, the hal- 
loos of his patrons will not obtain the prize for liim. 

Neither was I ignorant that the practice of bal- 
lad wiiting was for the present out of fa.shion, and 
that any attempt to revive it, or to fomid a poeti- 
cal character upon it, would certainly fail of suc- 
cess. The ballad measure itself, wliich was once 
listened to as to an enchanting melody, had be- 
tonie hackneyed and sickening, from its being the 
Hicompaniment of every grinding hand-organ ; and 

1 Thus it lias been often remarked, that, in the opening 
ouplets of Pope's translation of the Iliad, there are two syl- 
dbles forming a superfluous word in each line, as may be ob- 
•rvpO by attending to such words as are printed in Italics. 
'* Achilles' wrath to Greece the dirrfnl spring 
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing ; 



besides, a long work in quatrains, whether those 
of the common ballad, or such as are termed ele 
giac, has an effect upon the mind like that of the 
bed of Procrustes upon the human body ; for, as it 
must be both awkward and difficult to carry on a 
long sentence from one stanza to another, it fol- 
lows, that the meaning of each period must be 
comprehended witliin four lines, and equally so 
that it must be extended so as to fill that space 
The alternate dilation and contraction thus ren- 
dered necessary is singularly imfavorable to nar- 
rative composition ; and the " Gondibert" of Sir 
William D'Avenant, though containing many strik- 
ing passages, has never become popular, owing 
chiefly to its being told in this species of elegiac 
verse. 

In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the 
idea occurred to the Author of using the measured 
short line, wliich forms the structiu-e of so much 
minstrel poetry, that it may be properly termed 
the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction ; and 
which appears so natural to our language, that the 
very best of om' poets have not been able to pro- 
tract it into the verse properly called Heroic, with- 
out the use of epithets which are, to say the least, 
unnecessary.' But, on the other hand, the extreme 
facility of the .short couplet, which seems conge- 
nial to our language, and was, doubtless for that 
reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for 
the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the com- 
poser who uses it in more modern days, by en- 
couraging him in a habit of slovenly compoaition. 
The necessity of occasional pauses often forces the 
young poet to pay more attention to sense, as the 
boy's kite rises highest when the train is loaded by 
a due counterpoise. The Author was therefore 
intimidated by what B}Ton calls the " fiital facil- 
ity" of the octosyllabic verse, wliich W/is otherwise 
better adapted to liis purpose of imitating the more 
ancient poetry. 

I was not less at a loss for a subject wliich might 
admit of beuig treated with the simplicity and 
wildness of the ancient ballad. But accident dic- 
tated both a theme and measure, which decided 
the subject, as well as the structiu*e of the poeni. 

The lovely young Countess of DaUceith, after- 
wards Harriet Duchess of Buccleuch, had come to 
ihe land of her husband with the desire of makmg 
herself acquainted with its traditions and customs, 
as well as its manners and liistory. All who re- 
member tliis lady will agree, that the intellectual 
character of her extreme beauty, the amenity ani 

That wrath which sent to Pluto's gloomy reign, 
The souls of migliiy chiefs in battle slain, 
Whose bones, unburied on the desert shore, 
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.** 



THE LAY OF TI.E LAST MINSTREL. 



li 



rourtesy of her manners, the soundness of b ;r un- 
derstanding, and her unbounded benevolerce, gave 
more the idea of an angelic visitant, tU''ii of a be- 
ing belonging to this nether world ; ind such a 
thought was but too consistent with (he sliort space 
she was permitted to tarry among us." Of course, 
where all made it a pride and pleasure to gratify 
her wishes, she soon heard en^ ugh of Bonier lore ; 
among others, an aged ge'\tlemau of j)roperty,'' 
near Langholm, comraupicated to her ladysliip the 
story of Gilpin Horner a, tradition in wliich the 
narrator, and many ir-ore of that country, were 
fii-m behevers. Tb', young Countess, much de- 
lighted with the I'jgeud, and the gravity and full 
conlidence with t hich it was told, enjoined on me 
as a task to c/5npose a ballad on the subject. Of 
couroe, to hea- was to obey ; and thus the gobUn 
story, ob-ectod to by several critics as an excres- 
cence upop tlie poem, "was, in fact, the occasion of 
ito bew; 'written. 

A chance similar to that which dictated the sub- 
ject, gave me also the liint of a new mode of treat- 
ing it. We had at that time the lease of a pleas- 
ant cottage, near Lasswade, on the romantic banks 
of the Esk, to wliich we escaped when the vaca- 
tions of the Court permitted me so much leisure. 
Here I had the pleasure to receive a visit from 
Mr. Stoddart (now Sir John Stoddart, Judge-Ad- 
vocate at Malta), who was at that time collecting 
the particulars wliich he afterwards embodied in 
his Remarks on Local Scenery in Scotland." I was 
of some use to him in procuring the information 
which he desired, and guiding him to the scenes 
which he wished to see. In return, he made me 
better acquainted than I had hitherto been with 
the poetic effusions which have since made the 
Lakes of Westmoreland, and the authors by whom 
they have been sung, so famous wherever the En- 
glish tongue is spoken. 

I was already acquainted with the "Joan of 
Arc," the " Thalaba," and the " Metrical Ballads " 
of Mr. Southey, which had found their way to 
Scotland, and were generally admired. But Mr. 
Stoddart, who had the advantage of personal 
friendsliip with the authors, and who possessed a 
strong memory with an excellent taste, was able 

' The Duchess died in Angnst, 1814. Sir Walter Scott's 
ttnes or. her death will be foand in a subsequent page of this 
eoUection. — En. 

3 This was Mr. Beattie of Mickledale, a man then consider- 
dbly Ui'Wards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic temper, 
which he did not at all times suppress, as the following anec- 
dote will show : — A worthy clergyman, now deceased, with 
better good-will than tact, was endeavoring to push the senior 
forward in his recollection of Border ballads and legends, by 
•ipressing reiterated surprise at his wonderful memory. " No, 
lir," said old Mickledale ; " my memory is good for little, for 
k "rannot retain what ought to be preser\*ed. I can remember 
•t' theee Btoies about the auld riding days, which are of no 



to repeat to me many long specimens of their poet 
ry, wliich had not yet appeared hi print. Amongst 
others, was the striking fragment called Cllri3tabe^ 
by Mr. Coleridge, whicli, from the singularly irreg- 
ular structure of the stanzas, and the hberty which 
it allowed the author, to adapt the sound to the 
sense, seemed to be exactly suited to sucli an ex- 
travaganza as I metUtated on the subject of Oilpiii 
Horner. As appUed to comic and humorous po 
etry, this mescolanza of measures had been already 
used by Anthony Hall, Anstey, Dr. Wolcott, and 
others ; but it was in Cliristabel that I first found 
it used in serious poetry, and it is to Mi'. Coleridge 
that I am bound to make the acknowledgment due 
from the pupil to his master. I observe that Lord 
Byron, in noticing my obUgations to Mr. Coleridge, 
which I have been always most ready to acknowl- 
edge, expressed, or was understood to express, a 
hope, that I did not write an unfriendly review o. 
Mr. Coleridge's productions.' On this subject 
have only to say, that I do not even know the re 
view which is alluded to ; and were I ever to takt 
the unbecoming freedom of censuring a uiau of Mr 
Coleridge's extraordinary talents, it would be on 
account of the caprice and indolence with which he 
has thrown from him, as if in mere wantonness 
those unfinished scraps of poetry, which, like tht 
Torso of antiquity, defy the skill of his poetical 
brethren to complete them.' The charming frag- 
ments which the author abandons to their fate, 
are smely too valuable to be treated Uke the 
proofs of careless engravers, the sweepings oi 
whose studios often make the fortune of some 
painstaking collector. 

I did not immediately proceed upoa my pro- 
jected labor, though I was now furnished with a 
subject, and with a structure of verse which might 
have the effect of novelty to the public ear, and 
afford the author an opportunity of varying his 
measure with the variations of a romantic theme. 
On the contrary, it was, to the best of my recol-. 
lection, more than a year after Mr. Stoddart'a visit, 
that, by way of experiment, I composed the first 
two or tliree sianias of "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel." I was shortly afterwards visited by 
two intimate friends, one of whom still survives. 



earthly importance ; but were yon, reverend sir, to repeat yom 
best sermon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you half ac 
hour afterwards what yon had been speaking aboat." 
3 Two volumes, royal octavo. 1801. 

* Medwin's Conversations of Lord Byron, p. 309. 

* Sir Walter, elsewhere, in allusion to " Coleridge's beaali- 
ful and tantalizing fragment of Christabel," says, "Has no! 
our own imaginative poet cause to fear that future ages will 
desire to summon him from his place of test, as Milton loitfcJ 

To call up him who left half told 
The story of Camboscan bold ?' " 

JVorw to the Abb'it ^Ep 



u 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



They were men whose talents might haye raised 
them to the highest station in hterature, had they 
Qot preferred exerting them in their own profes- 
sion of the law, in wliich they attained equal pre- 
ferment. I was in the habit of consulting them on 
my attempts at composition, having equal confi- 
dence in tlicir sound taste and friendly sincerity.' 
In this specimen I had, in the phrase of the High- 
juad servant, packed all that was my own at least, 
fpf I had also included a line ol invocation, a 
Qttlc softened, from Coleridge — 

"Mary, mother, shield 09 well.' 

A,B neither of my friends said much to me on the 
oubject of the stanzas I showed them before their 
departure, I had no doubt that their disgust had 
been greater than their good-nature chose to ex- 
press. Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, 
I threw the manuscript into the fire, and thought 
as httle more as I could of the matter. Some 
time afterwai'ds, I met one of my two counsellors, 
who inqmi-ed, with considerable appearance of in- 
terest, about the progress of the romance I had 
commenced, and was greatly surprised at leai'ning 
its fate. He confessed that neither he nor our 
mutual friend had been at first able to give a 
precise opinion on a poem so much out of the 
common road ; but th.at as they walked home to- 
gether to the city, they had talked much on the 
subject, and the result was an earnest desire that 
I would proceed with the composition. He also 
added, that some sort of prologue might be neces- 
lary, to place the mind of the hearers in the situa- 
tion to understand and enjoy the poem, and recom- 
mended the adoption of such quaint mottoes as 
Spenser has used to aimounce the contents of the 
chapters of the Faery Queen, such as — 

'* Babe's bloody hands may not be cleansed. 
The face of golden Mean : 
Her sisters two, Extr'jTllities, 
Strive her to banish clean." 3 

I entirely agreed with my friendly critic in the 
necessity of having some sort of pitch-pipe, which 
might make readers aware of the object, or rather 
the tone, of the publication. But I doubted wheth- 
IT, in assuming the oracular style of Spenser's 
mottoes, t^e interpreter might not be censured as 
the harder to be imderstood of the two. I there- 
fore introduced the Old Minstrel, as an appropri- 
ate prolocutor, by whom the lay might be simg, or 
Bjioken, and the introduction of whom betwixt the 

1 One of these, William Etakine, Esq. (Lord Kinneddei), I 
aave often had occasion to mention ; and though I may hardly 

^e thanlted for disclosing the name of the other, yet I cannot 
•nt stale that the second is George Cranstoun, Esq., now a 
Senator of the College of Justice, by the title of Lord Core- 
louse. I83I. — [Mr. Cranstoun resigned I is seat on the Bench 

< 1B39.1 



cantos, might remind the reader, at intei vala, ol 
the time, place, and circtmistances of the recita- 
tion. Thia species of cadre, or frame, afterwards 
afforded the poem its name of " The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel." 

The work was subsequently shown to othet 
fi-iends dming its progress, and received the ins- 
primatur of !Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had beeu 
already for some time distinguished by his critical 
talent. 

The poem, being once Ucensed by the critics as 
fit for the market, was soon finished, proceeding at 
about the rate of a canto per week. Tliere was, 
indeed, httle occasion for pause or hesitation, when 
a troublesome rhyme might be accommodated by 
an alteration of the stanza, or where an incorrect 
measure might be remedied by a variation of the 
rhyme. It was iinally published in 1805, and may 
be regarded as the first work in which the writer, 
who has been since so voluminous, laid his claim 
to be considered as an original author. 

The book was pubhshed by Longman and Com- 
pany, tmd Arcliibald Constable and Company. Tho 
principal of the latter firm was then commencing 
that course of bold and hberal industry which was 
of so much advantage to his country, and might 
have been so to himself, but for causes which it is 
needless to enter into here. The work, brought 
out on the usual terms of division of profits be 
tween the author and pubUshers, was not Itrtig 
after ptn-chased by them for £600, to which 
Messrs. Longman and Company afterwards added 
£100, in then' own misoUcited kindness, in conse- 
quence of the imcomraon success of the work. It 
was handsomely given to supply the loss of a fine 
horse, which broke down suddenly while the au- 
thor was riding with one of the worthy publish- 
ers.' 

It would be great affectation not to own 
frankly, that the author expected some success 
from "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." The at- 
tempt to retiu'n to a more simple and natural 
style of poetry was likely to be welcomed, at a 
time when the pubhc had become tired of heroic 
hexameters, with all the buckram and bmding 
which belong to them of later days. But what- 
ever might have been his expectations, whether 
moderate or tnu'easonable, the result left them far 
behind, for among those who smiled for the adven- 
turous Minstrel, were nmnbered the great names 
of William Pitt and Charles Fox.* Neither was 

5 Book IL Canto II. 

3 Mr. Owen Rees, here alluded to, retired from the house ol 
Longman & Co. at Midsummer, 1837, and died 5th September 
following, in his 67th year. — Ed. 

* " Through what channel or in what terms Fox made known 
his opinion of the Lay. I have failed'to ascertain. Pitt's piaise. 
as expressed to his niece, Lady Hester Stanhope, within a few 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



It 



*he extent of the oale inferior to the character of 
the judges who received the poem with approba- 
tion. Upwards of tliirty thous;ind copies of the 
Lay were disposed of by the trade ; and the au- 
thor had to perform a task difficult to human 
vanity, when called upon to make the necessaiy 

weeks after the poem appeared, was repeated by her to Mr. 
William Stewart Rose, who, of course, communicated it forth- 
nvitli to the aothor ; and not long after, the Minister, in con- 
versation with Scott's early friend, the Right Hon. WiUiam 
Dmulas, signified that it would give him pleasure to find some 
opportunity of advancing the fortunes of such a writer. " I 
lememher," writes thia gentleman, "at Mr. Pitt's table in 
1805, the Chancellor asked me about yoa and your then situa- 
tion, and after I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed — ' He 
oan't remain aa he is,' and desired me to 'look to it.' " — 
L0CKHA.RT. Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 32G. 

1 " The poet haa underestimated even the patent and tangi- 
ble evidence of his success. The first ediiion of the Lay was 
I magnificent quarto, 750 copies ; but thia waa loon exhaoit- 



deductions from hia own merits, in a calm attempt 
to accomit for hia popularity.* 

A few additional remarks on the author's liter 
ary attempts after tliis period, will be foimd in 
the Introduction to the Poem of Marraion. 
Abbotskokd, Aprilj 1830.* 

ed, and there followed an octavo impression of '^00 ; in 180t 
two more, one of 2000 copies, another of 2250 ; m 18il7,afilU 
edition of 2000, and a sixth of 3000 ; in 1808, 3550 , in 1801' 
3000 — a small edition in quarto (the ballads and lyrical "'ect 
being then anne.\ed to it) — and another octavo edition o 
3250; in 1811, 3000; in 1812, 3000; in 1816. 3000; in 1823 
1000. A fourteenth impression of 2000 foolscap appeared in 
1825; and besides all this, before the end of 1836, 11,00C 
copies had gone forth in the collected editions of his poetica 
wurks. Thus, nearly forty-four thousand copies had been dis- 
posed of in this country, and by the legitimate »ade alone, 
before he superintended the edition of 1830, to which his bio 
graphical introductions were prefixed. In flie iiislory of Brit- 
ish Poetry nothing had ever equalled the demand for Ihe La* 
of the Last Miiutral."— Z;t|/e, vol. ii. p. 326. 



10 



^he €a^ of the Cast JHinstrcl, 



TO THE 
BIGHT HONOBAhLB 

CHARLES EARL OF DALKEITH, 

THIS POEM IS INSOHIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

7'he Poem now offered to the Publi<.\ is intended to illustrate the customs and manners which anciently 
prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The inhabitants living in a state partly pastoral 
and partly warlike^ and combinijig habits of constant depredation with the infliience of a rude spirit of 
chivalry^ xcere often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornament. As the description of 
scenery and manners was more the object of the Author than a combined and regular narrative, the plan 
of the Ancient Metrical Romance was adopted, which allows greater latitude, in this respect, than would 
be consistent with the dignity of a regular Poem} The same model offered other facilities, as it permits 
an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, authorizes tlie change of rhythm in the text* 
The machinerif, also, adopted from popular belief would have seemed puerile in a Poetn which did not 
partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Metrical Bomance. 

For these reasons, the Poem ivas p7d into the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, who^ 
as he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might have caiight somewhat of the rejinenient of 
modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original model. The date of the Tale itself is about 
the middle of the sixteenth century, wJien ?noif of the personages actually flourished. The iitne occupied 
iy the action is Three Nights and Th'^ee Days.* 



INTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 

' " The chief excellence of the Lay consists in the beauty 
of the descriptions of local scenery, and the accurate picture 
of customs and manners among the Scottish Borderers at the 
time it refers to. The various exploits and adventures which 
occur in tnoac lialf-civilized times, when the bands of govern- 
ment were so loosely twisted, that every man depended for 
lafety more on his own arm, or tlie prowess of his chief, than 
on the civil power, may be said to hold a middle rank between 
oistory and private anecdote. War is always most picturesque 
where it is least formed into a science ; it has most variety and 
interest where the prowess and activity of individuals lias most 
play ; and the nocturnal expedition of Diomed and Ulysses to 
leize the chariot and horses of Rliesus, or a raid of the Scotts 
or the Kerrs to drive cattle, will make a better figure in verse, 
tlian all the battles of the great King of Prussia. The sleuth- 
dog', the beacoii-Jires , the Jcdicood-axcs, the moss-troopers, 
the yell of the slogan, and all the irregular warfare of preda- 
tory expeditions, or fends of hereditary vengeance, are far more 
captivating to the imagination than a park of artillery and bat- 
talions of well-drilled soldiers."— ^nnuo/ Review, 1804. 

" It must be observed, that there is this difference between 
he hcense of the old romancer, and that assumed by Mr. 
Scott : the aberrations of the first are usually casual and 
■light ; those of the other, premeditated and Bystematic. The 
«ld romancer may be compared to a man who trusts his reins 
lo his horse ; his palfrey often blunders, and occasionally 
kreake bis pace, sometimes from vivacity, oftener throofih in- 



Hia wither'd cheek, and tresBes gray, 
Seem'd to have known a better day ; 
Tlie harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 

dolence. Mr. Scott sets out with the intention of diversifyim 
his journey by every variety of motion. He is now at a trot 
now at a gallop ; nay, he sometimes stops, as if to 

' Make graceful caprioles, and prance 
Between the pillars.* 

A main objection to this plan is to be found in the shock whicl 
the ear receives from violent and abrupt transitions. On tht 
other hand, it must be allowed, that as different species o' 
verse are individually better suited to the expression of tha 
different ideas, sentiments, and passions, which it is the object 
of poetry to convey, the happiest efforts may be produced bj 
adapting to the subject its most congeuial structure of verse.' 
— Critical Review, 1805. 

" From the novelty of its style and subject, and from the 
spirit of its execution, Mr. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel 
kindled a sort of enthusiasm among all classes of readers ; and 
the concurrent voice of the public assigned to it a very exalted 
rank, which, on more cool and dispassionate exaaiination, itJ 
numerous essential beauties will enable it lo maintain. For 
vivid richness of coloring and truth of costpiie, nrany of itB 
descriptive pictures stand almost unrivalled ; it carries us back 
in imagination to the time of action ; and we wander with the 
poet along Tweedside, or among the wild glades of Ettrick 
Forest." — Monthly Review, .May, 1808. 

a " We consider this poem as an attempt to transfer the le- 
I fiiiemenls of modern poetry to the matter and the maimer iJ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



1< 



The la^t of all the Bards was he, 

Who sung of Border cliivah-y ; 

For, -welladay 1 their date was fled, 

His tuneful brethren all were dead : 

And he, neglecteil and oppress'd, 

WisiiVl to be ■with them, and at rest.' 

Ko more on prancing palfrey borne, 

He caroU'd. light as lark at morn; 

No longer courted and caress' d, 

High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 

He puur'd, to lord and lady gay, 

Tlie unpremeditated lay : 

Old tbues were changed, old manners gone ; 

A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' tlirone ; 

Tlie bi^nits of the iron time 

Had call'd liis harmless art a crime. 

A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor, 

He bcgg'd Ms bread from door to door, 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 

The harp, a king had loved to hear. 

He pass'd where Newaik's^ stately tower 

\tit ancient metrical romance. Tlie author, enamored of the 
ofty visions of chivalry, and partial to the strains in which 
hey were formerly embodied, seems to have employed all the 
twsoarces of his gemus in endeavoring to recall them to tlie 
avor and admiration of the public, and in adapting to the 
taste of modern readers a species of poetry which was once the 
•elight of tlie conrtly, but has long ceased to gladden any other 
.•yes than those of the scholar and the antiquary. This is a 
omance, therefore, composed by a minstrel of the present day ; 
;r such a romance as we may suppose would have been writ- 
en in modern times, if that style of composition had continued 
At be cultivated, and partakes consequently of the improve- 
ments which every branch of literature ha« received since the 
time of its desertion." — Jeffrey, Jiprit, 1805. 

1 " Tuniing to the northward, Scott showed us the crags 
»nd tower of Smailhotme, and behind it the shattered frag- 
ment of Erceldoune, and repeated some pretty stanzas as- 
eribed to the last of the real wandering minstrels of this dis- 
trict, by name Bum : 

* Sing Erceldoune, and Cowdenknowes, 

Where Homes had ance commanding, 
And Drygrange, wi' the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing. 
The bird that flees through Redpath treet 

And Gledswood banks each morrow, 
May chaunt and sing— Siccci Leader's kaughs 

And Bonny kowms of Yarrow. 
'But Minstrel Bum cannot assuage 

His grief while life endnreth, 
To see the changes of this age 

Which fleeting time procureth ; 
For mony a place stands in hard case. 

Where Wythe folks kent nae sorrow, 
With Homes that dwelt on Leader aide, 

And Scotta that dwelt on Yarrow.' " 

Life, vol. vl, p. 78. 

•"This is a massive square tower, now unroofed and 
rtkbions, surronnded by an outward wall, defended by round 
flanking turrets. It is most beautifully situated, about three 
miles from Selkirk, upon the banks of the Yarrow, a 6erce 
•Dd precipitous stream, which nultea with the Ettricke about 
K miW beiwatli the caatW 



Looks out from Yarrow's bii'chen bower : 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No lunnbler resting-place was nigli. 
With hesitating step at last, 
The embattled portal arch he pass d. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft roU'd back the tide of war. 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess* mark'd his weary pace. 
His timid mien, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell. 
That tliey should tend the old man well: 
For she liad known adversity, 
Tliough born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb I 

Wlien kindness had liis wants supplied. 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 



*' Newark Castle was built by James II. The royal arms 
with the onicorn, are engraved on a stone in the western side 
of the tower. Tliere was a much more anjient castle in its 
immediate vicinity, called Auldwark, founiled, it is said, by 
Alexander III. Both were designed for the royal residence 
when the king was disposed to take his pk-a^ure in the exten- 
sive forest of Ettricke. Various grants occur in the records 
of the Privy Seal, bestowing the keeping of the Ca.stle oi 
Newark upon diflferenl barons. There is a popular tradition 
that it was once seized, and held out by the outlaw Munay 
a noted character in song, who only surrendered Newark ui)on 
condition of being made hereditary sheriff of the forest. A 
long ballad, containing an account of this transaction, is pre- 
served in the Border Minstrelsy (vol. i. p. 369). Upon the 
marriage of James IV. with Margaret, sister of Henry VIII., 
the Castle of Newark, with the whole forest of Ettricke, was 
assigned to her as a part of her jointure lands. But of this she 
could make little advantage ; for, after the death of her hus 
band, she is found complaining heavily, that Bucclcuch had 
seized upon these lands. Indeetl, the office of keeper was lat- 
terly held by the famF.y of Buccleuch, and with so tirm a 
grasp, that when the Forest of Ettricke was disparked. they 
obtained a grant of the Castle of Newark in pro[)erty. It was 
within the courtyard of this castle that General Lesly did mili- 
tary execution ujjon the prisoners whom he had taken at llii 
battle of Philiphaugh. The castle continued to be an occ» 
sional seat of the Buccleuch family for more than a century; 
and here, it is said, the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuct 
was brought np. For this reason, probably, Mr Scott hat 
chosen to make it the scene in which the Lay of the Last Mu> 
strei is recited in her presence, and for lier amust-ment.' — 
Schetky's Illustrations of the Lay of the Last Minstrtl. 

It may be added that Bowhill was the favorite residenoa 
of Lord and Lady Dalkeith (afterwards Duke and DucheM 
of Buccleuch), at the time when the poem was composed ; the 
ruins of Newark are all but included in the park attached to 
that motiem seat of the family ; and Sir Walter Scott, no 
doubt, was influenced in his choice of the locality, by tb* 
predilection of the charming lady who suggested the subject 
of his Lay for the scenery of the Yarrow — a beautiful walk on 
whose banks, leading from the house to the old castle, ii called, 
in memory of her, the Duchesses Walk. — Ed. 

* Anne, Dochesa of Boccleucb and Monmoath, repreeent» 



18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of good Earl Francis," dead and gone, 

And of Earl Walter," rest him, God I 

A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 

And how full many a tale he knew. 

Of the old wan'iors of Buccleuch : 

And, would the noble Duchess deign 

To listen to an old man's strain, 

'niouijh stiff his hand, his voice though weak, 

He thouglit even yet, the sooth to speak. 

That, if she loved the harp to hear, 

He coidd make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtain'd ; 
rhe Aged Minstrel audience gain'd. 
But, when he reach'd the room of state, 
Wliere she, with all her ladies, sate, 
Pcrclianco he wish'd his boon denied : 
For, when to tune his harp he tried, 
His trembling hand had lost the ease, 
■Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain. 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to tune Iiis harp in vain !' 
Tlie paymg Duchess praised its cliime. 
And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blemled into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full fain 
He could recall an ancient strain, 
He never thought to sing again. 
It was not framed for village churls. 
But for liigh dames and mighty earls ; 
He had pkay'd it to King Charles the Good, 
Wlien he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wi.^h'd, yet fear'd, to try 
Tile long-forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings liis fingers stray 'd, 
And an uncertam warbling made. 
And oft he shook liis hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised hia face, and smiled ; 

live of the ancient Lords of Buccleuch, and wUiow of the un- 
I'ortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who waa beheaded in 
I '-So. 

t Francis Scott, Earl of Bocclench, father of the Duchess. 

' Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfatlier of the Dudiess 
VK % celebrated warrior. 

- Ml. W. Duii'las (see Ufe of Scott, vol. ii. p. 226), says, 
iif' Pitt repeated the lines, describir^,; the old harper's embar- 
iSHCtent when asked to play, and said, — ' This is a sort of thing 
wliich I nii^'lit liave expected in painting, but could never have 
fancied capable of being given in poetry.' " 

* " In the very first rank of poetical excellence, we are in- 
clined to place the introductory and concluding lines of every 
canto, in which the ancient strain is suspended, and the feel- 
'ngs and situation of the minstrel himself described in the words 
of the author. The elegance and tlie beauty of this setting, 
if we may 80 call it, though entirely of modem workmanship, 
appears to ns to be fully more worthy of admiration than the 
bolder relief of the antiques which it encloses, and ieads us to 
regret that the aut/wr should have wasted, in imitation and 



And lighten'd up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy I 
In varying cadence, soft or strong. 
He swept the sounding chords along ; 
The present scene, the future lot. 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot • 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank, in faithless memory void. 
The poet's glowing thought supplied ; 
And, while his harp responsive rimg, 
'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung.* 



®I}E Cag of tijc Cast iHinstrtl. 



CANTO FIRST. 



The feast was over in Brantsome tower,* 
And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower , 
Her bower that was guarded by word and by 

spell, 
Deadly to hear and deadly to toll — 
Jeau Maria, sliield us well ! 
No living wight, save the Ladye alone, 
Had dared to cross the thi-eshold stone. 

II. 
Tlie tables were drawn, it was idlesse all ; 

Knight, and page, and household squire, 
Loiter'd through the lofty hall, 

Or crowded round the ample firtr ; 
Tlie stag-hounds, weary with the cliase, 

Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor, 
And urged, in dreams, the forest race. 

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.* 

antiquarian researches, so much of those powers which 8ttt» 
fully equal to the task of raising him an indepeadcnt repu 
tation.^^ — Jeffrky. 

6 See Appendix, Note A, 

3 " The ancient romance owes much of its interest to th» 
lively picture whicii it affords of the tiniea of chivalry, and of 
those usages, maimers, and institutions, which we have '.uwa 
accustomed to associate in our minds, with a certain combina- 
tion of magnificence with simplicity, and ferocity with roman 
tic honor. The representations contained in tho<e perform 
ances, however, are, for the most part, too rude and na,ked to giv6 
complete satisfaction. The execution is always extremely on- 
equal ; and though the writer sometimes touclies upon the ap 
propriate feeling with great effect and felicity, still this appean 
to be done more by accident than design ; and he wanden away 
immediately into all sorts of ridiculous or uninteresting details, 
without any apparent consciousness of incongruity. These 
defects Mr. Scott has corrected with admirable address and 
judgment in the greater part of the work now before us ; and 
while he has exhibited a very striking and impres?sive picture 



CANTO I. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



II 



III. 
Nme-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall ;'V 
Hine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought tliera their steeds to bower from stall ; 
JTme-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV. 
Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
They quit'* ?d not theii' harness bright. 
Neither by day, nor yet by night ; 

They lay down to. rest. 

With corslet laced, 
T'lUow'd on buckler cold and hard ; 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel, 
\iid they drank the red wine through the helmet 
barr'd. 

V. 

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men. 
Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
Tliirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 
Stood saddled in stable day and night, 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow , 
And with Jedwood-axe at saddlebow ;' 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome-HalL 

VL 

Why do these steeds stand ready dight ? 
Why watch these warriors, arm'd, by night ? — 
They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying : 
They watch to hear the war -horn braying ; 
To see St. George's red cross streamuig, 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming : 
They watch, against Southern force and guile, 

»( the old feudal nsa^es and institutions, he has shown still 
greater talent in engrafting upon those descriptions all the ten- 
der or magnanimous emotions to whicli the circumstances of 
jie story naturally give rise. Without impairing the antique 
Vr of the whole piece, or violating the simplicity of tlie bal- 
lad style, he has contrived, in this way, to impart a much 
greater dipidiv and more powerful interest to Iiis production, 
tiian could ever be obtained by the unskilful and unsteady 
delineations of the old romancers Nothing, we think, can 
fttford a finer illustration of this remarlt, tlian the opening 
Itanzas of the whole poem ; they transport us at once into the 
days of knightly daring ind feudal hostility, at thesame time 
tiiat they suggest, in a very interesting way, all those softer 
lentimenfa which arise out of some parts of the description." 
—Jeffrey 

I See Appendix, Note B, 
» See Appendi.1, Note C. 

8 See Appendix, Note D, and compare these stanzas with 
»he dcMriptiou of Jamie Telfer's appearance at Branksorae. 



Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers, 
Threaten Branksoine's lordly towers, 
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. 

VII. 

Such is the custom of Branksome-Hall, — ' 

Many a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the chieftain of them all, 
His sword hangs rustuig on the wall. 
Beside his broken spear 
Bards long shall tell 
How Lord Walter fell 1' 
When startled btu'ghers fled, afar, 
The furies of the Border war ; 
When the streets of high Dunedin* 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, 
And heard the slogan's' deadly yell- 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell 

VIIL 

Can piety the discord heal. 

Or stanch the death-feud'S enmity ! 
Can Cliristian lore, can patriot zeal. 

Can love of blessed charity ? 
No ! vainly to each holy slirme, 

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ; 
Implored, in vain, the grace divine 

For cliiefs. then* own red falcliions slew ; 
Wliile Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war. 

Shall never, never be forgot ?* 

IX. 

In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 

The warlike foresters had bent ; 
And many a flower, and many a tear. 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent ; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
The Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear !' 

Hall (Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 5), to claim the protectioi 
of " Auld Buccleuch" — and the ensuing scene (page 9). 

" The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran, 
Sae starkly and sae steadilie ! 
And aye the ower^word o' the thrang 

Was — * Rise for Branksome readihe, " &2. 
Compare also the Ballad of Kinmont Willie (vol. ii. •}. f3). 

" Now word is gane to the bauld keeper. 
In Branksome ha' where that he lay," &c. — Ed. 

< There are not many passages in English poetry more im 
pressive than some parts of Stanzas vii. viii. ix. — Jeffrbt. 

^ See Appendix, Note E. 

fl Edinburgh. 

' The war-cry, or gathering-word, of a Border clao. 

*■ See Appendix, Note F. 

Orig, (1st Edition,) " The Ladye dropp'd nor »ig\ Hi 
tear.'* 



20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO :. 



Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er tlie slain. 

Had lock'd the source of softer woe ; ' 
And burning pride, and higli disdain. 

Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, amid liis sorntwing clan. 

Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee— 
" And if I live to be a man, 

My father's death revenged shall be 1" 
Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
Tc ok)" the infant's kindling cheek. 

X. 

All loose her negligent attire, 

All loose her golden hair, 
Hmig Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, 

And -wept in wild despair : 
But not alone the bitter tear 

Had fiUal grief supphed ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother's alter'd eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'giunst her father's clan, 

'With Carr in arms had stood,' 
(Vlien Mathouse-bum to Melrose ran 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew, her mother dread, 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed,' 
'iVould see her on her dying bed. 

XL 

Of noble race the Ladye camc^ 
Her father was a clerk of fame. 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie ;' 
He leam'd the art that none may name, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.* 
Men said, he changed his mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when, in studious mood, he paced 

St. Andrew's cloister'd hall,* 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall 1' 

XII. 
And of his skill, as bards avow. 

He taught that Ladye fair, 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air.'' 
And now she sits in secret bower, 
In old Lord David's western tower. 
And listens to a heavy sound, 
Hat moans the mossy turrets round. 

• See Appendix, Note 6. (The name is spelt diiTerentTy by 
Iha varioQH familiee who bear it. Carr is selected, not as the 
most cofKct, but as the most poetical reading.) 

* See Appendix, Note H. 
See Appendix, Note 1. 



Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 

Tliat chafes against the scamp's' red side ? 

Is it the wind that swings the oaks f 

Is it the echo from the rocks ? 

What may it be, the heavy sound. 

That moons old Branksome's tmrets round f 

xin. 

At the sullen, moaning soimd, 

Tlie ban-dogs bay and howl ; 
And, from the turrets round. 

Loud wlioops the startled owL 
In the hall, both squire and knight 

Swore that a storm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night , 

But the night was still and clear I 

XIV. 
From the sound of Teviot's tide, 
Chafing with the mountain's side. 
From the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
From the sullen echo of the rock. 
From the voice of the coming storm, 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, 

And he called on the Spirit of the FelL 

XV. 

RrVER SPIRIT. 

" Sleep'st thou, brother !" — 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

— " Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to SkelfhiU-pen, 
By every rill, in every glen, 

Merry elves their morris pacing. 

To aerial minstrelsy, 
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, 

Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet 1 
Up, and list their music sweet !"— 

XVL 
ErvER spiRrr. 
" Tears of an imprison'd maiden 

Mix with my polluted stream ; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. 
Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, 
'When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
■yVTiat shall be the maiden's fate ? 
"Who shall be the maiden's mate i" — 



* See Appendix, Note K. 

' Fiist Edition—" St. Kmtigenu't hall."— St. Hum 
Kenti^eme, is the patron saint of Qlasgow, 

* See Appendix, Note L. 

* See Appendix, Note M. 

* Smur, a precipitous bank of earth. 



CANTO I. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



21 



XVIL 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

" Arthur's slow wiiin liis course doth roll. 

In utter d.arkiiess round the pole ; 

The Notliern Bear lowers bliick and grim; 

Orion's studded belt is dim ; 

Twinkling faint, .Tiid distant far, 

Shimmers tluough mist each planet star ; 

111 m.'iy I read their hiyli decree I 
But uo kind mfluence deign tliey sliower 
On Teviot's tide, and Braiiksome's tower, 

Till pride be quell'd, aiid love be free." 

xvnL 

The unearthly voices ceast, 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of tlie hilL 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
rShe raised her stately liead, 

And her heart throl)b'il high with pride :— 
" Your mountains shall bend, 
And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride 1" 

XIX. 
The Ladye sought the lofty haU, 

^^^lere many a bold retainer Liy, 
And, with jocund din, among them all. 

Her son pui'sued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper,' the boy 

The trunclieon of a spear bestrode, 
And round tlie hall, right merrily, 

In mimic foray^ rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old. 

Share iu Ixis froUc gambols bore, 
A.lbeit their hearts, of rugged mould, 

Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For -the gray warriors propliesied. 

How the brave boy, in future war, 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,' 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star.* 

XX. 

The Ladye forgot her purpose high. 

One moment, and no more ; 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye, 

As she paused at the arched door : 
Then, from amid the armed train. 
She call'd to her 'William of Deloraine.' 

* Se« Appendix, Note N. 

« Foratj, a predatory inroad. 

3 This line, of which tlie metre appears defective, would 
lave its fall complement of feet according to the pronunciation 
f the poet himself— a.-* all who were familiar -yith hi3 ntter- 
fc» of the letter r will bear testimony. — Ed 



XXL 

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he. 
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee : 
Tlirough Solway sands, thi'ough Tarraa 

moss, 
Bhndfold, he knew the paths to cross 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds, 
Had baffled Percy's best blood-houtda ' 
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none, 
But he would ride them, one b}' one* 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snow, or Jidy's pride : 
Alike to liini was tide or tune. 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 
Steady of heart, and stout of hand, 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed liad he been, 
By England's King and Scotland's Queea 

XXIL 
" Sir 'WiUiara of Deloraine, good at need, 
Motmt thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spm", nor stint to ride. 
Until thou come to fou- Tweedside ; 
And in Mehose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

Greet the Father well from me ; 
Say that the fated hour is come, 

And to-night he shall watch with thee, 
To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this will be St. Michael's night, 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright ; 
And the Cross, of bloody red, 
■Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

XXIIL 

" What he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
St.ay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book, 
Into it, Knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lora ! 
Better hadst thou ne'er been bom." — 

xxiy. 

" O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear ; 
Ere break of day," the Wanior 'gan say, 

" Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy eirand be dooe 

Tlian, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never a one. 

Weft my neck-verse at Hairibee.'" 

« Sec Appendii, Note O. ' Ibid. Note P. 

• Ibid. Note a. 

' HaiTtber, the place of executing the Uorrfer maiaaden H 
Carlisle. The neck-verse, is the beginning of the 51st Psaini, 
Miserere met, &c., anciently read by criminals claiming the 
benefit of clergy. ["In the rough but spirited sketch 9f tJu 



22 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTO L 



XXV. 

Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 
And soon the steep descent he past, 
Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,' 
And soon the Teviot side he won. 
Eaetward the wooded path he rode, 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod. 
He pass'd the Peel' of Goldiland, 
And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 
Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound, 
Where Dniid shades still flitted round ' 
In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
Behind him soon they set in night ; 
And soon he spurr'd bis courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.* 

XXVI. 
The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; — 
" Stand, ho 1 thou courier of the dark." — 
" For Branksome, ho 1" the knight rejoin'd. 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turn'd lum now from Teviotside, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
Northward the dark ascent did ride. 
And gain'd the moor at HorshehLU ; 
Broad on the left before him lay, 
For many a mile, the Roman way.* 

xxvrt 

A moment now he slack'd his speed, 
A moment breathed his panting steed ; 
Drew saddle-gii'th and corslet-band. 
And loosen'd in the sheath his brand. 
On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,' 
Where Barnliill hew'd his bed of flint ; 
Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest. 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest, 
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye 
For many a league his prey could spy ; 
Cliifs, doubling, on their echoes borne. 
The terrors of the robber's bom ? 
CUffs, which, for many a later year. 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach the grove, 
Ambition is no cure for love I 

XXVHL 

Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain,' 
Where Aill, from moimtains freed, 

marauding Bonl ,t. and in the naivete of hia la.'^t declaration, 
he reader will recognize some of the moat striking features of 
tie ancient ballad." — Critical Review.'} 

' Barbican .the defence of the outer gate of a feodal caatle. 

■ Peel, a Border-tower. 

3 See Appendix. Note R. 

* See Appendix, Note S. 

B An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Rox- 
tnrgtishire. 



Down from the lakes did raving come ; 
Each wave was crested with tawny foan:, 

like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain I no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper'a road. 

XXIX 

At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 
And the water broke o'er the saddlebow : 
Above the foaming tide, I ween, 
, Scarce half the ch.irger's neck was seen ; 
For he was barded' from counter to tail. 
And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 
Never heavier man and horse 
Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. 
The warrior's very plume, I say 
Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 
Yet through good lieart, and Oiu' Ladye's grac* 
At length he gain'd the landing place. 

XXX. 

Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, 

And sternly shook his pltuned head, 
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ;' 

For on his soul the slaughter red 
Of that unhallow'd mom arose. 
When first the Scott and Carr were foes ; 
When royal James beheld tlie fray, 
Prize to the victor of the day ; 
When Home and Douglas, in the van, 
Bore down Buccleuch's retirmg clan, 
TiU gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reek'd on dark EUiot's Border spear. 

XXXL 

In bitter mood he spiured fast. 

And soon the hated heath was past ; 

And far beneath, in lustre wan. 

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran : 

Like some tall rock with lichens gray, 

Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 

When Hawick he pass'd, had curfew rung, 

Now midnight lauds'" were in Melrose sung. 

The sotmd, upon the fitful gale, 

In solemn wise did rise and fail, 

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 

Is waken'd by the winds alone. 

But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all 

He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 

And sought the convent's lonely wall." 

' See Appendix, Note T. ' Ibid. Note V. 

e Barded, or barbed, — applied to a horse accoutred with d* 
fensive armor. 

" Halidon waa an ancient seat of the Kens of Cessford, now 
demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the northward lay 
the field of battle betwixt Buccleoch and Angus, which u 
called to this day the Skirmish Field. — See Appendix, Note D 

1** Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic cbnrcb. 

u See Appendix. Note V. 



CANTO 11. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



2S 



Hekk paused the harp ; and with its swell 

The Master's fire and courage fell ; 

Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd, 

And, gazing tiniid on the crowd, 

He seem'd to seek, in every eye. 

If they approved his minstrelsy ; 

And, diffident of present praise, 

Somewhat he spoke of former days, 

And how old age, and wand'ring long. 

Had done his hand and harp some wrong. 

Tlie Duchess, and her daughters fair, 

And every gentle lady there. 

Each after each, in due degree. 

Gave praises to his melody ; 

His hand was true, liis voice was clear. 

And much they long'd the rest to hear. 

Encoiu'aged thus, the Aged Man, 

After meet rest, again begaa 



®l)e Cag of tl)e Cast illinstrcl. 

CANTO SECOND. 

L 

/If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,* 

I Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of hghtsome day 
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
When the broken arches are black in night, 
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
When the cold Ught's uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 
When buttress and buttress, alternately, 
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 
Wlien sUver edges the imagery, 
•Vnd the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;' 
When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 
Then go — but go alone the wliile — 
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ;' 
And, home returning, sootlily swear. 
Was never scene so sad and fair 1 

II. 
Short halt did Deloraine make there.; 
Little reck'd he of the scene so fair : 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
Hj struck fuU loud, and struck fiill long. 

1 *' In .he description of Melrose, which tntrodnces the Seo- 
•nd Canto, the reader will oijserve how skilfully the Author 
tails in the aid of sentimental associations to heighten the effect 
»f the picture which he presents to the eye " — jEfFRKT. 

5 See Appendix, Note W. 

t David I. of Scotland, porchasec" the tepotation of sanctity, 
Dy loondtng, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery 
»f Melrose, bat tho&« of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others ; 



The porter hiu'ried to the gate — 
" Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late f" 
" From Branksome, I," the warrior cried ; 
And straiglit the wicket opeu'd wide : 
For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood. 

To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
And lands and livings, many a rood. 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repoM 

UI. 
Bold Deloraine liis errand said ; 
The porter bent his humble head ; 
With torch in hand, and feet tmshod. 
And noiseless step, the path he trod ; 
Tlie arched cloister, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
Till, stooping low his lofty crest. 
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest. 
And lifted his barred aveutayle,' 
To hail the Mouk of St. Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ; 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffen'd limb.^ he rear'd ; 
A hundred years had flung their snows 

On his thin locks and floating beard. 



And strangely on the Knight look'd he. 

And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide ; 
" And, darest thou. Warrior ! seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide ? 
My breast, in belt of iron pent. 

With sliirt of hair and scourge of thorn ; 
For threescore years, ia penance spent. 

My knees those flinty stones h.ave worn ; 
Yet all too httle to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 

Wouldst thou thy every futiu-e year 
In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, 

Tet wait thy latter end with fear — 
Then, daring Warrior, follow me I" - 

VL 
" Penance, father, will I none ;-. 
Prayer know I hardly one ; 

which led to the well-known observation of Us sacceflsais, IntI 
he was a sore saint for the crown. 

* The Bocclench family were great benefacton! to the Abl)«]t 
of Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott, 
Baron of Murdieston and Rankleburn (now Boccleuch), gaT« 
to the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettrick Forest, pro 8» 
lute animal suts. — Chartulary of Melrose, 28th May, 1415^ 

^ Jiventayle, visor of the helmet. 



24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO II. 



Fur mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, . 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray.' 

Other prayer can I none ; 

So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." — 

VIL 

Again on the Knight look'd the Chm'chman old, 

And again he sighed heavily ; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold. 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long 

since by 
When his Umbs were strong, and his courage was 

high:— 
Now, slow and faint, he led the waj'. 
Where, cloister'd roimd, the garden lay ; 
Tlie pillar'd arches were over their head. 
And beneath their feet were the bones of the 

dead.' 

VIII. 
Spreading herbs, and ilowerets bright, 
Glisten'd with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there, 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon. 

Then into the night he looked fortli ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 

Were dancing in the glowuig north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

Tlie youth in glittering squadrons start ;' 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright. 
That spirits were riding the northern hght. 

IX. 

By a steel-clenched postern door. 
They enter'd now the chancel tall ; 

The darkeu'd roof rose liigh aloof 
On pillars lofty and hght and small : 

The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, 

Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuUle ; 

Tlie corbells' were carved grotesque and grim ; 

And the pillai's, with cluster'd shafts so trim, 

I See Appendix, Kote X. 

' Thi cloistere were fretiuently used as places of sepulture. 
^ iua'Jlnce occurs in Dryburgh Abbey, where the cloister has 
Bn iusL'ripli jn, beariug. Hie jacet fratcr Jirchibaldus. 

8 See Appentli.\, Note Y. 

* CtirttdUy tile projectious from which the arches spring, 
tsually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. 

* " With plinth aud witll capital llonrishM around." 

First Edition. 

» See Appendix, Note Z. ' Ibid, Note2 A. t Ibid. Note 2 B. 

'J '* liainhnij, Srptcmhcr^S. 1805. — 1 began last night to read 
Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my even- 
ng readings to ray Jiildren. I was extremely delighted by tlie 
■*rtetical beauty of \>me passages, the Abbey of Melrose for 



With base and with capital flouriah'd around,' 
Seem'd bimdles of lances which garlands ha^ 
bound. 

X. 

Full many a scutcheon and Ixmuer riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, 

Arotmd the screened altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn, 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gi\llimt Cliief of Otterburne !' 

Aud thine, dark Kniglit of LiJdesdalo !' 
fading honors of the dead ! 
high ambition, lowly laid I 

XI. 
Tlie moon on the east oriel shone' 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By fohaged tracery combined ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the. ozier wand. 

In mtmy a freakish knot, had twined ; 
Tlien framed a speU, when the work was donei 
And ch;inged the willow-wreaths to stone. 
The sUver hglit, so pale and fault, 
Show'd many a prophet, and many a saint, 

"Whose uiLtge on the glass was dyed ; 
FuU in the midst, liis Cross of Red 
Trimiiphtmt SLichael brandished. 

And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
Tlie moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane. 
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.* 

XIL 
They sate them down on a marble stone," — 

(A Scottish monarch slept below) ; 
Tlius spoke the Monk, in solenm tone : — 

" I was not ,\lways a man of woe ; 
For Paynim countries I have trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God : 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, 
And then- non clang sotmds strange to my ear 

XIII. 

" In these far climes it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ,' 

example, and*most of the prologues to the cantos. The oo» 
tnine, too. is admirable. The tone is antique ; an'l it might 
be read for instruction as a picture of the nianiu?rs of the mid 
die ages." "A'oycm6cr2, 1805. — We are perfectly enchanted 
A'ith Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He is surely 
the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not tna gooa 
part* of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our lau* 
gu.nge? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Ho 
mer." — Sir James Mackintosh, Life, vol. i. pp. 254, 262. 

to A large marble stone, in tlie chancel of Melrose, is pointed 
out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest o( 
our early kings ; othei-s say, it is the resting-place of Wal iev^ 
one of the eariy abbots, who died in the odor of sanctity. 

1' See Appendix, Note 2 C. 



nASTO 11. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. i- 


A wizard, of such dreaded fame. 


XVII. 


That when, in Sahunauca's cave,' 


" Lo, Wiirrior 1 now, the Cross of Red 


tliiu listed liis magic wand to wave. 


Pomts to the grave of the mighty dead ; 


The bells would rmg in Notre Dame !' 


Within it burns a wondrous hght, 


Some of his skill he taught to me ; 


To chase the spirits that love the night ; 


And, Wmrior, I could say to thee 


That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 


The words that cleft Eildon liills in three,' 


Until the eternal doom shall be.'" — 


And bridled the Tweed with a curb of 


Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 


stone : 


Which the bloody Cross was traced upon : 


But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 


He pointed to a secret nook ; 


Ami for having but thought them my heart 


An iron bar the Warrior took f 


within, 


And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand 


\ treble penance must bb done. 


The grave's huge portal to expand. 


XIV. 


XVIII. 


" Wlien Michael lay on Ms dyuig bed, 


With beating heart to the task he went ; 


His conscience was awakened : 


His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent ; 


He bethought him of his sinful deed, 


With bar of iion heaved amain. 


And he gave me a sign to come with speed : 


Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like raitt 


I was in Spain when the morning rose. 


It was by dint of passing strengtli, 


But I stood b}' his bed ere evening close. 


That he moved the massy stone at lengtli. 


The words may not again be said. 


I would you had been there, to see 


That he spoke to me, ou death-bed laid ; 


How the light broke forth so gloriously. 


rhey would rend tliis Abbaye's massy nave, 


Stream'd upward to the chancel roof. 


Ajid pile it in heaps above liis grave. 


And thi-ougli the galleries far aloof I 




No eartlily flame blazed e'er so bright : 


XV. 


It shone like heaven's own blessed hght. 


" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 


And, issuing from the tomb. 


That never mortsxl might therein look ; 


Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale. 


And never to tell where it was hid. 


Danced on the dark-broVd Wairior's mail, 


Save at liis Chief of Branksome's need : 


And kiss'd his waving plume. 


And when that need was past and o'er. 




Again tfye volume to restore. 


XIX. 


[ buried him on St. Micliael's night. 


Before their eyes the Wizard lay, 


VVben the bell toll'd one, and the moon waa 


As if he had not been dead a day. 


bright. 


His lioary beard in silver roll'd. 


And I dug liis chamber among the dead. 


He seem'd some seventy winters old ; 


Wlien the floor of the chancel was stained red. 


A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round. 


rhat his patron's cross niiglit over him wave. 


With a wi-ought Spanish baldric bound. 


And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 


Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea : 




His left hand held his Book of Might ; , 


XVI. 


A silver cross was in his right ; 


" It was a night of wo and dread. 


The lamp was placed beside his knee . 


VThen Michael in the tomb I laid ! 


Hijh and majestic was his look. 


Strar^'e sounds along the chancel pass'd. 


At which the fellest fiends had shook, 


TU. bamiers waved without a blast" — 


Anil all mu-utfled was his face : 


— Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd 
one 1 — 


They trusted his soul had gotten grace.' 


I tell you, that a braver man 


XX. 


Tliau Wilham of Deloraine, good at need. 


Often had WilUam of Deloraine 


Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed ; 


Rode througli the battle's bloody plain. 


Yet somewhat was he cliill'd with (bead. 


And tram]jled down the warriors slain. 


And liis hair did bristle upon his head. 


And neither known remorse nor awe ; 


1 See Appendix, Note 2D. s Ibid. Note 2 E. 


he had loved with brotherly afTection— the horror of Deloraine 


• See Appeodii, Note 2 F. < Ibid. Note 2 G. 


and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew thf 




. magic volume from its grasp, are, in a succeeding part of th< 


• Orig,—A bar from thence llie warrior took. 


narrative, circumstances not more happily conceived than e« 


• " The agitatioD of the monk at the sight of the man whon} 


quisitely wrought." — Critical Review 



26 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cakfo n. 


Yet now remorse and awe he own'd ; 


XXIV. 


Hia breath came thick, his head swam round. 


The Knight breathed free in the morning 


When this strange scene of death he saw. 


wind. 


Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood, 


And strove his hardihood to find : 


And the priest pray'd fervently and loud : 


He was glad when he pass'd the tombstone! 


With ryes averted prayed he ; 


gray. 


He might not endm-e the sight to see. 


Which girdle round the fan- Abbaye ; 


Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 


For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest. 




Felt like a load upon his breast ; 


XXI. 


And his joints, with nerves of iron twinefU 


And when the priest his death-pray er had pray'd. 


Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 


Thus unto Deloriiine he said : — 


Full fain was he when the dawn of day 


" Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 


Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 


Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue ; 


He joy'd to see the cheerful hght. 


For those, thou mayst not look upon. 


And he said Ave Mary, as well he might. 


Are gathering fast round the yawning stone I" 




Then Deloraine, in terror, took 


:£xv. 


From the jcild hand the Mighty Book, 


The sun had brighten'd Cheviot gray. 


With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound : 


The Sim had brighten'd the Carter's' side ; 


He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd ;' 


And soon beneath the rising day 


But the ghore of the sepulchi-al hght. 


Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tida 


Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 


The wild bu-da told their warbling tale. 




And waken'd every flower that blows ; 


xxn. 


And peeped forth the violet pale. 


W hen the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb. 


And spread her breast the moimtain rose. 


The night return'd in double gloom ; 


And loveUer than the rose so red, 


For the moon had gone down, and the stars were 


Yet paler than the violet pale. 


few; 


She early left her sleepless bed. 


And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, 


The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 


With wavering steps and dizzy bram. 




They hardly might the postern gain. 


xxvr. 


'Tis said, as tlu-ough the aisles they paas'd. 


Why does fair Maigaret so early awake,* 


They heard strange noises on the blast ; 


And don her kirtle so hastihe ; 


And through the cloister-galleries small. 


And the silken knots, which in hurry she would 


Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall. 


make. 


Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 


Why tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 


And voices unUke the voice of man ; 


Why does she stop, and look often around, 


As if the fiends kept hoUday, 


. As she glides down the secret stair ; 


Because these spells were brought to day. 


And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound. 


I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 


As he rouses him up from liis lair ; 


I Bsy the tale as 'twas said to me. 


And, though she passes the postern alone. 




Why is not the watchman's bugle blown ? 


XXIII. 




' Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 


XXVII. 


"And when we are on death-bed laid. 


The ladye steps in doubt and dread. 


may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, 


Lest her watchful mother hear her tread 


Forgive our souls for the deed we have done I"^ 


Tlie lady caresses the rough blood-nouud. 


The Monk return'd him to his cell. 


Lest liis voice should waken the castie round ; 


And many a prayer and penance sped ; 


The watchman's bugle is not blown. 


When the convent met at the noontide beU — 


For he was her foster-father's son ; 


The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead 1 


And she ghdes through greenwood at dawn oJ 


Before the cross was the body laid. 


hght 


With hands tlasp'd fast, as if stiU he pray'd. 


To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. 


1 See Appendix, Note 2 H. 


* " How true, sweet, and original is this description ol 


« A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. 


Margaret — the trembling haste with which she attires he» 


• " How lovely and exhilarating is the fresh, cool morning 


self, descends, and siyjeds to the bower!" — Anna 


undBcape which relieves the raind after the horron of the «peU- 


WARD. 


(iia ded tomb 1" — Anna Skward. 





CAVTO II. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



2? 



XXVIII. 
The Knight and ladye fair are met, 
And under the hawthorn's bougha are set. 
A fairer pair were never seen 
To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 
He was stately, and young, and tall ; 
Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 
And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid. 
Lent to her cheek a Uvelier red ; 
When the half sigh her sweUing breast 
Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
When her blue eyes their secret told. 
Though shaded by her locks of gold — 
Where would you find the peerless fair, 
With Margaret of Brauksome might compare 1 

XXIX. 
And now, fair dames, methinks I see 
You hsten to my minstrelsy ; 
Your waving locks ye backward throw, 
And sidelong bend your necks of snow ; 
Ye ween to hear a melting tale. 
Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 
To paint liis faithful passion strove ; 

Swore he might at her feet expire, 
But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blush'd, and how she sigh'd, 
And, half consenting, half denied. 
And said that she would die a maid ; — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 

XXX. 

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain 1 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its hghtness would my age reprove : * 
My hairs are gray, my Ikubs are old, 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXI. 

Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld. 
The Baron's Dwai'f his courser held,' 
And held his crested helm and spear : 

1 See Appendix, Noto 2 I. 

* The idea of the Imp domesticating himself with the firel 
person he met, and subjecting himself '.o that one's authority, 
b perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play 
of ■' The Devil is an Jiss,^' has founded the leading incident 
of that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A 
fiend, styled Puff, is ambitious for fignring in the world, and 
petitions his ilperior for permission to exhibit himself upon 
larth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this 
|»nditioD,— 

** Satayi — Only thus more, I bind you 
To serve the first man tliat voo meet : and him 



Tliat Dwarf was scarce an eartldy man. 
If the tales were true that of liim ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 
'Twas said, when the Baron a-himting rode 
Tlirough Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trod. 

He heard a voice cry, " Lost I lost I lost I" 

And, like tennis-ball by racket toss'd, 
A leap, of tliirty feet and three. 

Made from the gorse this elfin shape, 

Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And lighted at Lord Cranstoim's knee. 

Lord Cranstotm was some whit dismay'd ; 

'Tis said that five good miles he rade. 
To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran foui 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 

XXXIL 

Use lessens marvel, it is said : 
This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid 
Little he ate, and less he spoke. 
Nor mingled with the menial flock : 
And oft apart his arms he toss'd. 
And often mutter'd " Lost ! lost I lost I* 
He was waspish, arch, and htherhe,' 
But well Lord Cranstotm served he • 
And he of his service was full fain ; 
For once he had been ta'en or slain, 

An it had not been for his ministry. 
All between Home and Hermitage, 
Talk'd of Lord Cranstoim's Goblin-Page. 

XXXIIL 
For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with hiin this elvish Page, 

To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes ; 
For there, beside oin- Ladye's lake, 
An offering he had sworn to make, 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command :' 

The trysting place was Newark lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain. 
And thither came John of Thirlestane, 
And thither came William of Deloraine ; 

They were three htmdred spears and three. 

I'll show yon now ; observe him, follow him ; 
But, once engaged, there you must stay and fix. 

It is observable that in the same play. Puff alludes to tht 
spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though "waspish, 
arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retainer U 
the lord, into whose service he had introduced liimself. Thii 
sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of thi 
diabolic cnaracter. Thus, in the romancfs of the Round 
Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself 
most zealously in tbe cause of virtue and religion, the friend 
and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wronf^, Aud 
the scourge of the inndels. 

' Sec Appendix, Note 2 R 



28 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cakto iii 


Through Douglas-bm-n, up Yarrow stream,' 


And that I might not sing of love ? — 


Tlieu- horses prance, theu- lances gleam. 


How could I to the dearest theme. 


They came to St. Mar_y's lake ere day ; 


That ever warm'd a minstrel's di-eam, 


But the chapel was void, and the B.aron away. 


So foul, so false a recreant prove ! 


They buin'd the chapel for very rage. 


How could I name love's very name. 


And cuised Lord Cranstoun's GobUn-Page. 


Nor wake my heiirt to notes of flame ! 


XXXIV. 


II. 


And now, m Br-uiksome's good green wood, 


In peace. Love times the shepherd's reed , 


is uiuler the .Tged oak he stood, 


In w.Ti-, he moimts the warrior's steed ; 


riie Bajjn's courser pricks liiseai's. 


In halls, in gay attu-e is seen ; 


As if a distant noise he heai-s. 


In hanJets, dances on the greea 


The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, 


Love rules the com-t, t)ie camp, the gi-ove. 


Anil sif^ns to tlie lovers to part and fly ; 


And men below, and saints above : 


No tune was then to vow or sigh. 


For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 


i"au- Margaret througli the hazel grove. 




Flew hke the startled cushat-dove :' 


IIL 


The Dw.arf the sthrup held and rein ; 


So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween. 


Vaulted tlie Knight on liis steed .amain, 


Wliile, pundermg deep the tender scene. 


And, pondering deep that niornhig's scene, 


He rode tlu'ough Br;uiksonie's liawtliorn greea 


Rode eastward thiough the lunvthorns green. 


But tlie page shouted wild and shi'ill. 




And scarce liis helmet coidd he don, 
■Wben downward from the shady liill 


^Vhile thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale. 


Tlie Winstrel's voice began to fail : 


A stately knight came pricldng on. 


Full slyly smiled the observant page, 


That wai-rior's steed, so dapple-gray, 


And gave the wither'd hand of age 


Was dark witli swe.at, and splashed with clay 


A goblet, erown'd with mighty wine, 


His armor red witli many a stam : 


The blood of Velez' scorched vme. 


He seem'd in such a weary plight, 


He raised the silver cup on high. 


As if he had ridden the hve-long night; 


And, wliile tlie big drop fiU'd his eye, 


For it was Wilham of Deloraine. 


Pray'd God to bless tlie Duchess long. 




And aU who clieer'd a son of song. 


IV. 


The attendmg maidens smil'd to see 


But no whit weary did he seem, 


How long, how deep, how zealously, 


Wlien, dancing m the sunny beam. 


The precious juice the Mhistrel quaff 'd ; 


He niark'd the crane on tlie B.aron's crest ;' 


And he, embolden'd by the drauglit. 


For liis ready spear was m liis rest. 


Look'd gayly back to them, and laugh'd. 


Few were tlie words, and stern and liigli, 


The cordial nectar of the bowl 


That mark'd tlie foemen's feudal hate ; 


Sweird Ills old veins, and cheer'd his soul ; 


For question fierce, and proud reply. 


A Uvelier, hghter prelude r.on. 


Gave signal soon of dh-e debate. 


Ere thus his tale again began. 


Their very coursers seem'd to know 




That e.ach was other's mortal foe. 




And snorted fire, when wheel'd around. 




To give each knight his vantage-ground. 


®i)c Ian of tlje £ast fllinstrcl. 


V. 

In rapid round the Baron bent ; 




CANTO THIRD. 


He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer ; 
The Drayer was to liis patron saint. 




I. 


Tlie sigh was to Iiis ladye fair. 


And said I that my limbs were old. 


Stout Deloraine nor sigh'd nor pray'd, 


And said I th.at my blood was cold, 


Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to aid ; 


And that my kindly fire was fled. 


But he stoop'd liis head, and couch'd hia speai; 


And my poor wither'd heai-t was dead. 


And spurr'd his steed to fuU career. 


• See notes on The Douglas Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, 


8 The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusioi 'o Uieir name, is t 


ol. iii. p. 3.— Ed. 


crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an empnatv 


Wo»d-pigeon. 


border motto, Thou shall want ere J viatt^ 



O'ANTO III 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



2* 



Thn meeting of these champions proud 


Would not yield to imchristen'd hand, 


Serm'd like the bursting thmider-cloud. 


TiU he smear'd the cover o'er 




With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 


VI. 


A moment then the volume spread. 


Stem -sras the dint the Borderer lent I 


And one short spell therein he read : 


The stately Baron backwards bent ; 


It had much of glamour' might. 


Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 


Could make a ladye seem a knight , 


And liis plumes went scattermg ou the gale ; 


Tlie cobwebs on a dungeon wall 


The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 


Seem tapestry m lordly hall ; 


Into a tliousand flinders flew. 


A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 


But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail. 


A sheeling' seem a palace large, 


Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail ; 


And youth seem age, and age seem youtb — 


ITirough shield, and jack, and acton, past. 


All was delusion, nought was truth.' 


Deep in. his bosom broke at last. — 




StiU sate the warrior saddle-fast, 


X. 


Till, stumbling in the mortal shock. 


He had not read another spell. 


Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 


Wlien on Iiis cheek a buffet fell. 


Hurl'd on a heap lay man and horsa 


So fierce, it stretch'd liim on the plain. 


The Baron onward pass'd his course ; 


Beside the wounded Deloraine. 


Nor knew— so giddy roll'd his brain — 


From the ground he rose dismay'd, 


His foe lay stretch'd upon the plain. 


And shook liis huge and matted head ; 




One word he mutter'd, and no more. 


vn. 


" Man of age, thou smitest sore I" — 


But when he rein'd his courser round, 


No more the Elfin Page durst try -« 


And saw his foeman on the ground 


Into the wondrous Book to pry ; 


Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 


The clasps, though smeared with Christ! in |jor« 


He bade his page to stanch the wound 


Shut faster than they were before. 


And there beside the warrior stay. 


He hid it underneath his cloak. — 


And tend him in his doubtful state. 


Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 


And lead him to Branksome castle-gate : 


I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 


His noble mind was inly moved 


It was not given by man alive.' 


For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 




• This shall thou do without delay : 


XL 


No longer here myself may stay ; 


Unwillingly liimself he address'd. 


TTnless the swifter I speed away, 


To do liis master's high behest : 


Bhort shrift -will be at my dying day." 


He lifted up the living corse. 




And laid it on the weary horse ; 


VIII. 


He led liim into Branksome Hall, 


Away m speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 


Before the beards of the warders all ; 


The Goblin Page behind abode ; 


And each did after swear and say. 


His lord's conmiand he ne'er withstood, 


There only pass'd a wain of hay. 


Though small his pleasure to do good; 


He took liim to Lord David's tower, 


As the corslet off he took. 


Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 


The dwarf espied the Mighty Book 1 


And, but that stronger spells were fpread. 


Much he marvell'd a knight of pride, 


And the door might not be opened, 


Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride :' 


He had laid liim on her very bed. 


He thought not to search or stanch the wound, 


Wliate'er he did of gramarye,* 


Until the secret he had found. 


Was always done maliciously ; 




He flung the warrior on the groun<l. 


IX. 


And the blood well'd freshly fi'om the wound 


The iron band, the iron clasp, 




Resisted long the elfin grasp : 


XIL 


For when the first he had undone, 


Ab he repass'd the outer court. 


It closed as he the next begun. 


He spied the fair young child at sport : 


Those iron clasps, that iron band, 


He thought to train him to the wood ; 


• 8m Appendix, Not* 8 Ik 


• A jhcpherd'a hnt. ' See Appendix, Note S M. 


' Mtcicftl dcluioa 


» Ibid. Note 3 N. • Magic 



BO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IlL 



For, at a word, be it understood, 


At cautious distance hoarsely bay'd, 


He wa3 always for ill, and never for good. 


But still in act to spring ; 


Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay 


When dash'd au archer through the glade, 


Led hiin forth to the woods to play ; 


And when he saw the hound was stay'd, 


On the drawbridge the warders stout 


He drew his tough bow-string ; 


Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 


But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy 1 




Ho I shoot not, Edward — 'Tis a boy 1" 


XIII. 




Bd led the boy o'er bank and fell, 


XVL 


Until they came to a woodland brook ; 


The speaker issued from the wood, 


The running stream dissolved the spell,' 


And check'd liis fellow's surly mood, 


And his own elvish shape he took. 


And quell'd the ban-dog's ire : 


Could he have had liis pleasure vilde, 


He was an EngUsh yeoman good, 


He had crippled the joints o f the noble child ; 


And bom in Lancashu-e. 


Or, with his fingers long and lean. 


Well could he hit a follow-deer 


Had strangled hun in fiendish spleen : 


Five hundred feet him fro ; 


But his awful mother he had in dread, 


With hand more true, and eye more clear 


And also his power was limited ; 


No archer bended bow. 


So he but scowl'd on the startled chUd, 


His coal-black hah", shorn round and close, 


And darted tlirough the forest wUd ; 


Set off his sun-bum'd face : 


The woodland brook he bounding cross'd. 


Old England's sign, St. George's cross, 


And laugh' d, and shouted, " Lost 1 lost 1 lost 1" 


His barret-cap did grace ; 




His bugle-horn himg by his side, 


XIV. 


All in a wolf-skin baldric tied ; 


Full sore amazed at the wondrous change, 


And his short falchion, sharp and clear, 


And frighten'd as a child might be, 


Had pierced the tlu-oat of many a deer. 


At the wild yell and visage strange, 




And the dark words of gramarye. 


XVIL 


The chUd, amidst the forest bower, 


His kirtle, made of forest green. 


Stood rooted like a lily flower ; 


Reach'd scantly to his knee ; 


And when at length, with trembling pace. 


And, at his belt, of arrows keen 


He sought to find where Branksome lay. 


A furbish'd sheaf bore he ; 


He fear'd to see that grisly face, 


His buckler, scarce in breadth a span. 


Glare from some thicket on liis way. 


No larger fence had he ; 


Thus, starting oft, he journey'd on. 


He never counted him a man. 


And deeper in the wood is gone, — 


Would strike below the knee ■' 


For aye the more he sought liis way, 


His slacken'd bow was in his hand, 


Tlie farther stiU he went astray, — 


And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band 


Until he heard the mountains round 




Ring to the baying of a hotmd. 


XVIIL 




He would not do the fan- child hji-m. 


XV. 


But held hun with Ms powerful arm, 


And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 


That he might neitlier fight nor flee , 


Comes nigher still, and nigher : 


For the Red-Cross spied he, 


Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, 


The boy strove long and violently. 


His tawny muzzle track'd the ground, 


" Now, by St. George," the ardier cries. 


And his red eye shot fire. 


" Edward, metliinks we have a prize ! 


Soon as the wilder'd child saw he. 


This boy's fair face, and com-age free. 


He flew at him right fm-iousUe. 


Show he is come of liigh degree." 


X ween you would have seen with joy 




The bearing of the gallant boy. 


XIX. 


When, worthy of his noble sire. 


" Yes ! I am come of high degree. 


His wet cheek glow'd 'tvrixt fear and ire 1 


For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 


He faced the blood-hound manfully. 


And if thou dost not set me free. 


And held his little bat on high ; 


False Sojithron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 


So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid. 


For Walter of Harden sliall come with speed. 


> See Appendix, Note 2 0. 


a Bee Appendii, Note 8 P 



•SANTO III. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



31 



And William o:' Doloraine, f;ood at need, 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; 
And if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, 
*'ll biTe thee liiuig'd to feed the crow 1" — 

XX. 

* Gramercy ior thy good will, fair boy I 
My miiul was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
Anu art the son of such a man. 
And ever comest to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good or- 
der ; 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Tliou'lt make them work upon the Border. 
Meantime be pleased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
Wheii we have taken thy father's eon." 

XXL 

Although the child was led away. 
In Branksome still he seem'd to stay. 
For so the Dwarf his part did play ; 
And, in the shape of that yoimg boy. 
He wrought the castle much onroy. 
The comrades of the yourg Pucleuch 
He pinch'd, and beat, ard rvertlirew ; 
Nay, some of them ho wci'iiigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire. 
And. as Sym Hiill stood by the fire. 
He lighted the match of his bandelier,' 
And wofully scorch'd tlie hackbuteer.' 
It may be luu'dly thouglit or said, 
Tlie mischief that the urchin made. 
Till many of the castle guess'd. 
That tile young Baron was possess'd ! 

* xxn. 

Well I ween the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd ; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 

Mv<ch she wonder'd to find him lie. 

On the stone threshold stretch'd along ; 

She thought some spirit of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; 
Because, despite her precept dread. 
Perchance be in the Book had read ; 
But the broken lance in his bosom stood. 
And it was eartldy steel and wood. 

1 Bandclter, belt for carrying ammQnitioD. 
> Hackbuteer, musketeer. 

6e6 Appendix, Note 2 Q,. 
• IbM. Note 3 R. 



XXIIL 

She drew tlie splinter from th» wound. 
And with a charm she stanch d the bloc<l •* 

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 
No longer by his couch she stood ; 

But she has ta'en the broken lance. 
And wasli'd it from the clotted gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.* 

William of Deloraine, m trance, 

Whene'er she turn'd it round and round 
Twisted as if she gall'd liis wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be whole man and sound. 
Within the com'se of a night and day. 

Full long^e toil'd; for she did rue 

Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV." 

So pass'd the day — the evening fell, 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm, 
Tlie stream was smooth, the dew was balm 
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower. 
Enjoy 'd and bless'd the lovely bom'. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd 
The hour of silence aud of rest. 
On the Iiigh tun'ct sitting lone. 
She waked at tunes the lute's soft tone ; 
Touch'd a wild note, and all betwtien 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. 
Her golden hair stream'd free from band, 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand, • 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
For lovers love the western star. 

XXV. 
Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
That rises slowly to her ken. 
And, spreading broad its wavering Ught, 
Shakes its loose tresses on the night i 
Is yon red glare the western star ? — 
0, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war I 
Scarce could she draw her tigbten'd treatu. 
For well she knew the fire of death ! 

XXV L 
Tlie Warder view'd it blazing strong. 
And blew his w.ar-note loud and long, 
TiU, at the high and haughty soimd. 
Rock, wood, and river rmig around 
The blast .alarm'd the festal hall, 
Aud startled forth the warriors all ; 

" As another illustration of the prodigious improvemeal 
which the style of the old romance is capable of receiving from 
a roor« liberal admixture of pathetic sentimenta and gentle 
afTeclioDs, we insert the following passage [Stanzas ixiv *jo 
ixvii.]. when? the etfect of the picture is finely a-ssiited by tlv 
contrast of itj two coniDanioents."— Jkffhet. 



92 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III 



Far downward, in the castle-yard, 


Each from each the signal caught ; 


Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 


Each after each they glanced to sight, 


And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd, 


As stars arise upon the night. 


Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost ; 


They gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,' 


And spears in wild disorder shook, 


Haunted by thp lonely earn ;' 


Xite reeds beside a frozen brook. 


On many a cau-n's° gray pjT.amid, 




Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 


xxvn. 


Till high Dunediji the blazes saw. 


The Seneschal, whose silver hair 


From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 


Was redden'd by the torches' glare. 


And Lotliian heard the Regent's order. 


Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 


That all should bowne' them for the Border 


And issued forth his mandates loud : — 


* XXX. 


" On Penchryst glows a bale' of fire, 


And three are kmdling on Priesthanghswire ; 
Eide out, ride out, 'J '^^ - 


_. The hvelong night in Branksome rang 
The ceaseless sound of steel ; 


The foe to scout ! 


The castle-bell, with backward clang. 


Mount, mount for Branksome,' every man 1 


Sent forth the larum peal ; 


TIiou, Todrig, warn the Jolinstone clan, 


Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 


Tliat ever are true and stout — 


Where massy stone and iron bar 


Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 


Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 


For when they see the blazing bale, 


■ To whelm the foe with deadly shower ; 


EUiots and Armstrongs never fail. — • 


Was frequent heard the changing guard. 


Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life I 


And watchword from the sleepless ward ; 


And warn the Warder of the strife. 


Wliile, wearied by the endless din. 


Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 


Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd within. 


Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise."* 






XXXL 


XXVIIL 


Tlie noble Dame, amid the broil. 


Fair Margaret, from the turret head. 


Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil. 


Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 


And spoke of danger with a smile ; 


Wilde loud the harness rung. 


Cheer'd the young knights, and council siige 


As to their seats, with clamor dread. 


Held with the chiefs of riper age. 


The ready horsemen sprung : 


No tidings of the foe were brought, 


And trampUng hoofs, and iron coats, 


Nor of his ntmibers knew they aught. 


And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 


Nor what in time of truce he sought. 


And out I and out I 


Some said, that there were thousands ten ; 


In hasty route. 


And others ween'd that it was naught 


The horsemen gallop'd forth ; 


But Leven clans, or Tynedale men. 


Dispersing to the south to scout. 


Who came to gather m black-mail ;" 


And east, and west, and north, 


And Liddesdale, with small avail. 


To view their coming enemies. 


Might drive them hglitly back agen. 


And warn their vassals and allies. 


So pass'd the anxious night away. 




And welcome was the peep of day. 


XXIX. 




The ready page, with hurried hand,* 




Awaked the need-fire's' slumbering brand. 




And ruddy blush'd the heaven : 




For a sheet of flame, from the turret high. 


Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 


Waved like a blood-flag on the sky. 


Applaud the Master of the Song ; 


All flaring and uneven ; 


And marvel much, in helpless age. 


And soon a sCore of fires, I ween. 


So hard should be his pilgrimage. 


From height, and hill, and cliff were seen ; 


Had he no friend — no daughter dear, 


Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 


His wandering toil to share and cheer ; 


» See Appendii, Note 2 S. 


ft J^eed-Jire, beacon. 


* Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the Scotts. 


ft Tarn, a monntain lake. 


t See Appendii, Note 2 T. 


' Earn, a Scottish eagle. • See Appeodil, Not* t 0. 


• "We absolu »Iy iee the fires kindling, one after another, in 


ft Bowne, make ready. 


km following aaimated detcription." — Annual Review, 1804. 


to Protection money exacted by freebooten. 



DANT<J IV. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



3« 



No son to be liis fatlier's stay, 
And guide him on the rugged way ? 
" Ay, once he had — but he was dead 1" — ■ 
Upon the harp he stoojj'd liis head, 
And busied himself the strings withal, 
I'o hide the tear that fain would fall, 
fn solemn measure, soft and slow. 
Arose a father's notes of woe.' 



€l)c Can of t\)t Cast JUiustrel. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Sweet Teviot 1 on thy silrer tide 
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more , 

No longer steel-clad warriors ride 
Along thy wild and wiUow'd shore -^ 

Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, 

All, all is peaceful, all is still, 
.. As if thy waves, since Time was born, 

Since first they roU'd upon the Tweed,' 

Had only heard the shepherd's reed. 
Nor started at the bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike the tide of Imman tune. 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
Betains each grief, retains each crime 

Its earliest course was doom'd to know ; 
And, darker as it downward bears, 
Is stain'd with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebb'd with me. 
It stiU reflects to Memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of gi-eat Dundee.* 

1 '* Nothing can excel the simple concise pathoa of the 
flose of this Canto — nor the touching picture of the Bard when, 
with assumed business, he tries to conceal real sorrow. How 
well the poet understand? the art of contrast — and how judi- 
tiously it is exerted in the exordium of the next Canto, where 
our mourning sympathy is exchanged for the thrill of pleas- 
ure!" — Anna Sewarp. 

1 " What luxury of sound in thialine !"— Anna Seward. 

3 Orig • -" Since first tbey rolled their way to Tweed." 

* The V'scoiHit of DunOTe, slain in the battle of Killicrankie. 

6 *' Some of the most iliteresting passages of the poem are 
those in which the author drops the business of his story to 
moralize, and apply to his own situation the images and reflec- 
tions it liaa suggo^ed. After concluding one Canto with an 
account of the warlike array which was prepared for the re- 
ception of tlie English invaders, he opens the succeeding one 
with the following beantiful verses, (Stanzas i, and ii.) 

•' There are several other detached passages of equal beauty ,8 

No one will jlissent from this, who rends, in particular, the first two 
■ nd haart'^lowidf; stanzas of Caiuo VI.— now, b; osaocialioD of the past, 
tailereu the more alTectin^ -Ed 



Why, when the voUejong musket play'd 
Against the bloody Highland blade, 
Why was not I beside him laid ! — 
Enougli — he died the death of fame ; 
Enough— he died with conquering Grieme,* 

III. 
Now over Border, dale and fell. 

Full wide and far was terror spread ; 
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell. 

The peasant left his lowly shed.' 
The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 
And maids^nd matrons dropp'd the tear, 
While ready warriors seized the spear. 
From Braiiksome's towers, the watchman's oyC 
Dun wreaths of tiistant smoke can spy, 
Which, curUng in the rising stm, 
Show'd southern ravage was begim.' 

. IV. 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried— 
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood -. 
Watt Tiulinn," from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood.'" 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 
It was but last St. Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night. 
But fled at morning : well they knew. 
In vam he never twang'd the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower. 
That drove liim from his Liddel tower ; 
And, by my faith," the gate-ward said, 
" I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raiti"" 

V. 
While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman " 
Enter'd the echoing barbican. 

which might be quoted in proof of the effect which is produced 
by this dramatic interference of l^e narrator." — Jefprbt. 
' See Appendix, Note 2 V. » 

B Ibid. Note 2 W. • Ibid. Note 2 X. 

10 *' And when they cam to Branksome ha 

They shouted a' baith loud and hie, 

Till up and spak him aold Buccleuch, 

Said — ■' Whae's this brings the fraye to me t'.^ 
' It's I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dodhead, 
And a harried man I think I be,' " &c. 

Border Jtlinstreisy, vol. ii. p. 8. 

11 An inroad commanded by the Warden in person. 

w " The dawn displays the smoke of ravaged fielda, andshep* 
herds, with their flocks, flying before the storm. Tiding! 
brought by a tenant of the family, not used to seek a shelter 
on light occasions of alarm, disclose the strength and objeo^ 
of the invaders. This man is a character of a lower and of ■ 
rougher cast than Deloraine. The portrait of the rude w 
tainer is sketched with the same masterly hand. Here, again, 
Mr. Scott has trod in the footsteps of the old romancers, wh« 



^ 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IV, 



He led a small and shaggy nag, 
That through a bog, from hag to hag,' 
Coold bound like any Billhope stag.^ 
It bore his wife and children twain ; 
A half-clothed serf was all their train; 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, 
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,* 
Laugh'd to her friends among the crowd. 
He was of stature passing tall. 
But sparely form'd, and lean withal; 
A batter'd morion on his brow ; 
A leather jack, as fence enow, 
On liis broad shoulders loosely hung ; 
A border axe beliind was slung ; 

His spear, six Scottish eUs in length, 
Seem'd newly dyed with gore ; 

TTia shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, 
His hardy partner bore. 

VL 

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 

The tidings of the English foe : — 

" Belted Will Howard ' is marching here. 

And hot Lord Dacre,' with many a spear. 

And all the German hackbut-men,' 

Who have long lain at Askerten : 

They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour. 

And burn'd my little lonely tower : 

The fiend receive their souls therefor I 

It had not been burnt this year and more. 

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright. 

Served to guide me on my flight ; 

But I was chased the livelong night. 

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Graeme, 

Fast upon my traces came. 

Until I tum'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 

And shot their liorses in the bog. 

Slew Fergus with my lance outright — 

I had him long at high despite : 

He drove my cows last Fastern's night." 

VII. 
Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale ; 

•anfine not themeelves to the display of a few personages who 
■tlilk over the stage on stately stilts, bat Dsnally reflect all 
Uw varietiea of character that marked the era to which they 
bsloog. The interesting example of manners thus preserved 
lA as ii not the only advantage which results from this pecu- 
liar ttructurt of thair plan. It is this, amongst other circum- 
■ ances, wh ih enables them to carry us along with them, 
OdJer I know not what species of fascination, and to make 
Ds 18 it were, credulous spectators of their most extravagant 
icends. In this they seem to resemble the painter, who, in 
the delineation of a battle, while ne places the adverse heroes 
of the day combating in the front, taJies care to fill his back- 
ground with subordinate figures, whose appearance adds at 
once both spirit and an air of probability to the scene.*' — 
CrUical Review 1805. 
' Tiu broken ground in a \i3p. 



As far as they could judge by ken. 

Three homrs would bring to Teviot's strttod 
Three thousand armed Englishmen — 

Meanwhile, fuU many a warlike band 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade. 
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. 

There was saddling and mounting in haste, 

There was pricking o'er moor and lea ; 
He that was last at the trysting-place 

Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye." 

VIII. 
From fair St. Mary's silver wave, 

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height 
His ready lances Thirlestane brave 

Array'd beneath a banner bright. 
The treasured fleur-de-Iuce he claims. 
To wreath his shield, since royal James, 
Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave. 
The proud distinction grateftU gave, 

For faith 'mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone. 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars ; , 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn. 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence liis higli motto shines reveal'd — 
" Ready, aye ready," for the field.' 

IX. 
An aged Knight, to danger steel'd. 

With many a moss-trooper, came on ; 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield. 

Without the bend of Miu-dieston.'" 
Wide lay liis lands round Oakwood tower, 
And wide round haimted Castle-Ower : 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood. 
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood ; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plimder'd England low ; 
TTia bold retainers' daily food. 
And bought with danger, blows, and blojd. 
Marauding chief ! his sole dehght 

' See Appendix, Note 2 1 . 

s Bondsman. 

* As the Borderers were indiiferent about the furnituie of 
tkeir habitations, so much exposed to be burned and plan 
dered, they wsre proportionally aiLxious to display splendor to 
decorating and ornamenting their females. — See LssLRT dt 
Moribus Limitaneorum. 

s See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 

» Ibid. Note 3 A. 

' Musketeers. See Appendix, Note 3 B. 

3 The four last lines of stanza vii. ar« not in the lat CditJM 
—Ed. 

8 See Appendix, Note 3 C 

>o Ibid. Note 3 D. 



CANTO IT. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



in 



The moonlight raid, thr morniBg fight ; 
Not even the Flower of Tiurow'3 charms, 
In youth, might tame his rage for Jirms ; 
And still, in age, he spm-n'd at rest, 
And still his brows tlie helmet press'd, 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow ; 

Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band ; 

A braver knight than Hardens lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand." 



Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,' 

Came trooping down the TodshawhiU ; 
By the sword they won their land. 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale. 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — 
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair. 
The Beattisons were liis vassals there. 
The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood. 
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude ; 
High of heart, and haughty of word. 
Little they reck'd of a tame Ucge lord. 
The Earl into fair Eskdale came. 
Homage and seignory to claim ; 
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot* he sought, 
Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vass,al ought." 
— " Dear to mc is my boimy white steed, 
Oft hii-s he help'd me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." — 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
I iU so highly blazed tlie Beattisons ire. 
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en, 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied botli whip and spur. 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale mmr ; 
And it fell down a we.Try wight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksomc gate. 

XI. 

The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke, 
Saying — " Take tliese traitors to thy yoke 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, 
AH Eskdide I'll sell thee, to have and hold 
Beshrew thy heai-t, of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; 

1 See, besides the note on this stanza, one in the Border 
Mlnslrevsy, vol. ii. p. JO, respecting Wat of Harden, the Au- 
thor's ancestor. 

A latirical piece, entitled '* The Town Eclogne,** which 
Bade niQch noise in Edinburgh shortlj after the appearance of 
lie Minstrelsy, has these lines; — 

" A modem author spends a hnndred leaves, 
To prove his ancestors notorious thieves " — Kn 



But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone. 

For he lent me his horse to escape u])on." 

A glad man then was Branksome bold, 

Down he flung him tlie purse of gold ; 

To Eskdale soon he epmr'd amain, 

And with hun five Inmdred riders lias ta'ea 

He left his merrymen in the midst of the liill, 

And bade them htild them close and still ; 

And alone he wended to the plain. 

To meet with tlie Galliard and all his tram. 

To Gilbert the GaUiard thus he said : — 

" Know thou me for thy Uege-lord and head • 

Deal not witli me as -ft'ith Morton tame. 

For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

Give me in peace my heriot due, 

Tliy bonny wliite steed, or thou shalt rue. 

If my horn I tliree times wind, 

Eskdale shall long Iiave the sound in mind." 

XIL 
Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ; 
" Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Galhard's lot. 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, 
With rusty spur and miry birot." — 
He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse. 
That the dun deer started at fair Craikcrfiss ; 
He blew again so loud and clear. 
Through the gray mountain-mist there did lancet 

appear ; 
And the third blast r.ang with such a din. 
That the echoes answer'd from PentouE-linn, 
And all his riders came lightly in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock. 
When saddles were emptied, and lances broke 
For each scornful word the Galliard had said, 
A Beattison on the field wiLs laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew. 
And he bore the Galliard through and through , 
Where the Beattisons' blood mtx'd with the rill, 
Tlie Galliard's-Haiigh men call it stili 
The Scotts have scatter'd th" Beattison elan. 
In Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
The valley of Eske, fi-om the mouth to the souivie 
Was lost !ind won for that bomiy whita Lt-rse 

xin. 

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, 
And warriors more than I may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindliaugh-swair,' 

3 Stanzas x. xi. xii. were not in the first Edition. 

9 See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

The fendal saperior, in certain cases, was entitled t« 
best hoise of the vafsal, in came of UerioL, or Herezeld, 

b This and the three folio wing lines are not in Ihe fint eAl 
tion. — Ed. 



36 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. .-. canto i? 


From Woodliouselie to Chester-glen. 


And though the womid soon heal'd again. 


TroopM man auJ horse, and bow and spear ; 


Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain ; 


Theii- gathering word was Belleudeu.' 


And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast. 


And better hearts o'er Border sod 


Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 


To siege or rescue never rode. 




The Ladye mark'd the aids come in, 


XVL 


And liigli her heart of pride arose : 


Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, 


She bade her youthful son attend. 


That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood 


That he might know liis father's friend. 


And martial murmurs, from below. 


And learn to face his foes. 


Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. 


' Th3 boy is ripe to look on war ; 


Through the dark wood, iu mingled tone, 


I saw him di'aw a cross-bow stiff, 


Were Border pipes and bugles blown ; 


Anil his true arrow struck afar 


The coursers' neighing he could-ken. 


The raven's nest upon the cliff; 


A measured tread of marching men ; 


The red-cri>ss, on a southern breast, 


While broke at tunes the solenm hum, 


la broader than the raven's nest : 


The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum ; 


Thou, 'Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to 


And banners tall, of crhnson sheen. 


wield, 


Above the copse appear ; 


And o'er him hold his father's shield." 


And, gUstening tlirough the hawthorns 


^ 


green. 


XIV. 


Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 


■Well may you thmk, the wily page 




Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 


XVIL 


He counterfeited cliildish fear, 


Light forayers, first, to view the ground, 


And shi-iek'd, and shed fuU many a tear, 


Spurr'd their fleet com"sers loosely round ; 


And mo:m'd and plain'd in manner wild. 


Behind, in close array, and fast. 


The attendants to the Ladye told. 


The Kendal archers, all m green, 


Some fiiiry, sure, had changed the cliild. 


Obedient to the bugle blast. 


That wont to be so free and bold. 


Advancing from the wood were seen. 


Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 


To back and guard tlie archer band. 


She blush'd blood-red for very shame : — 


Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand : 


" Hence 1 ere the clan his faintness view ; 


A hardy race, on Irtliing bred, 


Hence with the weakUng to Buccleuch! — 


With kirtles white and crosses red. 


Watt Tinlmn, thou shalt be liis guide 


Array'd beneath the banner tall 


To Eangleburn's lonely side. — 


That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer 'd wall ; 


Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line. 


And minstrels, as they march'd m order. 


That coward should e'er be sou of mine 1" 


Play'd, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on (h( 




Border." 


XV. 




A heavy task Watt Tinlmn had, 


XVIIL 


To guide the couliterfeited lad. 


Behind the English bill and bow. 


Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 


The mercenaries, firm and slow. 


Of that ill-omeu'd elfish freight. 


Moved on to fight, in dark ai-ray. 


He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, 


By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 


Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 


Who brought the band from distant Rhmo, 


It cost "Watt Tinhnn miclde toil 


And sold their blood for foreign pay. 


To diive lum but a Scottish mile ; 


The camp their home, their law the sword, 


But as a shallow brook they cross'd. 


They knew no country, own'd no lord :' 


The elf. amid the running stream. 


Tliey were not arm'd Uke England's sons, 


His figure changed, like form in dream. 


But bore the levin-dartmg guns ; 


And fled, and shouted, " Lost 1 lost 1 lost 1" 


Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er. 


Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd. 


And morsing-horns' and scarfs they wore • 


But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 


Each better knee was bared, to aid 


Whistled from startled Tmlinn's yew. 


The warriors in the escalade ; 


And pierced his s^pulder through and through 


All, as they march'd, m rugged tongue, 


Although the imp might not be ahiin. 


Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 


1 See Appendix, Note 3 F. 


a See Appendix, Note 3 G. » Powder-fla!k» 



flANTO IV. 



THE LAY OB THE LAST MINSTREL. 



XIX. 

But louder still the clamor grew, 

And louder still the minstrels blew, 

When, froiii beneath the greenwood tree, 

Rode forth Lord Howard's cliivalry ; 

His men-at-arms, with glaive ;md spe.or. 

Brought up the battle's glittering reiir : 

There ra.any a youthful knight, full keen 

To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ; 

With favor in liis crest, or glove, 

llemorial of liis ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array. 

Till full their lengthen'd lines display ; 

Then call'd a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, " St. George, for merry England I" 

XX. 

Now every Enghsh eye, intent 
On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The 6tr.aiiiing harsh of each cross-bow ; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan ; 
Falcon and culver,'* on each tower. 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shosver ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying wliirls of sable smoke, 
Where upon tower and turret head. 
The seetliing pitch and molten lead 
Reek'd like a witch's caldron red. 
■Wliile yet they gaze, the bridges fall. 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoiiry Seneschal. 

XXI. 
Armed he rode, all save the head. 
His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread ; 
IJnbroke by age, erect his seat, 
He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 
Forced him, with chasten'd fire, to prance. 
And, high curvetting, slow advance : 
In sign of truce, his better hand 
Display'd a peeled willow wand ; 
His squire, attending in the rear. 
Bore liigh a gauntlet on a spear.' 
■Wlien they espied him riding out, 
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 
Sped to the front of their .array. 
To hear what this old knight should say. 

xxn. 

" Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 

1 *' The Btanzas, describing the march of the English forces, 
lod the InvestitQie of the castle of Branxholni, display a great 
knowledge of ancient costume, as well as a most pictnresqne 
and lively pictare of feudal warfare." — Critical Review. 

I Ancient pieces of artillery. 

* A X^o^t npi n a lance was the emblem of faitli among t'je 



■Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, 

In hostile guise ye d.are to ride. 

With Kend.al bow, and Gilsland brand. 

And all yon mercenary band, 

Upon the botmds of fair Scotland ! 

My Ladye reads you swith retm-n; 

Antl, if but one poor straw you biu'n. 

Or do our towers so much molest. 

As scare one swallow from her nest, 

St. Mary I but we'll light a br.and 

Shall warm your heartlis in Cumberland."— 

XXIIL 
A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, 
But calmer Howard took the word ; 
" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall. 
Our pursuiviint-at-arms sh.all show 
Both why we came, and when we go." — 
The message sped, the noble Diime 
To the wall's outward circle came ; 
Each chief around lean'd on liis spear, 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd. 
The lion argent deck'd liis breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
sight to meet a mother's vie'^ ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made. 
And thus his master's will he said : — 

XXIV. 
" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see, 
AU through the Western Wardem-y, 
Your law-contenming kinsmen ride, 
And burn and spoil the Border side ; 
And iU beseems your r.auk and bu-th 
To m.alie yom- towers a fiemens-firth.' 
We claim from thee William of Deloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason' pain. 
It was but last St. Cuthhert's even 
He prick'd to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harried' the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew liis brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widow'd Dame 
These restless riders may not tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two htmdred of my master's powers. 
Or straight they soimd their warrisoo,' 
And storm and spoil thy garrison : 

ancient Borderers, who weT« wont, when any one broke bk 
word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithle« 
villain at the first Border meeting. This ceremony was muok 
dreaded. See Lesley. 

* An asylam for outlaws. ^ See Appendix, Note 3 H 

« Plundered. ' Note of assault. 



»S SCOTTS POEllCAL WORKS. oanio jt 


And tliia fair boy, to London led. 


XXVIIL 


Sliall good King Edward's page be bred." 


" Ah ! noble Lords !" he breathless said. 




' What treason has your march betray'd • 


XXV. 


What make you here, from aid so far. 


He teased — and loud the boy did cry, 


Before you walls, around you war ? 


And stretch'd hh little arms on high ; 


Your foemen triumph in the thought, 


Implored for aid each well-known face, 


That in the toils the lion's caught. 


And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 


Already on dark Ruberslaw 


A moment clumged that Ladye's cheer, 


The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw ;* 


Gush'd to her eye the unbidden tear • 


The lances, waving in his train. 


She gazed upon the leaders round, 


Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; 


And dark and sad each warrior frown'd ; 


And on the Liddel's northern strand. 


Then, deep witliin her sobbing breast 


To bar retreat to Cumberland, 


She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest ; 


Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good. 


Unalter'd and collected stood, 


Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 


And thus replied, in dauntless mood ; — 


And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 




Have to proud Angus come ; 


XXVI. 


And all the Merse and Lauderdale 


" Say to your Lords of high emprize,' 


Have risen with haughty Home. 


Who war on women and on boys. 


An exile from Northumberland, 


That either William of Deloraine 


In Liddesdale I've wander'd long ; 


Win cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,' 


But still ray heart was with merry Eiig> 


Or else be will the combat take 


land. 


'Gainst Musgrave, for liis honor's sake. 


And cimnot brook my country's wrong ; 


No knight m Cumberland so good. 


And hard I've spurr'd all night, to show 


But WiUiam may count with him kin and blood. 


The mustermg of the coming foe." 


Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,' 




When English blood swell'd Ancram's ford ;* 


XXIX. 


And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight, 


" And let them come 1" fierce Dacre cried ; 


And bai-e him ably in the flight. 


" For soon you crest, my father's pride, 


Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. 


That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 


For the young hen- of Branksorae's line, 


And waved in gales of Galilee, 


God be his aid, and God be mine ; 


From Branksome's highest towers display'd, 


Through me no friend sliall meet his doom ; 


Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid 1 — 


Here, while I live, no foe finds room. 


Level each harquebuss on row ; 


Tlien, if thy Lords their pi>rpose urge, 


Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 


Take our defiance loud and high ; 


Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry. 


Our slogan is theu- lyke-wake' dirge. 


Dacre for England, wm or die !" — 


Om- moat, the griive where they shall lie." 






XXX. 


XXVIL 


" Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hnar, 


Proud she look'd round, applause to claim — 


Nor deem my words the words of fear : 


Then lighten'd Tliirlestane's eye of flame ; 


For who, m field or foray slack. 


His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 


Saw the bliinche lion e'er fall back 1' 


Pensils and pennons wide were flung. 


But thus to risk our Border flower 


To heaven the Border slogan rung 


In strife against a kingdom's power. 


".St. Mary for the young Buccleuch 1" 


Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands thre«^ 


The EngUsh war-cry answer'd wide. 


Certes, were desperate poUcy. 


And forwaril bent each southern spear ; 


Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 


Each Kendal .archer made a stride, 


Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 


And drew the bowstring to his ear ; 


Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine' 


Each minstrel's w.ar-note loud was blown ; — 


In single fight, and, if he gain. 


But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown. 


He gains for us ; but if he's cross'd. 


A horseman gallop'd from the rear. 


'Tis but a single warrior lost : 


* Orig.^" Say lo iJty Lords .'»f high emprize.** 


5 Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to intCTKAU 


See Appends, Note 3 I. ' Ibid. Mots 3 K. 


• Weapon-schaw, the military array of a county. 


Ibid Note 3 L. 


' See Appendii, Note 3 M. 8 Ibid. Note 3 M. 



CANTO IV. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 3( 


The rest, retreatmg as they came, 


XXXIV. 


A.Toid defeat, and death, and shame." 


I know right well, that, in their lay, 




Full many minstrels sing and say, 


XXXI. 


Such combat should be made on horse, 


Ill could tht haughty Dacre brook 


On foaming steed, in full career. 


His brother Warden's sage rebuke ; 


With brand to aid, when as the speai 


And yet his forward step he staid, • 


Should shiver in the course : 


And slow and sullenly obey'd. 


But he, the jovial Harper,' taught 


But ne'er aj,-am the Border side 


Me, yet a youth, how it was fought. 


Did these two lords in friendship ride ; 


In guise which now I say ; 


And this slight discontent, men say. 


He knew each ordinance and clause 


Cost blood upon another day. 


Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-Uwc,' 




In the old Douglas' day. 


XXXII. 


He brook'd not, he, that scofiing tongL^ 


The pursuivant-at-arms again 


Should tax his minstrelsy with vrrong, 


Before the castle took his stand ; 


Or call his song untrue : 


His trumpet call'd, with p.irleying strain. 


For this, when they the goblet plied, 


The leaders of the Scottish band ; 


And such rude taunt had chafed his pride. 


And he defied, in Musgrave's right, 


The Bard of Reull he slew. 


Stout Deloraine to single fight ; 


On Teviot's side, in fight they stood. 


A gauntlet at their feet he laid, 


And tuneful hands were stain'd with blood ; 


And thus the terms of fight he said : — 


Where stUl the thorn's white branches wav« 


" If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 


Memorial o'er liis rival's grave. 


Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 




Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's 


XXXT. 


Lord, 


Why should I teU the rigid doon. 


Shall hostage for his clan remain : 


That drugg'd my master to his toii . , 


If Deloraine foil good Musgi'ave, 


How Ouscnam's maidens tore their hair, 


The boy his Uberty shall have. 


Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, 


Howe'er it falls, the EngUsh band. 


And wrung their hands for love of him. 


Unliarming Scots, by Scots unliarm'd. 


Who died at Jedwood Ail- ? 


In peaceful march, like men unarm' d. 


He died ! — his scholars, one by toe, 


Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 


To the cold silent grave are gone • 




And I, alas I survive alone, 


xxxm. 


To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 


(Jnconscious of the near relief, 


And grieve that I shall hear no more 


The proffer pleased each Scottish chief. 


The strains, with envy heard hetoit,, 


Thongh much the Ladye sage gainsay'd ; 


For, with my minstrel brethren &>«, 


For though their hearts were brave and 

<ru9, 
FroDi Jedwood's recent sack they knew 


My jealousy of song is dead. 




Bow tardy was the Regent's aid : 


He paused : the listening dames again 


And you may guess the noble Dame 


Applaud the hoary Minstrel's straiL. 


Durst not the secret prescience own, 


With many a word of kindly cheej, — 


Sprung from the art she might not name, 


In pity half, and half sincere, — 


By which the coming help was known. 


MarveU'd the Duchess how so well 


Closed was the compact, and agreed 


His legendary song could tell — 


That lists should be enclosed with speed, 


Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 


Beneath the castle, on a lawn : 


Of feuds, whose memory was not ; 


They fix'd the morrow for the strife, 


Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 


On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 


Of towers, which harbor now the hare ; 


At the foxu"th hour from peep of dawn ; 


Of manners, long since changed and gone ; 


Wheu Deloraine, from sickness freed, 


Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 


Or else a champion in his stead, 


So long have slept, that fickle Fame 


Should for himself and chieftain stand. 


Had blotte i from her rolls their name. 


Agalut stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 


And twined round some new minion's head 


> See Appendix Note 3 O. 


> See Appendii, Note 3 P. 



to SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK?. canto y 


The fading wreath for which they bled ; 


Mourns e'er the field he heap'd with dead , 


£n 8O0th, 'twas strange, tliis old man's verse 


Mounts the wUd blast that sweeps amaiii. 


Could call them from their marble hearse. 


And shrieks along the battle-plnin 




The Chief, whose antique crownlet long 


The Harper smiled, well-pleaaed ; for ne'er 


StiU sparkled in the feudal song. 


Was flattery lost on poet's ear : 


Now, from the mountain's misty thrj^se 


A simple race 1 they waste their toil 


Sees, in the tlianedom once his own, 


For the vain tribute of a smile ; 


His ashes undistinguish'd he, 


E'en when in age their flame erpires. 


His place, his power, his memory oie : 


Hei dulcet breath can fan its fires : 


His groans the lonely caverns fill. 


rheir drooping fancy wakes at praise, 


His tears of rage impel t'ue rill : ' 


And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. 


All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrung, 




Their name unknown, their praise uusunp 


Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, 




And thus his tale continued ran. 


in. 




Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 




The terms of truce were scarcely made. 
When they could spy, from Branksoi^e's iowtsii, 




^e Cag of tl)c Cast Jllinstrel. 


The advancing march of martial powers. 

Thick clouds of dust afar appear'ii. 

And trampUng steeds were faintly heard ; 




CANTO FIFTH. 


Bright spears," above the columns dun, 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 




I. 


And feudal banners fair display'd 


Call it not vain : — they do not err, 


The bands that moved to Branksome'a aid. 


Who say, that when the Poet dies, 




Mute Nature mourns her worshipper. 


IV. 


And celebrates his obsequies : 


Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 


Who say, tall cliif, and cavern lone. 


From the fair Middle Marches cam a , 


For the departed Bai-d make moan ; 


Tlie Bloody Heart blazed in the van. 


That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 


Announcing Douglas, dreaded name 1' 


That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 


Vails not to toll what steeds did spurn," 


Through his loved groves that breezes sigh. 


Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne' 


And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 


Theu- men in battle-order set ; 


And rivers teach their rushing wave 


And Swinton laid the lance in rest. 


To murmur dirges round his grave. 


That tamed of yore the sparkling cr ist 




Of Clarence's Plantagenet.' 


II. 


Nor list I say what hundreds more. 


Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 


From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 


Those things inanimate car mourn ; 


And Tweed's fair borders, to the war. 


But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 


Beneath the crest of Old Dimbar, 


le vocal with the plaintive wail 


And Hepburn's mingled banners coiu^, 


Of those, who, else forgotten long, 


Down the steep mountain glittering far, 


Lived in the poet's faithfid song. 


And shouting still, " A Home ! a Home 1'" 


And, with the poet's parting breath. 




Whose memory feels a second death. 


V. 


The Maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 


Now sqiure and knight, from Branksome sent, 


That love, true love, should be forgot. 


On many a courteous message went ; 


From rose and hawthorn sliakes the tear 


To every cliief and lord they paid 


Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier : 


Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 


The phantom Knight, his glory fled. 


And told them, — how a truce was made, 


» ' rig. — " Spear-hcads above the colamnB dun.**— Ed. 


* Sir David Home of Wedderbame. who was slam in tht 


' See Appendix, Nots 3 ft. 


fatal battle of Flodden, left seven sons by his wife, Isabel 


> In the fiist edition we read^ 


daughter of Hoppringle of Galashiels (now Pringle of Whit* 


*' Vaila not to tell what har.dreda more 


bank). They were called the Seven Spears of Wedde» 


From the rich Meree and Lammermore," &c. 


bnme. 


The lines on Wedderburne and Swinton were inserted in 


» See Appendix, Note 3 R. 


to second edition. — Ed. 


« Ibid. Note 3 S 



«Ajno V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 41 


And how a day of fight was ta'en 


Had found a bloody sheath. 


'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ; 


'T\vixt truce and war, such sudden change 


And how the Ladye pray'd them dear, 


Was not infrequent, nor held strange. 


That all would stay the fight to see, 


In the old Border-day ;' 


And deign, in love and courtesy, 


But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 


To taste of Branksome cheer. 


In peaceful merriment sunk down 


Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, 


The sun's declining ray. 


Were England's noble Lords forgot 




Himself, the hoary Seneschal 


VIU. 


Ro<le forth, in seemly terms to call 


The bhthsome signs of wassel gay 


Those gidlant foes to Branksome Hall. 


Decay'd not with the dying day ; 


Accepted Howard, than whom knight 


Soon through the latticed windows tall 


Was never dubb'd, more bold in fight ; 


Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 


Nor, when from war and armor free, 


Divided square by shafts of stone, 


More famed for stately courtesy : 


Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 


But angry Dacre rather chose 


Nor less the gilded rafters rang 


In his pavilion to repose. 


With meiTy harp and beakers' clang : 




And frequent, on the darkening plain, 


VL 


Iioud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 


Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask. 


As bands, their stragglers to regain, 


How these two hostile armies met ? 


Give the shrill watchword of their clan ; 


Deeming it were no easy task 


And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 


To keep the tmce which here was set ; 


Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. 


Wliere martial spnits, all on fire, 




Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 


IX. 


By mutual inroads, mutual blows. 


Less frequent heard, and fainter still, 


By habit, and by nation, foes. 


At length the various clamors died : 


Tliey met on Teviot's strand ; 


And you miglit hear, from Branksome hill. 


They met and sate them mingled down, 


No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 


Without a threat, without a frown. 


Save when the changing sentinel 


As brothers meet in foreign land : 


The challenge of his watch could tell ; 


The hands, the spear that lately grasp'd. 


And save, where, through the dark profound. 


Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd. 


The clanging axe and hammer's sound 


Were interchanged in greetmg dear ; 


Rung from the nether lawn ; 


Visors were raised, and faces shown. 


For many a busy hand toil'd there. 


And many a friend, to friend made known, 


Strong pales to shape, and beams to square.' 


Partook of social cheer. 


The lists' dread barriers to prepare 


Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 


Against the morrow's dawn. 


With dice and draughts some chased the 




day. 


X 


And some, with many a merry shout. 


Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 


In riot, revelry, and rout. 


Despitq the Dame's reproving eye ; 


Pursued the foot-ball play.' 


Nor mark'd she, as she left her seat. 




FuU many a stifled sigh ; 


VII. 


For many a noble warrior strove 


Yet, be it known, had bugles blown. 


To win the Flower of Teviot's love. 


Or sign of war been seen. 


And many a bold ally. — 


TLose bands, so fair together ranged. 


With throbbing head and amrious baart. 


I".: Je hands, so frankly interchanged. 


All m her lonely bower apart. 


Had dyed with gore the green : 


In broken sleep she lay : 


Hie merry shout by Teviot-side 


By times, from silken couch she rose ; 


Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, 


While yet the banner'd hosts repose. 


And in the gioan of death ; 


She view'd the dawning day : 


And whingers,' now m friendship bare, 


Of all the himdreds sunk to rest, 


The social meal to part and share. 


First woke the loveUest and the best. 


> See Appcndir, Note 3 T. 


> See Appendii, Note 3 U. Ubid. NMalV 


a A sort of knife or poniard. 
6 


» This line is not in the first edition. 



42 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. / cafto » 


XL 


\ 

The heart of them that loved so welL 


She gazed upon the inner court, 


True love's the gift which God has given 


Which in the tower's tall shadow lay ; 


To man alone beneath the heaven : 


Where courser's clang, and stamp, and snort, 


It is not fantasy's hot fire. 


Had rimg the livelong yesterday ; 


Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; 


Now still as death ; till stalVinfj slow, — 


It liveth not in fierce desire. 


The jingling spurs annovmced his tread, — 


With dead desire it doth not die; 


A stately warrior pass'd below ; 


It is the secret sympathy. 


But when he raised his plumed head — 


The sUver link,' the silken tie. 


Blessed Mary ! can it be ? — 


Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. 


Secure, as if m Ousenam bowers, 


In body and in soul can bind. — 


He walks through Branksome's hostile towers, 


Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 


With fearless step and free. 


To tell you of the approaching fight. 


She dared not sign, she dared not speak — 




Oh ! if one page's slumbers break. 


XIV. 


His blood the price must pay ! 


Then- warmng blasts the bugles blew, 


Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears. 


The pipe's shrill port' aroused each clan; 


Not Margaret's yet more precious tears. 


In haste, the deadly strife to view. 


Shall buy his life a day. 


The trooping warriors eager ran : 




Thick round the Usts their lances stooi^ 


XIL 


like blasted pines in Ettrick wood ; 


Yet was Ms hazard small ; for well 


To Brauksome many a look they threw 


You may bethink you of the spell 


The combatants approach to view. 


Of that sly urchin page ; 


And bandied many a word of boast. 


This to his lord he did impart. 


About the knight each favor'd most. 


And made him seem, by glamour art. 




A knight from Hermitage. 


XV. 


Unchallenged thus, the warder's post. 


Meantime full anxious was the Dame ; 


The court, unchallenged, thus he cross'd. 


For now arose disputed claim. 


For all the vassalage : 


Of who should fight for Deloraine, 


But ! what magic's quaint disguise 


'Twixt Harden and 'twLxt Thirlestaine 


Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 


Tliey 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 


She started from her seat ; 


And frowning brow on brow was bent ; 


While with surprise and fear she strove, 


But yet not long the strife — for, lo ! 


And both could scarcely master love — 


Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 


Lord Henry's at her feet. 


Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pain 




In armor sheath'd from top to toe. 


XIII. 


Appear'd, and craved the combat due 


Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 


The Dame her charm successful knew,' 


That foul maUcious urcliin had 


And the fierce chiefs their claims with jrew. 


To bring this meeting round ; 




For happy love's a heavenly sight. 


XVI. 


And by a vUe malignant sprite 


When for the lists they sought the plain. 


In such no joy is found ; 


The stately Ladye's silken rein 


And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought 


Did noble Howard hold ; 


Their erring passion might have wrought 


Unarmed by her side he walk'd, 


Sorrow, and sin, and shame ; 


And much, m courteous phrase, they taUfd 


Ani death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight^ 


Of feats of arms of old. 


And to the gentle ladye bright. 


Costly Ills garb — ^his Flemish ruff 


Disgrace, and loss of fame. 


Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of bu£^ 


But eaithly spirit could not teU 


With 8.atin slash'd and lined ; 


In the first edition, *' tlie silver cord. ;"^ 


9 It may be noticed that th* late Lord Napier, the represes 


** Yes, love, indeed, is Light from heaven i 


tative of the Scotts of Thirlestane, was Lord Lieutenant o- 


A spark of that Immortal tire 


Selkirkshire (of which the author was shei-ifTdepute) at th 


With angels shared, by Alia given. 


time when the poem was written ; the competitor for the hov 


To lift from earth our low desire," &c. 


or of supplying Deloraine'a place was the poet's own ance* 


The Oiaour. 


tor.— Ed. 


> A mK>^ial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes. 


< See Canto III. Stanit xiii. 



t vfO V. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



41 



Tawny liia boot, and gold hia spur, 
Kis cloak was all of Poland fur, 
His hose with silver twined ; 
1L<! Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 
Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 
U»-nce, in rude phrase, the Borderers stiU 
Oall'd noble Howard, Belted WilL 

XVII. ' 
Bjjijjd Lord Howard and the Dame, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, 

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground : 
White was her wimple, and her veil, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broider'd rein. 
He deem'd, she shudder'd at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
But cause of terror all unguess'd. 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their cliairs of crimson placed. 
The Dame and she the barriers graced. 

XVIIL 
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
An English knight led forth to view ; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight. 
So much he long'd to see the fight, 
Within the lists, in knightly pride, 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield, 
As marshals of the mortal field ; 
While to each knight their care assign'd 
like vantage of the sun and wind.' 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
In King and Queen, and Warden's name, 

That none, while lasts the strife. 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
Aid to a champion to afford. 

On peril of his Ufe ; 
And not a breath the silence broke. 
Till tlius the alternate Heralds spoke : — 

XIX. 

ENGLISH HEEALD. 

' Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 
Good knight and true, and freely born, 

Amends from Deloraine to crave. 
For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 

This couplet viaa added in the second edition. 
After tills, in the first edition, we read onlv 

*' .\t the last woitis, with deadly blows, 
The ready warriors fiercely close." — Ed. 

*The whole scene ol'the d^el, or judicial combat, is ood 



He sayeth, that WiUiam of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
This with his sword he will maintain, 

So help him God, and his good cause 1" 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

" Here standeth WiUiam of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain. 
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain. 
Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his coat ; 
And that, so help him God above ! 
He will on Musgrave's body prove, 
He lies most foully in his throat." 

LORD DACEE. 

" Forward, brave champions, to the fight 1 
Sound trimipets 1" 

LORD HOME. 

— " God defend the right l"» 
Then, Teviot ! how thine echoes rang. 
When bugle-soimd and trtmipet-clang 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid list, with shield poised high, 
And measin'ed step and wary eye, 

The combatants did close. 

XXL 
111 would it suit yoin- gentle ear. 
Ye lovely listeners, to hear 
How to the axe the helms did soimd. 
And blood pom'd down from many a wound 
For desperate was the strife and long, 
And either warrior fierce and strong. 
But, were each dame a listening knight, 
I well could tell how warriors fight I 
For I have seen war's lightning flashing, 
Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, 
Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing 
And scorn'd amid the reeling strife, 
To yield a step for death or life. — 

XXIL 
'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow' 

Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; 
He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no I 

Thence never shalt thon rise again I 
He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band. 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, 
And give liim room for life to gasp I — 
0, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire 1 

dacted according to the strictest ordinances of chivalry .mm 
delineated with all the minuteness of an ancient romaneef 
The modem reader will probably find it rather tedious ; a. 
but the concluding stanzas, which are in a loftier measuifr— 
' 'Tis done I 'tis done !' " &c.— Jkffrby. 
< First Edition, " In vain — In zainl haste, holv Friw- 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 

And smooth hi^ path from earth to heavec I 

xxni. 

Id hastt the holy Friar aped ; — 
His naked foot was dyed with red. 

As tlirougli the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high, 
Tliat hail'd the conqueror's victory. 

He raised the dj'ing man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair. 
As o'er liim he kneel'd do^vn in prayer ; 
And still the crucifix on liigh 
He holds before his darliening eye; 
And stUl he bends an anxious ear. 
His faltering penitence to hear ; 

Still props him fiom the bloody sod. 
Still, even when soul iuid body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on liis heart. 

And bills him trust in God 1 
Unlieurd he prays ; — the de.ath-pang's o'er 1' 
RichiOrd of Musgrave breathes no more. 

XXIV. 

As if exliausted in the fight. 
Or musmg o'er the piteous sight. 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 
Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, .amid the throng'd array. 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a ludf-naked ghastly man. 
Who downward from the castle ran : 
He cross'd the barriers at a bound. 
And wild and haggard look'd aromid, 

As cUzzy, and in pain ; 
4.ud all, upon the armed ground. 

Knew WilU.am of Deloraine I 
E.ach ladye sprung from seat with speed ; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

"And who ai't thou," they cried. 
• Who hast this battle fought and won '(" 
His plumed helm was soon undone — 

" Crar^i :un of Teviot-side I 
f'or this fair prize Vve fought and won,"^ 
Vnd to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV 
'oU oft the rescued boy she kiss d, 
' "id often press'd him to her breast ; 
eoT, imder all her dauntless show, 
Her hciart had throbb'd at every blow ; 

i Orig. — " Unfaeard he prays ; — His o^er 1 *ti* tt^ert " 



Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet, 
Tliough low he kneeled at her feet. 
Me lists not tell what words were made, 
Wliat Douglas, Home, and Howard said— 

— For Howard waa a generous foe — 
And how the clan imited pray'd 

The Ladye would the feud forego, 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. 

XXVL 
She look'd to river, look'd to hiU, 

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy. 
Then broke her silence stern and still,— 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me ; 
Their influence kindly stai's may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower. 

For pride is quell'd, and love is free." — 
She took fair Margaret by the hand. 
Who, breathless, trembUng, scarce might stand 

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she . — 
*' As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be true to me and mine 1 

Tliis clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
" For tliis is your betrothuig day. 
And all these noble lords shall stay, 

To grace it \vith their company." 

XXVIL 
All as they left the listed plain, 
Mudi of the story she did gain ; 
How Crimstoun fought with Deloraine, 
And of his page, .ind of the Book 
Which from tlie wounded knight he took ; 
And how he sought her castle liigh, 
Tliat morn, by help of gramarye ; 
How, in Sir WilMam's armor dight, 
Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, » 
He took on him the single fight. 
But half his tiile he left unsiiid. 
And Uuger'd till he join'd the maid. — 
Cared not the Ladye to betray 
Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
But well she thought, ere midnight came, 
Of tliat strange page the pride to tame, 
From his foul hands the Book to save. 
And send it back to Michael's grave. — 
Needs not to tell each tender word 
'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord 
Nor how she told of former woes, 
And how her bosom fell and rose. 
While he and Musgrave bimdied blows. — 
Needs not these lovers' joys to tell : 
One day, fair maids, you'U know them welL 

XXVIIL 
William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had waken'd from his deathlike trance ; 



c -TO V. THE LAY OF THE LAST Ml.VSTREL. «| 


Ajid taughi that, in the listed plain, 


rd give the lands of Deloraine, 


Another, in his arms and shield. 


Dark Musgrave were aUve again."^— 


4gainst fierce Musgrave axe did wield, 




Under the name of Deloraine. 


XXX. 


Hence, to the field, unaim'd, he ran. 


So moum'd he, till Lord Dacre's band 


And hence his presence scared the clan. 


Were bowning back to Cumberland. 


Who held liim for some fleetuig wraith,' 


They raised brave Musgrave from the field. 


And not a man of blood and breath. 


And laid him on his bloody shield ; 


Not much this new ally he loved. 


On levell'd lances, four and four. 


Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, 


By turns, the noble burden bore. 


He greeted him right heartilie : 


Before, at times, upon the gale. 


He would not waken old debate. 


Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive waU ; 


For he was void of rancorous hate. 


Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 


Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; 


Sung requiem for the warrior's soul : 


In raids he spUt but seldom blood. 


Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 


Unless when men-at-arms withstood, 


With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 


Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 


And thtis the gallant knight they bore, 


He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow. 


Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore ; 


Ta'en m fair fight fi-om gallant foe : 


Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave. 


And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now. 


And laid him in hi» father's grave 


When on dead Musgrave he look'd down , 




Grief darken'd on his rugged brow, 




Though half disguised with a frown; 


The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the eong. 


And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 


The mimic march of death prolong ; 


His foeman's epitaph he made. 


Now seems it far, and now a-near. 




Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 


XXIX. 


Now seems some mountain side to sweep. 


" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here 1 


Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 


I ween, my deadly enemy ; 


Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail. 


For, if I slew thy brother dear. 


Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; 


Thou slew'st a sister's son to me 


Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 


And when I lay in dungeon dark. 


Rung the full choir in choral stave. 


Of Naworth Castle, long months three. 




Tni ransom'd for a thousand mark. 


After due pause, they bade him tell. 


Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 


Why he, who touch'd the harp so well. 


And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried. 


Should thus, with ill-rewarded toU, 


And thou were now alive, as I, 


Wander a poor and thankless soil, 


No mortal man should us divide. 


When the more generous Southern Land 


Till one, or both of us did die : 


Would well requite his skilful hand. 


Yet rest thee God ! for well I know 




I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 


The Aged Harper, howsoe er 


In all the northern counties here. 


His only friend, his harp, was dear. 


Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear," 


Liked not to hear it rank'd so high 


Thou wert the best to follow gear ! 


Above his ilowing poesy : 


'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind. 


Less liked he still, that scornful jeer 


To see how thou the chase couldst wind. 


Misprised the land he loved so dear ; 


Cheer the dark blood-hoimd on his way, 


High was the somid, as thus again 


And with the bugle rouse the fray I' 


The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. 


The gpectral apparition of a living person. 


fully imitated in the whole of this scene ; and the speecr. c< 


" The laids that over Onse to Berwick forth do bear, 


Deloraine, who, roused from his bed of siclineas r;i9hes )ot4 


Have foi their blazon had, the snaffle, epn dnd spear." 


the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brooght to oul 


PolyMbion, Song 13. 
See .Ippendii, Note £ W. 


recollection, as well from the peculiar turn of expression in 


its commencement, as in the tone of sentiment) which it com 


veys, some of the fanehres orationes of the Jileri .irthur.*''- 


* " The style of the old romancers has been very snccess- 


Criticai Review 



46 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. oanio vi 




Of late, before each martial clan. 


Sti£ ^a^ of tl)c Cast iHinstnl. 


They blew their death-note in the van, 
But now, for every men-y mate, 




Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 




CANTO SIXTH. 


They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they sing, 




I. 


Till the rude tmTets shake and ring. 


t Sekatuks there the man with soul so dead, 
/ "Vho never to himself hath said, 




IV. 


This is my own, mj' native land 1 


Me lists not at this tide declare 


Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd. 


The splendor of tlie spousal rite, 


As home liis foosteps he hath tum'd, 


How muster'd in tlie eliapel fair 


From wandering on a foreign strand ! 


Both maid and matron, squire and knight, 


If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 


Me lists not tell of owches rare. 


For him no Minstrel raptures swell ; 


Of mantles green, and braided hair. 


High though Ins titles, proud his name, 


And kirtles furr'd with miniver ; 


Boundless liis wealth as wish can claim; 


What pliunage waved the altar round. 


Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 


How spurs and ringing chainlets sound ; 


The wretch, concentred all in self. 


And hard it were for bard to speak 


Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 


The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 


And, doubly dying, shall go down 


That lovely hue which comes and flies, 


To the vile dust, from wlience he sprung, 


As awe and sliame alternate rise I 


Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung. 


V. 


II. 


Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 


Caledonia ! stem and wild,' 


Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 


Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 


Nor diu-st the rites of spousal grace. 


Ijand of brown heath and shaggy wood. 


So much she fear'd each holy place. 


Land of the mountain and the flood. 


False slanders these : — I tru.st right well 


Land of my sii-es ! wliat mortal hand 


She wrought not by forbidden spell ;* 


Can e'er imtie the filial band. 


For mighty words and signs have power 


That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 


O'er sprites in planetary hour : 


Still, as I view each well-known scene, 


Yet scarce I praise their venturous part. 


Think what is now, and what hath been, 


Wlio tamper with such dangerous art. 


Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 


But this for faitliful truth I say. 


Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; 


The Ladye by the altar stood. 


And thus I love them better still. 


Of sable velvet her array. 


Even in extremity of ill. 


And on her head a crimson hood. 


By Yarrow's streams still let me stray, 


With pearls embroider'd and entwined. 


Thougli none should guide my feeble way ; 


Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 


Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 


A merlin sat upon her wrist' 


Although it chUl my wither'd cheek ;' 


Held by a leaah of sUken twist. 


Still lay my head by Teviot Stone,' 




Though there, forgotten and alone. 


VI. 


The Baid may di-aw his parting groaa 


The spousal rites were ended soon : 




'Twas now the meiry hour of noon. 


m. 


And in the lofty arched hall 


Not soom'd like me ! to Branksome HaU 


Was spread the gorgeous festival. 


The Minstrels came, at festive call ; 


Steward and squire, with heedful haste 


Trooping they came, from near and far, 


MarshaU'd the rank of every guest ; 


The jovial priests of mirth and war ; 


Pages, with ready blade, were there, 


Alike for feast and fight prepared, 


The mighty meal to carve and share : 


Battle and banquet both they shared. 


O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane, 


1 The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the ad- 


3 The line " StiU laij my kead,^' fee, was not in tbfl Im 


fress to Scotlanti." — MclNTOsn. 


edition. — Ed. 


The preceding four lines now form the inscription on the 
• «.-nment of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Sel- 


* See Appendix, Note 3 X. 


-So5 Life, vol I 1. 257. 


J Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



OAKTO TI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



41 



And princely peacock's gilded train,' 

And o'er the boar-liead, gamish'd brave, 

And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ;' 

O'er ptarmigan and venison. 

The priest had spoke his benison. 

Then rose the riot and the din, 

Above, beneath, without, within I 

For, from the lofty b:ilcony, 

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : 

Their chmgiiig bowls old warriors quaff 'd, 

Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild. 

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 

llie hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam, 

The clamor join'd with whistling scream, 

And flapp'd their wings, and shook (heir bells, 

In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 

Round go the flasks of ruddy wine. 

From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 

Their tasks the busy sewers ply. 

And all ia mirth and revelry. 

VIL 
The Goblin Page, omitting still 
No opportunity of iU, 
Strove now, while blood ran hot and high. 
To rouse debate and jealousy ; 
Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfeustein, 
By nature fierce, and warm with wine. 
And now in humor highly cross'd, 
About some steeds liis band had lost, 
High words to words succeeding still. 
Smote, with liis gauntlet, stout Hunthill ;" 
A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
Whom men c;ill Dickon Draw-the-sword. 
He took it on the page's saye, 
Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose. 
The kindling discord to compose : 
Stern Rutherford right little said, 
But bit his glovef* and shook his head. — 
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
Stout Conrade, cold, and drench'd in blood. 
His bosom gored with many a wound, 
Wis 1y a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 
UniQiOwn the manner of his death. 



1 fiec Appendix, Note 3 Z. 

' There are often flights of wild swans npon St. Mary's 
^tke, at the head of the river Yarrow. See Wordsworth's 
farrtvi VUited. 

*' The BWan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Floats doDble, swan and shadow." — Ed. 
3 See Appendix, Note 4 A. 
< Ibid. Note 4 B. 

^ The person bearing this redootable nom dc ^Lerre was an 
Elliot, and resided at Thorleahope, in Liddesdalo He occnrs 
111 the lift 'if Border riders, in 1597. 
« See AiJptndix, Note 4 C. 
' Tile ajtpearance and dress of the coiDpanj assembled in 



Gone was his brand, both sword and sneath , 
But ever from that time, 'twas said. 
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

VIIL 
The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye 
Might his foiJ treachery espie, 
Now sought the castle buttery, 
Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 
ReveU'd as merrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
Watt Tinlinu, there, did frankly raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire-tlie-Braes ;• 
And he, as by his breeding boimd. 
To Howard's merry -men sent it round. 
To quit them, on the English side, 
Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
" A deep carouse to yon fair bride 1" 
At every pledge, from vat and pail, 
Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale ; 
While shout the riders every one ; 
Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan, 
Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 
When in the deuch the buck was ta'en.* 

IX. 

The wily page, with vengeful thought, 

Remember'd liim of Tinlinn's yew. 
And swore, it should be dearly bought 

That ever he the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest, 
With bitter gibe and taimting jest ; 
Told, how he fled at Solway strife. 
And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife ; 
Then, shumiing still his powerful arm, 
At unawares he wrought him harm -. 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dash'd from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to his jmee sly creeping on. 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venom'd woimd, and festering joint, 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spum'd, 
And board and flagons overturn'd.' 
Riot and clamor wild began ; 
Back to the hall the Urchin ran ; 



the chapel, and the description of the subsequent Teast, In 
which the hounds and hawks are not the least important per 
sonagea of the drama, are again happy imitations of those au- 
thors from whose rich bnt nnpolished ore Mr. Scott has ^v^ought 
much of his most exquisite imagery and description. A so* 
ciety, such as that a.«semhled in Branxholm Castle, intlamwl 
with national prejudices, and heated with wine, seems to have 
contained in itself sufficient seeds of spontancons disordft. 
the goblin page is well introduced, as applying a torch lo ujH 
mass of combustibles, t^uarrels, highly characteristic of Bor- 
der manners, both in their cause and the manner in which thet 
are supported, ensue, as well among the lordly goesta, as (hi 
yeomen assembled in the butterv."- Critical Review J8fl' 



48 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



*JAN1 O VI 



Tool: in a darkling nook his post, 

And grinn'd and mutter'd, " Lost I lost ! lost 1" 

X. 

By this, the Dame, lest farther fray 

Should mar the concord of the day. 

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 

And first stepp'd forth old Albert Graeme, 

Tlie Minstrel of that ancient name :' 

Was none who struck the harp so •well. 

Within the Land Debateable ; 

Well friended, too, his hardy kin. 

Whoever lost, •were sure to •win ; 

They sought the "beeves that made their broth. 

In Scotland and in England both. 

Li homely guise, as nature bade. 

His simple song the Borderer said. 

XL 

ALBERT GE.«ltE.' 

It •was an English ladye bright, 

(The sun shines fair on CarUsle •wall,)' 

And she would marry a Scottish knight. 
For Love ■will still be lord of all 

Blithely they saw the rising sun. 

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall ; 

But they were sad e''e day was done. 
Though Love was still the lord of aU. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel' fine, 

When the sun shines fair on CarUsle wall; 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine. 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadow and lea. 
Where the sun shines fair on CarUsle wall. 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all 1 

xn. 

Tliat •wine she had not tasted weU, 
(The sun sliines fan- on Carlisle wall,) 

When dead, in her true love's arms, she feU, 
For Love was still the lord of aU ! 

He pierced her brother to the heart. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle waU : 

So perish aU would true love part. 
That Love may stiU be lord of all ! 

And then he took the cross di^vine, 

(Where the sun shines fair on CarU^ie waU,) 

I See Appendix, Note 4 D. 

' " It is the author's object, in these songs, to exemplify the 
lifierent styles of ballau narrative which prevailed in this isl- 
and at difTerent periods, or in different conditions of society. 
The 6ret (Albert's) is condocted open the rude and simple 
'ae^j'A of the old Border ditties, and produces its effect by the 



And died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love waj still the lord of all. 

Now aU ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
(The sun sliines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

Pray for their souls who died for love, 
For Love shall stiU be lord of aU 1 

XIIL 

As ended Albert's simple lay, 

Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
For sonnet, rhyme, and rotmdelay, 

Renown'd in haughty Henry's court : 
There rung thy harp, unrivall'd long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! ./ 

The gentle Siurey loved his lyre—/ 

Who has not heard of Smrey's fame I* 
His was the hero's soul of fire. 
And his the bard's immortal' name, 
jj^.And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivaUji 

xiy. 

They sought, together, climes afar, 

And oft, within some oUve grove. 
When even came -with t'winkling star, 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the ItaUan peasant stay'd. 

And deem'd, that spirits from on high. 
Round where some hermit saint was laid. 

Were breathing heavenly melody ; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine,* 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

XV. 
Fitztraver ! what tongue may say 

The pangs thy faithful bosom kne^w, 
Wlien Surrey, of the deathless lay. 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew S 
Regardless of the tyrant's fro-wn. 
His harp caU'd •wrath and vengeance do^wn. 
He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers, 
And faithful to his patron's name, 
With Howard stfll Fitztraver came ; 
Lord WilUam's foremost favorite he, 
And chief of aU his minstrelsy. 

XVL 

FrrZTEAVER.* 

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat 
high; 
He heard the midnight bell -with anzioiis start, 
direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence." — jEr« 

FRET. 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 E. 

« Ibid. Note 4 F. 

8 First Edit. — " So sweet their harp and voices ioxn" 

< " The second song, that of Fitztraver, the bard )f the to 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



49 



Wiich tolil the mystic hour, upproaching nigh, 

When ^vise Cornelius promised, by his art, 
To show to liim the ladye of his heart, 

Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim ; 
Tct 60 the sage had lught to play liis part, 
That he sliould see her form in life and limb, 
And mark, if still she loTed, and still she thought 
of liim. 

XVII. 
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, 

To wliioli the wizard led the gallant Knight, 
Save that liefore a mirror, huge and high, 

A hallow'd taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might ; 
On cros-:, and character, and talisman. 
And ahuagest, :md altar, nothing bright : 
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
As watchhght by the bed of some departing 
man. 

XVIII. 
But soon, within that mirror huge and high. 

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy. 

Cloudy ;\nd indistinct, as feverish dream ; 
Till, slow .on'anging, and defined, they seem 

To form a lordly and a lofty room, 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 
Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, aiid part was liid in 
gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair all the pageant — but huw passing fair 

The slender form, wliich lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom stray'd her hazel hair. 

Pale her de;ir cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose she l.ay reclined. 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine. 
Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find ; — 

That favor'd strain was Surrey's raptured line, 
That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldme. 

XX. 

Slow roU'd the clouds upon the lovely form. 
And swept the goodly vision all away — 

So royal envy roU'd the murky storm 
O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. 

Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 
On thee, and rm thy children's latest Une, 

The wild caprice of thy despotic away, 



The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd shrine, 
The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geral- 
dine ! 

XXL 
Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 
Tlicse hated Heiu'y's name as death. 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air. 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair ; 
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home, ' 
Had with that lord to battle come. 
Harold was born where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ;' 
Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — 
Thence oft he mark'd fierce Pentland rave, 
As if grim Odin rode her wave ; 
And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale, 
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXII. 
And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles might fancy cull ; 
For thither came, in times afar. 
Stern Lochlui's sons of roving wai , 
The Norsemen, train'd to spoU and blood, 
Sldll'd to prepare the raven's food , 
Kings of the main then- leaders brave. 
Their barks the dragons of the wave.' 
And there, in many a stormy vale, 
The Scald had told liis wondrous tide , 
And many a Runic column high 
Had witness'd grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold, in his youth, 
Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth,- - 
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous carl'd. 
Whose monstro\*s circle gii'ds the world ;* 
Of those dread Maids,* whose liideous yeU 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 
Of Chiefs, who, guided tlu-ough the gloom 
By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 
RanF.ack'd the graves of warriors old. 
Their falchions wrench'd fi-om corpses' hold.* 
Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms, 
And bade the dead arise to arms I 
With war and wonder aU on flame. 



eompltshed Surrey, has more of the richneM and polish of the BQmed the title of Sakonungr or Sea-kinga. Ships, in the !»■ 

Italian poetry, and is very beautifully written in a stanza re- flated langnage of the Scalds, are often termed the serpeDU ■! 

lerabling that of Spenser." — Jeffrey. the ocean. 

1 See Appendix, Note 4 G. 2 Ibid. Note 4 II. | •> See Appendix, Note 41. ' Ibid. Note 4 K. 

■ The chiefs of the Vakingr, or Scandinavian pirates, a»- j 6 Ibid. Note 4 t. 



50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OArrao n 



To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, 
He leam'd a milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet something of the Northern speU 
Mix'd with the softer numbers well 

XXIII. 

HAEOLD." 

O listen, listen, ladies gay I 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.' 

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew 1 
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 

Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,^ 
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with white : 
To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly ; 

ITie fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. 

" Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shroud swathed' round ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?" — 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at RosUn leads the ball. 
But that my ladye-mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall, 

' 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide. 
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." — 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's Ught, 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

* The third song is inteniled lo represent that wild style of 
Bonlposition whieli prevailed among the bards of the Northern 
Continent, somewhat softened and adorned by llie Minstrel's 
feeidenco in the soulh. We prefer it, Dponthe whole, to either 
01 the two former, and shall give it entire to our readers, who 
will probably be strncli with the poetical effect of the dramatic 
font into which it is titrown, and of the indirect description by 
which every thing is most expressively told, without one word 
of distinct narrative." — Jeffrey. 

« This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry 
Bt. Clair, the second of the line, marrie'^ Rosabeiie, fourth 
daughter of tbe Earl of Stratheme. 

■ See Appendix, Note 4 M. * Inch, isle. 

* First Edit. " A wet shroud roll'd." 

* First Edit. " It reddened," &c. 

* Fii9t Edit. " Both vaulted crypt," &c. 
3 Sec Appendix, Note 4 N. 

* First Edit '' Bulthekelpie niDgana the mermaids sung." 



It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
It ruddied' all the copse-wood gleu ; 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornde; 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoflin'd lie, 

Each Bai'on, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed m his iron panoply. 

Seem'd all on fii'e within, around. 

Deep sacristy' and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar fohage-boimd. 

And gliimuer'd all the dead men's maS 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair- 
So siiU they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly Une of high St. Ckir. 

There are twenty of Roslin's bai'ons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vatdt doth hold — . 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 

And each St. Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book, and with knell ; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds smuj^ 
Tlie du-ge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 
So sweet was Harold's piteous lay," 

Scarce mai'k'd the guests the darkerfd hall 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wondrous .shade involved them all : 
It was not eddying mist or fog, 
Drain'd by the sun from fen or bog ; 

Of no ecUpse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it -ame on apace, 
' Each one could scarce his neighbor's face, 

Could scarce liis own stretch'd hand behold 
A secret horror check'd the feast, 

10 " I observe a great poetic climax, designed, doubtless, id 
tlie two last of these son£s from the first." — Anna Seward. 

"We (G. Ellis and J. H. Frere) entertain some doubtJ 
about the propriety of dwelling so long on the minstrel songa 
in tlie last canto. I say we doubt, because we are not aware 
of your Slaving ancient authority for such a practice ; but 
though the attempt wa-s a bold one, inasmuch as it is not usual 
to add a wbole canto to a story wlvcli is already finished, we 
are tar from wisliing that you hau left it unaltempted."-- 
Eliis to Scott. "The si"'*' canto is altogether redundant 
for the poem should cen« .ly have closed with the union 
of the lovers, when the interest, if any, was at an end. Bat 
what could I do ? I had my book and my page still on my 
hands, and must get rid of them at all events. Mamge 'heir 
as I would, their catastrophe most have been insulJicient to 
occupy an entire canto ; so I was fain to eke it out with tin 
songs of the minstrels. ' ' —Scott to Miss Seward — Life, vol u 
pp. 218, 2S2 



BANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



n 



' And cliill'd the soul of every guaet 
Even the high Dame stood half aghast, 
She knew some evil on tlie blast ; 
Tlie elvish page fell to the ground, 
And, shuddering, mutter'd, " Found ! found ! 
Vand I" 

XXV. 
Then sudden, through the darken'd air 

A flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, 

Tlie castle seem'd on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
Glanced every shield upon the wa.ll ; 
Each trophied beiim, each sculptiu'ed atone, 
Were instimt seen, and instant gone ; 
Full tlu'ough the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flash'd the levin-brand. 
And fill'd the hall with smouldering smoke, 
As on the elvish page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud, 

Dismay'd the brave, appiiU'd the proud, — 
From sea to sea the larum rung ; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal. 
To arms the startled warders sjjrung. 
' When ended w.xs the dreadful roar. 
The elvish dwarf was seen no more !' 

XXVI. 

Some heard a voice in Branksorae HaU, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some. 
Cry, with loud summons, " Gvlbix, come !" 

And on tlie spot where burst the brand. 
Just where the page had flung liim down. 

Some saw an .arm, and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence Jjray'd and sliook. 
And terror dimm'd each lofty look. 



" The Goblin Page is, in our opinion, the capital deform- 
ly of the poera. We have already said the wjiole machinery 
B useless ; but liie magic studies of the lady, and the rifled 
lomb of Michael Scott, give occasion to so much admirable 
poetry, that we can. on no account, consent to part with 
them. The page, on the other hand, is a perpetual burden 
to the poet and to the readers ; it is an undignified and im- 
probable fiction, which excites neither terror, admiration, 
Dor astonishment, but needlessly debases the strain of the 
whole work, and excites at once our incredulity and con- 
tempt. He is not a 'tricksy spirit,' like Ariel, with whom 
Ihe imagination is irresistibly enamored, nor a tiny mcaarch. 
like Oberon, disposing of the destinies of mortals ; he rather 
appears to us to be an awkward sort of a mongrel between 
Puck and Caliban, of a servile and brutal nature, and limited 
m his powers to tjie indulgence of petty malignity, and the 
Infliction of despicable injuries. Besides this objection to bis 
tharacter, his existence Ikts no support from any general or 
•stablished superstition. Fairies and devils, ghosts, angels, 
tnd witches, are creatures with whom we are all familiar, 
ind who excite in all classes of mankind emotions with which 



But none of all the astonish'd train 
Was so dismay'd as Deloraine ; 
His blood did freeze, liis br-oin did burn, 
'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return ; 

For he was speechless, ghastly, wan. 

Like liim of whom the story ran, 

Wlio .spoke tlie spectre-hound in MaiL* 
At lengtli, by fits, he darkly told. 
With broken hint, and shuddering cold- • ■ 

That he had seen, right certainly, 
A shape with amice wrapped around, 
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound. 

Like pilr/rinifro7n bej/ond the sea; 
And knew — but liow it matter'd not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 

XXVIL 

The anxious crowd, with horror pale, 
All trembling heard the wondrous tale ; 

No soimd W.1S made, no word was spoke, 

Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 

Did to St. Bride of Douglas make,' 

That he a pilgrinuige would take 

To Meh-ose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast, 
To some blcss'd saint his prayers address'd : 
Some to St. Modau made their vows. 
Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to tlie Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our Ladye of the Isle ; 
Each (.Ud liis patron witness (uake. 
That he such pilgrimage would take. 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
Wliile vows were ta'en, and prayers were pray \\ 
'Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd, 
Renomiced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



we can easily be made to sympathize. But llie story of Gilpin 
Horner was never believed out of the village where he is said 
to have made his ajipearance, and has no claims upon the cre- 
dulity of those who were not originally of his acquaintance. 
There is nothing at all interesting or elegant in the scenes ol 
which he is the hero ; aiul in reading these passages we reaily 
could not help suspecting that they di^ not stand in the k* 
mance when the aged minsUel recited it to tl»e royal Charl'w 
and his mighty earls, but were inserted afterwards to suit th» 
taste of the cottagers among whom he begged his bread on tht 
border. We entreat Mr. Scott to inquire into the grounds ol 
this suspicion, and to take advantage of any decent pretext ha 
can lay hold of for purging the ' Lay' of this ungraceful 
intruder.* We would also move for a ijiw irarranto against 
the Spirits of the River and the Moontain ; for though they 
are come of a very high lineage, we do not know what lawful 
business they could have at Branksome Castle in the yeai 
1550." — jEyFREY. 
» See Appendix, Note 4 O. = Ibid. Note 4 P. 

I Sec Jie Author's Intrcduclion lo Ilie * Lsy,' p. II 



52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXVIII. 


And solenm requiem for the dead 


Naught of the bridal will I tell, 


And bells toU'd out their mighty peal, 


Which after in short space befell ; 


For the departed spirit's weal ; 


Nor how brave sous and daughters fair 


And ever in the office close 


Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir : 


The hjmn of intercession lOse ; 


After such dreadful scene, 'twere vaiu 


And for the echoing aisles prolong 


To wake the note of mirth again. 


Tlie awful burden of the song, — 


More meet it were to m;u-k the day 


Dies ir*, dies illa. 


Of penitence and prayer divine, 


Sol VET S.^CLITM I.V FA VILLA ; 


When pilgrim-cliiefs, in sad array, 


WTiile the peahng organ rung : 


Sought Melrose' lioly shrine. 


Were it meet with sacred strain 




To close my lay, so hght aud vaiu. 


XXIX. 


Thus the holy Fathers sung. 


With naked foot, and sackcloth vest. 




Aud arms enfolded on his breast, 


XXXI. 


Did every pilgrun go ; 




The standers-by might hear uneath. 


HYMN FOE THE DEAD. 


Footstep, or voice, or liigh-drawn breath. 


That day of wrath, tliat dreadful day, 


Through all the lengthen'd row : 


When heaven and earth shall pass away. 


No lordly look, no martial stride, 


Wliat power shall be the sinner's stay ! 


Gone was their glory, suuk their piide, 


How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 


Forgotten their renown ; 




Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide 


When, shrivelling like a parched scroll 


To tlie high altar's hallow'd side. 


The flaming heavens together roll ; 


And there they knelt them down : 


When louder yet, and yet more dread. 


Above the svijipliant cliieftaius wave 


Swells the high (rump that wakes the dead 1 


The banners of departed brave ; 




Beneath the letter'd stones were laid 


Oh ! on that day, that wratliful day, 


The ashes of their fathers dead ; 


Wlien man to juilgment wakes from clay. 


From many a garnish'd niche around. 


Be Thou the trembling suuier's stay, 


Stern saints and tortured mai-tyrs frown" d. 


Though heaven and earth shall pass away 1 


XXX. 




And slow up- the dim aisle afar. 


Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 


With sable cowl and scapular. 


And did he wander forth alone ? 


And snow-white stoles, in order due, 


Alone, in indigence and age. 


The holy Fathers, two and two. 


To linger out his pilgrimage ! 


In long procession came ; 


No ; close bene.ath proud Newark's tower,' 


Taper and liost, and book they bare, 


Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 


And holy banner, flourish'd fair 


A simple hut ; but there was seen 


With the Redeemer's name. 


The little garden, hedged with green, 


Above the prostrate pilgrim band 


The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 


The mitred Abbot stretch'd his hand. 


There shelter'd wanderefs, by the blaze. 


Aud bless'd them as they kneel'd ; 


Oft heard the tale of other days ; 


With holy cross he sign'd them all. 


For mucli he loved to ope his door, 


And pray'd they might be sage in hall, 


And give the aid he begg'd before. 


And fortuuate in field. 


So pass'd the wmter's day ; but still. 


Then mass was sung, and prayers were said. 


When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,' 




For manhood to enjoy his strength ; 




Rich groves of lofty stature. 


And age to wear away in," &:c. 


With Yarrow winding through the pomp 


Wordsworth's Yarrcw Vuitei. 


Of cultivated nature; 




And, rising from tliose lofty groves. 


a Bowhill is now, as has been mentioned already, a seal o 


Behold a ruin lioary. 


the Duke of Buccleueh. It stands immediately below Newark 


Tlie shatter'd front of Newark's towers. 


Hill, and above the junction of the Yarrow and tlie Ettrick. 


Renown'd in Border story. 


For the other places named in the text, the reader is referred 


" Fair scenes for childhood's opening blopm 


to various notes on the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border 


For sportive youtb a stray in ; 


Es. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



And July's eve, with biilray broath, 
Waved the blue-bella on Newark heath ; 
When throstles sung in Hare!iead-shaw, 
ind corn was green on Carterhaugh ;* 
And flourij^h'd, broad, Blackandro'a oak, 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Tlieu would he shig achievements high, 

* yrig. — " Ami grain waved, green on Carterliangh." 

1 " The arch allusions which run tlirough all these Introduc- 
twrts, without in the least inierruptiii"; the truth ami graceful 
pailios ol" their main imprepsion, seem to nie exquisitely char- 
acteristic of Scott, whose delight ami priile was to play with 
the genius which nevertheless mastered him at will. For, in 
Irutb, what is it that gives to all his works their unique and 
marking charm, excejit the matchless effect which sadden 
effusioiL" of the pun-sl heart-blood of nature derive from their 
being poured out, to all appearance involuntarily, amidst dic- 
tion and sentiment cast equally in the mould of the busy 
world, and the seemingly habitual desire to dwell on nothing 
bat what might be likely to excite curiosity, without too much 
disturbing deeper feelings, in the saloons of polished life ? 
Such outbursts come forth dramatically in all his writings ; 
but in the interludes and passionate parentheses of the Lay 
of the Last Minstrel we have the poet's own inner soul and 
temperament laid bare and ihrubbiiig before us. Even here, 
indeed, lie has a mask, and he U'usts it — but fortunately it is a 
transparent one. 

"Many minor [lersonal allusions have been explained in the 
autes to the last edition of the ' Lay.' It was hardly neces- 
sarv even then lo say tliat the choice of the hero had been 
dictated by the poet's affection for the living descendants of 
tlie Baron of Cransioun ; and now — none who have perused 
the preceding pages can doubt that he had dressed out his 
Mai^aret of Branksome in the form and features of his own 
first love. This poem may be considered as the ' bright con- 
Bummate ffower' in which all tlwi dearest dreams of his youth- 
ful fancy had at length found expansion for their strength, 
epirit, tenderness, and beauty. 

" Id the closing lines — 

' Hnsh'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone ; 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To hngerout his pilgrimage ? 
No I — close beneath proud Newark's tower 
Arose the Minstrel's humble bower,' Sec. — 

— in these charming lines he has embodied what was, at the 
lime when he penned them, the chief day-dream of Ashestiel. 
From the moment that his uncle's death placed a considerable 
earn of ready money at his command, he pleased himself, as 
we have seen, with tJie idea of buying a mountain farm, and 
becoming not or.!y the 'sheriff"' (as he had in former days 
delighted to call .limself ), but ' the laird of the cairn and the 
scaur.' "— LocKHART. Life of Scott, vol. iJ. p. 212. 

"The large quotations we have made from this singular 
pcem must have convinced our readers that it abounds equal- 
ly with poetical description, and with circumstance curious 
to the antiquary. These are farther illustrated in copious and 
very entertaining notes : they, as well as the poem, must be 
particularly interesting to those who are connected with Scot- 
tish families, or conversant in their history. The author has 
managed the versification of the poem with great judgment, 
jid the most happy effect. If he had aimed at the grave 
ad stab ly ca/soce of the epic, or any of orr more regular 



And circumstance of chivah-y. 

Till the rapt traveller woidd stay, 
Forgetful of tht^ clo.smg day ; 
And noble youths, the straiu to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
And Yarrow, as he roU'd along, 
Bore burden to the Alhistrel's song. 

measures, it would have been impossible for him .j ha»« 
brought in such names as fVatt Tinlinn, lilacic John, Priest' 
kaugh, Scrogg, and other Scottish names, ur to have spoken 
of the iyke-wa/cc, and the slugnu, and drii-o'tg of cuttle, which 
Pope and Gray would have thought as inijiossihle to introduce 
into serious poetry, as Boileau did the names of towns in tha 
campaigns of Louis IV. Mr. Scott has, therefore, very judi- 
ciously thrown in a great mixture of the fanuliar, and varied 
the measure; and if it has not the tini-<hfd harmony, which, 
in such a subject, it were in vain to have attempted, it has 
great ease and spirit, and never tires the reader. Indeed we 
think we see a tendency in the public taste to go back to the 
more varied measures and familiar style of our earli&r poets; 
• natural consequence of having been satiated with the regu- 
lar harmony of Poj)e and his school, and somewhat wearied 
with the stifl^ne?s of lofty poetic language. We now know 
what can be done in that way, and we seek entertainment and 
variety, rather than thii.-ihed modulation and uniform dignity 
We now take our leave of this very elegant, spirited, and stri 
king poem." — ^innvnl Review, 1804. 

" From the various extracts we have given, our readers wil' 
be enabled to form a tolerably correct Jndgment of the poem , 
and, if they are pleased with those portions of it which have 
now been cvhibited, we may venture to assure them that they 
will not be disappointed by the perusal of the whole. The 
whole night journey of Deloraine — the opening of the Wizard' 
tomb — the march of the English battle — and the parley before 
the walls of the castle, are all executed with the same spirit 
and poetical energy, which we think is conspicuous in the 
specimens we have already extracted ; and a gre;it variety of 
short passages occur in every part of the poem, which are still 
more striking and meritorious, though it is impossible to detach 
them, without injury, in the form of a quotation. It is but 
fair to apprize the reader, on the other liand, that he will 
meet with very heavy passages, and with a variety of details 
which are not likely to interest any one but a Borderer or an 
antiquary. We like very well to hear of ' the gallant Chief 
of Otterburne,' or ' the Dark Knight of Liddesdale,' and feel 
the elevating power of great names, when we read of the 
tribes that mustered to the war, ' beneath the crest of Old 
Dunbar and Hepburn's mingled banners.' But we really can- 
not so far sympathize with the local partialities of the author, 
as to feel any glow of patriotism or ancient virtue in hearing of 
the Todrig or Johnston clans, or of Elliots, Jirmstrongs, and 
Tinlinn s ; still less can we relish the introduction of Black 
Jock of Athdst.ane, fVkitslade the Hawk, Arthur Firc-the- 
Braes, Red Roland Forster, or any other of those worthies 
who 

' Sought the beeves that made their broth, 
In Scotland and in England both,' 

into a poem which has any pretensions to seriousness or dl4 
nity. The ancient metrical romance might have admitted 
these homely personalities; but the present age will not en- 
dure them ; and Mr. Scott must either sacrifice his Bordet 
prejudices, or offend all his readers in the otlier part of tb< 
empire."— Jeffrey. 



54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
The feast was over in Branksome tower. — P. 18. 

In the reign of James I., Sir William Scott of BuccleacH, 
ihi^f of the clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir 
Thomas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdiestone, in Lanark- 
shire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or Brank- 
holm,Myingupon the Teviot. about three miles above Hawick. 
He was probably induced to this transaction from the vicinity 
of Branksome to the extensive domain which he possessed 
in Ettrick Forest and in Teviotdale. In the former district 
lie Iield by occupancy the estate of Buccteuch," and much of 
the forest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale. he en- 
joyed the harmony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert II. to 
hia ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, for the appreliending 
of Gilbert Ridderford, confirmed by Robert III., 3d May, 14'24. 
Tradition imputes the excliange betwixt Scott and Inglis to a 
conversation, in which the latter— a man. it would appear. 
of a mild and forbearing nature, complained much of the in- 
jnriea which he was exposed to from the English Borderere, 
who frequently plundered his lands of Branksome. Sir Wil- 
liam Scott instantly offered liini the estate of Murdiestone, in 
excliange for that wliich was subject to snch egregious incon- 
venience. Wiien the bargain was completed, he dryly re- 
marked, that the cattle in Cuniberiand were as good as those 
of Teviotdale ; and proceeded to commence a system of repri- 
sals upon the English, wliich was regulariy pursued by his soc- 
cessors. In the next reign. James II. granted to Sir Walter 
Scott of Branksome. and to Sir David, his son, the remaining 
half of the barony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for the 
payment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, 
their brave and faithful exertions in iavor of the King against 
the house of Douglas, with whom James had been recently 
tugging for the throne of Scotland. This charter is dated the 
2d February, 1443; and, in the same month, part of the barony 
of Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred 
npon Sir Walter and his son by tbe same monarch. 

After the [leriod of the exchange with Sir Thomas Inglis, 
Branksome became the principal seat of the Buccleuch family. 
The ca-stle was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David Scott, 
the grandson of Sir William, its first possessor. But, in 
1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads 
of Buccleucli. and his attachment to the cause of Queen 
lH.Ary, destroyed tlie castle, and laid waste the lands of Brank- 
some. In ilie same year the castle was repaired and enlarged 
by Sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor; but the work was 
not compleied until after his death, in 1574, when the widow 
finished the building. Tliis appears from the following in- 
ecriptions. Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scott of 
Buccleich, appears the following legend : — " Sit Ji©, 

Scott of iJrnnvllcrm Unfit oc of .Sfr CS^fUiam 
Scott of iUivkiivD Knflt ftcflau ue luorfe ujjon 
ge *24 of f-iflavciic 1571 jcav qiilja ticpartit at 

CKOTI'S l)fPfS01ir Pe 17 ^pVll 1574." On a similar 
copartment are sculjitnred the arms of Douglas, with this in- 
icription, " Damk Margaret Dodolas his spods comple- 

1 Branxtiolm i? the proper name of the barony ; but Branksome hasbeea 
■dopted, as suitable tj the pronuDciation, and more proper for poetry. 

There nre no vejtigeB of any building at Buccleuch, except the eite of 
wVere, accotding to ff-ifidition current in the time of Scott of 



TIT THE FORESAID WORK IN OcTOBER 1576. Ofer All 

arched door is inscribed the following moral verse ; — 

JEn barlTi. is. nocljt. nature. |)cs. brouflf)!. flat 

sal. lest. ai). 
STljavEfovc. sevbc. ©oti. tteip. befl. sc. xnti, tfig 

famt. sat. nocljt, ticivai). 
Sir eSUaltcr Scott of BranvDolm a^nffli»t. 

ittarijavct ZDoufllas. 1571. 

Branksome Castle continued to be the principal seat of ths 
Buccleuch family, while security was any object in theil 
choice of a mansion. It has since been the residence of the 
Commissioners, or Chamberlains, of the family. From the 
various alterations which the building has undergone, it is not 
only greatly restricted in its dimensions, but retains little of 
the castellated form, if we except one square tower of massy 
thickness, tlie only part of the original building which now 
remains. Tlie whole forms a handsome modern residence, 
lately inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam Ogilvy, Esq., 
of Hartwoodmyres, Commissioner of his Grace the Duke of 
Buccleuch, 

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some 
vestiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the 
situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot, and 
flanked by a deep ravine, formed by a precijjitous brook. It 
was anciently surrounded by wood, as appears from the sur- 
vey of Roxburghshire, made for Font's Atlas, and preserved 
in the Advocates' Library. This wood was cut about fifty 
years ago, but is now replaced by the thriving plantations, 
which have been formed by the noble proprietor, for milei 
around the ancient mansion of his forefathers. 



Note B. 



JVinc-and-twrntif knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall. — P. 19. 

The ancient barons of Bucclench, both from feudal splendof 
and from their frontier situation, retained in their household at 
Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own name, who 
held lands from tlieir chief, for the military service of watening 
and warding his castle. Satchells tells ns in his do^nl 
poetry, 

" No baron was better served in Britain ; 

The barons of Buckleugh they kept their call. 

Four and twenty gentlemen in their hall, 

All being of his name and kin ; 

Each two had a servant to wait upon them 

Before supper and dinner, most renowned, 

The bells rung and the trumpets sowned ; 

And more than that, I do confess, 

They kept four and twenty pensionere. 

Think not I lie, nor do me blame, 

For the pensioners I can all name : 

Satchella, many of the ancient barons of Buccleuch lie buried. Thwe it 
also said Xo have been a mill near this eolitary spot ; an extraopdiiiftry oif. 
cumatanca, as little or no com growa within eevernl niilea of BucoleM^ 
Satchells aavB it waa iiaed to (frind com for the Sounds of tna chieftain. 



AirE.^nX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



51 



fh'reV IT A r'.ive, eider tlian I, 
T!iey K» jw -l' I speak tratli, or lie 
Ev.-ry |)e'.sio"ier a room* diii gain, 
foi ser^icf, eioue and to be done ; 
r.iip let the reader understand, 
Vhe name botli of the men and land, 
vVliicli they possessed, it is of trolli, 
Aoii from the Lairds and Lords ofBacklengh." 

A' -ordingly, dismoonting from his Pegasus, Satchells gives 
f , in prose, the names of twenty-four gentlemen, younger 
*r-tner9 of ancient families, who were pensioners to the house 
CI* Buccleuch, and describes the lands which each possessed for 
hb Border service. In tioie of war with England, the garrison 
was doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, " These twenty- 
three pensioners, all of his own name of Scott, and Walter 
GladstanesofWhitelaw, a near cousin of my lord's, as aforesaid, 
were ready on all occasions, when his honor pleased cause to 
advertise them. It is known to many of the country better 
than it is to me, that the rent of these lar Js, wliich the Lairds 
and Lonls of Buccleuch did freely bestow upon their friends, 
will amount to above t'velve or fourteen thousand merks a- 
year." — History of the tiamr j/ Si,ott, ,». 45. An immense 
■am in those times. 

1 Aoom, p .tion of tand. 



Note C. 

w)»'i ^;H^ vood-axe at saddlebow. — P. 19. 

" Of a 'fu*','' diy. Froissart, "the Scottish cannot boast 
great skid with '.he bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in 
tioie o( deed, they give heavy strokes." The Jedwood-axe 
was a sori of partisan, used by horsemen, as appears from the 
arms of Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted, and armed 
with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart staff. 



Note D. 



'fhey watch, against Southern force and guile, 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy^s powers, 
Threaten Branksome^ s lordly towers, 

From TVarkworth, or J^aworth, or merry Carlisle. — P. 19. 

Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of 
ihe English, both from its situation and the restless military 
disposition of its inhabitants, who were seldom on good terms 
with their neighbors. The following letter from the Earl of 
Northumberland to Henry VIII. in 1533, gives an account of a 
iDccessful inroad of the English, in which the country was 
plandered up to the gates of the castle, although the invaders 
Tailed in their principal object, which was to kill, or make pris- 
oner, the Laird of Buccleuch. It occurs in the Cotton MS. 
Calig!. b. viii. f. ^2. 

" Pleaseth yt your most gracious highness to be aduertised, 
that my comptroller, with Raynald Carnaby, desyred licence 
of me to invade the realme of Scotlande, for the annoysaunce 
of your hi^hnes enemys, M'here they thought best exploit by 
theymt might be done, and to haue to concur withe theyme 
ure inhabitants of Northumberland, suche as was towards me 
according to theyre assembly, and as by theyre discretions vpone 
Ihe same they shulde thinke most convenient; and soo they 
iyde inoet vppone Monday, before night, being the iii day of 
toif iLifcaM nijnethe, at Wawhope, upon Northe Tyne water, 

M^» T\v. .^iM, where they were to the numbei of iv c men, 



and BOO invadet Scotland at the hour of viii of the clok a* 
nyght, at a place called Whele Causay ; and before xi of thi 
clok dyd send fortli a forrey of Tyndaill and RyddUdail, and 
laide all the resvilewe in a busiiment, and acly vcly did set vpon 
a towiie called Branxholme, where the Lord oi Buclough 
dwellythe, and purpcsed theymeselvcs with a trayne for hym 
lyke to his accustomed manner, in rysynge to all frayes ; alWU. 
that kriyglit he was not at liome, and so they brynt the said 
Branxholm, and other townes, as to say Whicliestre, Which 
eslre-lielme, and Whelley, and haid ordered theymself, <iufi 
that sundry of the said Lord of Buclough's servants, who flyi 
issue fourthe of his gates, was takyn prisoners. They dyd iM 
leve one house, one slak of come, nor one shyef, without the 
gate of the said Lord Buclough vnbrynt ; and tliui t.r.ryjnaget' 
and frayed, supposing the Lord of Buclough to be within iii w 
iiii myles to have trayned him to the bushment ; and soo 'n the 
breyking of the day dyd the forrey and the bushment mete, 
and reculed homeward, making theyre way westwaii from 
theyre invasion to be over Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the fray 
frome theyre furst entry by the Scolts waicbes, orotherwvse by 
warnying, shuld haue bene gyven to Gedworth and the coun- 
Ircy of Scotland theyreabouts of theyre invasion ; wliiche Ged- 
wonh is from the Wheles Causay vi miles, that thereby tha 
Scolts shulde liave comen further vnto theyme, and more out 
of ordre ; and soo ujion sundry good considerations, before they 
entered Lyddersdaill, as well accompting the inliabitajiLs of the 
same to be towards your highness, and to enforce theyme the 
more thereby, as alsoo to put an occasion of suspect to the 
Kinge of Scotts, and his counsaill, to be taken anensl theyme, 
amonges theymeselvcs, made proclamacions, commanding, 
upon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the said inhabitants ot 
Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice or hurt to be done by any 
Inglysman vnto theyme, and soo in good ordre abowte the 
howre o1 ten of the clok before none, vpjjon Tewisday, dyd 
pass tlirough the said Lyddersdail, when dyd come diverse oi 
the said inhabitants there to my servauntes, under the said aa- 
Burance, otferriiig theymselfs with any service they couthe 
make ; and tliu'*. thanks be to Godde. your highnes' subjects, 
abowte the howre of -xii of the clok at none the same .laye, 
came into this your highnes realme, bringing wt theyme above 
xl Scottsmen prisoners, one of theyme named Scot, of the sur- 
name and kyn of the said Lord of Buclongh, and of his howse- 
hold ; they brought also ccc nowte, and above Ix horse and 
maret, keping in savetie frome lopse or hurle all your said high- 
nes subjects. There was alsoo a towne, called Newbyggins. 
by diverse fotmen of Tyndaill and Ryddesduill, takyn vp of 
the night, and spoyled, wlien was slayne ii Scottsmen of the 
said towne, and many Scotts there hurte ; your highnes sub- 
jects was xiii myles within the grounde of Scotlande, and ia 
from my lionse at Werkworlhe, above Ix miles of the most evi 
passage, where great snawes doth lye ; heretofore the same 
townes now brynt haith not at any lyme in the mynd of man 
in any warrs been enterprised unto nowe ; your subjects were 
thereto more encouraged for the better advancement of your 
highnes service, tlie said Lord of Bnclough beyng always a \ 
mortall enemy to this your Graces realme, and he dyd s^j 
within xiii days before, he woulde see who durst lye near hym ', 
wt many other cruell words, the knowledge whereof was cer» 
lainly haid to my said servaunts, before theyre entei price maid' 
vpon him ; most humbly beseeching your majesty, tha. youre 
highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme. whose names be here 
inclosed, and to liave in your most gracious memory, tlie payn- 
fuU and diligent service of my pore servaunte Wharton, and thus, 
as I am most bounden, shall dispose wt them that be under m* 
f annoysaunce of your highnes enemys." In resent- 
ment of this foray, Buccleuch, with other Border chiefs, as* 
sembled an army of 3000 ridere, with which they penetrated 
into Northumberland, and laid waste the country as far as thf 
banks of Bramish. They battled, or defeated, the English for 
ces opposed to them, and returned loaded with prey. — PiNKBB 
ton's History, vol. ii. p. 318. 



6« 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note E. 

Bards lovg shall tell. 
How LoTd Walter fell.- 



-P. 19. 



Sir VViJter Sjott of Buccleoch succeedec' to his grandfather, 
Sir Da fid, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and 
Warden of the West Marches of Scotland. His death was 
.he consequence of a feud betwixt tlie Scotts and Kerrs, the 
^tory of which is necessary, to explain repeated allusions in 
Jie rcQiance. 

In the year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, "the Earl of 
Angus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they 
lifced, and no man durst say tlie contrary ; wherefore the King 
(James V. then a ininoi) was heavily displeased, and would 
fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any way : 
And, to that effect, wrote a quiet and secret letter with his 
own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buccleuch, besceciiing 
him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the 
force that he might be, and meet hiju at Melross, at his home 
passing, and there to tnke him out of the Douglasses liands, 
and to put him to liberty, to use himself among the lave {rest) 
of his lords, as he thinks expedient. 

"This letter was quietly directed, and sent by one of the 
King's own secret servants, which was received very thank- 
ftllly by the Laird of Buccleuch. who was very glad thereof, 
to be put to such charges and familiarity witli his prince, and 
did great diligence to jicrform the King's writing, and to bring 
the matter to pass as the Kiiig desired : And, to that effect, 
convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for 
him, to ride with him to Melross, when he knew of the King's 
homecoming. And so iie brought with Jiira six hundred spears, 
of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and clans 
thereabout, and Jield themselves quiet while that the King 
returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to remain there 
all that night. 

" Bnt when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fernyherst 
(the chiefs of the clan of Kerr), took their leave of the King, and 
returned home, then appeared the Lord of Buccleuch in sight, 
and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to 
have fullilled the King's petition, and therefore came stoutly 
forward on the back side of Haliden hill. By tiiat the Earl of 
Angus, with George Douglas, his brollicr, and sundry other 
of his friends, seeing this army coming, they marvelled Vhat 
the matter meant ; while at the last they knew the Laird of 
Buccleuch, with a certain eomjjany of the thieves of Annan- 
dale. With him they were less affeard, and made them man- 
fully to the field contrary them, and said to the King in this 
manner, ' Sir, yon is Buccleuch, and thieves of Annandale 
with hira, to unbeset your Grace from the gate' (i. c. interrupt 
your passage). ' I vow to God they shall either figlit or flee : 
and ye shall tarry here on this know, and my brother George 
with you, with any otlier company yoB ]>lease ; and I shall 
pass, and put yon thieves oif the ground, and rid ttie gate unto 
your Grace, or else die for it.' The King tarried still, as was 
devjsed ; and George Douglas with him, and sundry other 
ords, such as tlie Earl of Lennox, and the Lord Erskine, and 
•orae of the King's own servants ; but all the lave {rest) past 
with ine Earl of Angus to the field against the Lain! of Buc- 
oieu-^h, who joyned and countered cruelly both the said parties 
In the field of Darnelinver,i either against other, witli uncertain 
Vl3'..3ry. But at the last, the Lord Hume, hearing word of that 
matter how it stood, returned again to the King in all possible 
htkSte, with him the Lairds of Cessfoonl and Fernyhirst, to the 
number of fourscore spears, and set freshly oji the lap and wing 
of the Laird of Buccleuch's field, and shortly bare them back- 
Ward to the ground ; which caused the Laird of Buccleuch, 
tnd tne rest of hia frifiij.s. to go back and flee, whom they fol- 



I DaniwicV, r.»ftT Melroae. The plnce of eonftict ie still mlled Stiiuter's 
••Id, from a tomiptioD of Skirmith Fieid. (Se« tbe Aliiutreby ofthe 



lowed and chased ; and especially the Lairds of Cessfoord and 
Fernyhirst followed furiouslie, till at the foot of a path \di 
Laird of Cessfoord was slain by the strokj of a spear by an 
Elliot, wlio was then servant to the Laird of Buccleuch. But 
when tlie Laird ol' Cesslbord was slain, the chase ceased. Th« 
Earl of Angus returned again with great merriness and victory, 
and thanked God that he saved him from that chance, and 
passed with the King to Melross, where they remained all that 
night. On the morn lliey past to Edinburgh with the King 
who was very sad and dolorous ofthe slaughter of the Laird of 
Cessfoord, and many other gentlemen and y«omen slain by the 
Laird of Buccleuch, containing the number of fourscore and 
fifteen, which died in defence ofthe King, and at the command 
of his writing." 

I am not the first who has attempted to celebrate in verse tha 
renown of this ancient baron, and his hazardous attempt to 
procure his sovereign's freedom. la a Scottish Latin poet wa 
find the following verses : — 

Valterius Scotds Balcluchius, 

Egregio susoepto facinore, libertate Regis, ac aliis rebns gesUi 
clarus, sub Jacobo V. Ao. Christi, 1526. 

" Intentata aliis, nullique audita priorum 

Audet, nee pavidum morsve, metusve quatit, 
Libertatem aliis soliti transcribere Regis : 

Subreptam banc Regi restituisse paras; 
Si vincis, quanta 6 succedunt praimia dextra I 

Sin victus, falsas spes jace, pone animam. 
Hostica vis nocuit : stant alta; roboia mentis 

Alque decns. Vincet, Rcgo probante, fidea 
Insita queis aniniis virtus, quosque acrior ardor 

Obsidet, obscuris nox premat an tenebris ?" 

Heroes ex omni Ilistoria Scotica lectissimi, Auctore Johan 
Jonstonio Abredonense Scoto, 1G03. 

In consequence of the battle of Melroae, there ensued a 
deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in 
spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged foi 
many years upon the Borders. Buccleuch was imprisoned, and 
his estates forfeited, in llie year 1535, for levying war against 
the Kerrs, and restored by act of Parliament, dated 15th March, 
1542. during the regency of Mary of Lorraine, But the moat 
signal act of violence to whicli this quanel gave rise, was the 
murder of Sir Waller himself, who was slain by the Kerrs in 
the streets of Edinburgh in 1552. This is the event alluded 
to in stanza vii. ; and the poem is supposed to open shortly 
after it had taken place. 

Tlie tend between these two families was not reconnileil m 
159fi, when both chieftains paraded tlie streets of EdiiiDurgi 
with their followei-s, and it waS expected their first meeting 
would decide their qunrrel. But, on July I4th of the same 
year, Colvil, in a letter to Mr. Bacon, informs him. " Jiat thero 
was great trouble upon the Borders, which would conunurs uii 
onler should be taken by the Queen of England and the King, 
by reason of the two young Scots chieftains, Cesford ind Bac- 
higli, :iiid ofthe [ircsent necessity and scarcity of corn amongit 
tlio Scots Borderer,- and riders. That there had been a private 
quarrel betwixt those two lairds on the Borders, which wai 
like to have turned to blood ; but the fear of the general trouble 
had reconciled them, and the injuries which they thought to 
have committed against each other were now transferred unotj 
Englan<i : not unlike that emulation in France between tlie 
Baron de Btron and Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitiouj 
of lionor, undertook more hazardous enterprises against the 
enemy tlian they would have done if tliey liad bt»en at concord 
together." — Birch's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 67. 

Scottish Border, Toli. i. and ii., for farther paiticulari MDceming theM 
plitcef, of all which the antbor of the Lay was ullimat«ly proprieWr £d.1 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



57 



Note F. 

niiile Cessford oicns (he rule of C'ai'r^ 
While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
■Tlie slattghter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the/eudal war. 
Shall 7iever, never he forgot I— V. 19. 

Among other oxpedieuts resorted to for stanching the fend 
betwixt the Scots and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed 
in 1520, between the heads of each clan, binding themselves 
to perform rceiprocally ♦^e four principal pilgrimages of Scot- 
land, for the benefit of the souls of those of the ojiposite name 
wlio hud fallen in the quarrel. This indenture is printed In 
the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. i. But either 
it never took effect, or else the ttud was I'enewetl shortly 
aflenvards. 

Such pactions were not uncommon in feudal times, and, as 
might be expected, they were often, as in the present case, 
void of the ctTect desired. When Sir Walter Mauny, the re- 
nowned follower of Edward III., had taken the town of Ryot 
\\\ Gaseony. he remeiubered to have heard that his father lay 
tliere buried, and Offered a hundred crowns to any who could 
show him his grave. A vei-y old man appeared before Sir 
Walter, and informed him of the manner of his father's death, 
and the place of his sepulture. It seems the Lord of Mauny 
had, at a great tournament, unhorsed, and wounded to the 
death, a Gascon knight, of the house of Mirepoix, whose kins- 
man was Uishop of Cambray. For this deed he was held at 
feud by the relations of the knight, until lie agreed to under- 
take a pilgrimage to tlie shrine of St. James of C'ompostella, 
for the heneilt of the soul of the deceased. But as he returned 
through the town of Ryol, atlcr accomplishment of his vow, 
he was beset and treacherously slain, by the kindred of the 
knight whom he had killed. Sir Walter, guided by the old 
man. visited the lowij- tomb of his tiither; and, having read 
the inscription, which was in Latin, he caused the body to be 
raised, and transported to his native city of Valenciennes, 
where masses were, in the days of Froissart, duly said for the 
soul of tlie unfortunate pilgrim.— CArowyc/e of Fuoissart, 
vol. i. p. 128. 



Note Q, 



With Carr in arms had stood.— P. 20. 
The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr,i was very powerful on 
the Border. Fynes Morrison remarks, in his Travels, that 
their influence extended ttom the village of Preston- Grange, 
in Lotliian, to the limits of England. Cessford Castle, the 
ancient baronial residence of the family, is situated near the 
viltagc of Morebattle, within two or three miles of the Cheviot 
Hills. It has been a jilaee of great strength and consequence, 
but is now ruinous. Tradition affinns that it was founded by 
Halhert, or Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concerning whom 
many stories are current in Roxburghshire. The Duke of 
Roxburghe represents Kerr of Cessford. Adistinct and power- 
ful branch of the same name own the Marquis of Lothian as 
i their chief. Hence the distinction betwixt Kerrs of Cessford 
and Kau-nihjrst. 



Note H. 
Lo7-d Cranston II.— "p. 20. 
The Cranstouns. Lord Cranstonn, are an ancient Border 
family^ whose chief seat was at Trailing, In Teviotdale. They 
were at this time at feud with tlie clan of Scott; for it ap- 
pears tluit the Lady of Bucclcucli, in 1557, beset the Laird 
of Cranstoun, seeking his life. Nevertheless, the same Cran- 
Btonn, or perhaps his son, was married to a daughter of the 
eame lady. 

1 Tbo nuoe is Rprlt djfferonCl; I^ the various rvnlliea irbo betf it. Csji ia selccC- 
%At not as tb0 moat corraet, but ka Ibo moot poeUool rcodirg. 

8 



Note I. 

Of Bcthuxfi's line of Picardie.—P. "20. 
The Bethunes were of French origin, and derived their 
name from a small town in ^Vi'tois. There were several dis» 
tinguished families of the Bethunes In the neighboring pi'oviuco' 
of I'ieardy ; they numbered among their descendants the cele- 
brated Due de Sully ; and the name was accounted among the 
most noble In France, while auglrt .johlc reipained in that 
country.2 The family of Bethune, or BA^toun, In Fife, pro- 
duced tliree learned and dignified prelate-: namely, Cardinal 
Beaton, and two successive Archbishops of Glasgow, all of 
whom flourished about the date of the romance. Of this 
family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Bucclcucli, 
widow of Sir Walter Scott, of Branksome. She was a woman 
of masculine spurit, as appeared from her riding at the head of 
her son's clan, after her husband's mm'der. She also possessed 
the hereditary abilities of her family in such a degree tliat 
the superstition of the vulgar imputed them to supernatural 
knowledge. AVith this was mingled by faction, the foul ac- 
cusation of her having intluenced Queen Mary to the murder 
of her husband. One of the placards preserved in Buchanan's 
Detection, accuses of Darnle^■■s murder "the Erie of Both- 
well. Mr. James Balfour, the persoun of FlJske, Mr. David 
Chalmers, black Mr. John Spens,'who was principal deviser 
of the murder; and the Queue, assenting thairto, throw the 
persuasion of the Erie Bothwell, and the witchcraft of Lady 
Buckl&uch." 



Note K. 



He learned the art that none may name, 
In Padua, far beyond the sea.— P. 20. 
Padua was long supposed, by the Scottish peasants, to be 
the principal school of necromancy. The Earl of Gowrie, 
slain at Perth in 1600, pretended, during his studies in Italy, 
to have acquired some knowledge of the cabala, by which, he 
said, he could charm snakes, and work other miracles; and, 
in particular, could produce children without the intercourse 
of the sexes.— See the examination of Womyss of Bogie belbre 
the Privy Council, concerning Cowrie's conspiracy. 



Note L. 



His form no darkening shadow traced 
Upon t/te sun7ty wall .'—P. 20. 
The shadow of a necromancer is independent of the snn. 
Glycas Informs us that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go 
before him, making people believe it was an attendant spirit 
— Hkywood'.s Hierarchie, p. 475. The vulgar conceived 
that when a class of students have made a certain progress in 
their mystic studies, they are obliged to run through a subter- 
raneous hall, where the devil literally catches the hindmost 
in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily that the 
arch-enemy can only apprehend his shadow. In the latter 
case, the person of the sage never after throws any shade, 
and those, who have thus lost their shadow, always prove the 
best magicians. 



Note M. 
The viewless forms of air.~P. 20. 
The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined no- 
tion of their attributes, believe in the existence of an inter- 
mediate class of spirits, residing in the air, or in the waters; to 
whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, and all such phe- 
nomena as their own philosophy cannot readily explain. They 
are supposed to interfere In the atlairs of mortals, sometimes 

2 This «pteBiion and Bcntiment were dioUU'd by Iha lituaUoD of Fraaoe !a lft| 
year 1803, when the poem wae oriEiBally wrUten. ISO. 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



into a malevolent purpose, and sometimes with milder views. 
it is said, for example, that a gallant baron, having returned 
from the Holy Land to his castle of Drummelziar, found bis 
fair lady nursing' a healtiiy child, whose birth did not by any 
neans correspond to the date of his departure. Such an oc- 
enrrence, to the credit of the dames of tlie Crusaders be it 
Ipoken, was so rare, that it required a miraculous solution. 
The lady, therefore, was believed, when she averred confidently, 
that the Spirit-of the Tweed had issued from the river while 
ioa was ws'king upon its bank, and compelled her to submit 
'^ bie embraces; and the name of Tweedie was be.'ilowed 
Ipon uie child, who afterward? became Baron of Drummelziar, 
uid chief of a powerful clan. To tliose spirits are also a^ 
cribed, in Scotland, the 

— " Airy tongues, that syllable men's names, 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses." 

When the workmen were engaged in erecting the ancient 
church of Old Deer, in Aberdeenshire, upon a small hill called 
Bissau, they were surprised to find that the work was impeded 
by supernatural obstacles. At length, the Spirit of the River 
was heard to say, 

" It is not here, it is not here 
That ye shall build the church of Deer; 
But on Taptillery, 
Where many a corpse shall lie." 

The site of the edifice was accordingly transferred to Tap- 
tillery, an eminence at some distance from the place where tlie 
boilding had been commenced. — Macfarlane's MSS. 1 
mention tliese popular fables, because the introduction of the 
River and Mountain Spirits may not, at first sight, seem to ac- 
cord with ilie general tone of the romance, and the superstitions 
of the country where the scene is laid. 



Note N. 
A fancied moss-trooper, tt-c. — P. 21. 

This was the usual appellation of the marauders upon the 
Borders: a profession dihgently pursued by the inhabitants on 
both aides, and by none more actively and successfully than by 
Buccleuch's clan. Long after the union of the crowns, the 
moss-troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no longer en- 
joying the pretext of national hostility, continued to pursue 
Uieir calling. 

Fuller includes, among the wonders of Cumberland, " The 
moss-troopers : so strange in the condition of their Uving, if 
considered in their Original, Increase, Height, Decay, and 
Ruine. 

*' 1. Original. 1 conceive them the same called Borderers 
in Mr. Camden; and characterized by him to be a wild and 
warlike people. They are called moss'troopcrs, because dwell- 
ing in the mosses, and riding in troops together. They dwell 
in the bounds, or meeting, of the two kingdoms, but obey the 
^W3 of neither. They come to church as seldom as the 29th 
of February comes into the kalendar. 

"2. Increase. When England and Scotland were united 
tn Great Britain, they that formerly lived by hostile incursions, 
betook themselves to the robbing of their neighbors. Then- 
sons are free of the trade by their fathers' copy. They are like 
to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sudden plenty and 
poverty ; sometimes having flocks and herds in the morning, 
none at night, and perchance many again next day. They 
may give for their motto, vivitor ex rapto, stealing from their 
h'inest neighbors what they sometimes require. They are a 
nistof hornets; strike one, and stir all of tliera about your 
ears. Indeed, if they promise safely to conduct a traveller, 
Ihey will perform it with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary ; 
otnerwise, woe be to him thai <alleth into their quarters ! 

"3. Height Amounting, forty years since, to some thou- 
*Uidfl Thsse compelled the'vicinage to jiurchase their secu- 



rity, by paying a constant rent to them. When ir. Ineu 
greatest height, they had two great enemies, — the Laws of the 
Land, and the Lord William Howard of JV'aworth. He sen* 
many of them to Carlisle, to that place where the ofiicer doth 
always his work by daylight. Yet these moss-iroopers, if po* 
sibly they could procure the pardon for a condemned person o! 
their company, would advance great sums out of their common 
stock, who, in such a case, cast in their lots amongst them- 
selves, and ail have one purse. 

"4. Decay. Caused, by the wisdom, valour, and dihgPtifie 
of the Right Honourable Charles Lord Howard, Earl of Car- 
lisle, who routed these English Tories with liis regiment. K i 
severity unto tliem will not only be excused, but commended, 
by the judicious, who consider how our great lawyer doth 
describe such persons, who are solemnly outlawed. Brao 
TON, lib. viii., trac. 2, cap. 11. — ' J?j tunc gerunt caput lupi- 
num, ita quod sine judiciali inquisitione rite pereant, ei 
secum siium judicium portent ; et merito sine lege pcreunt, 
qui secundum legem vivere recusdrunt.' — 'Thenceforward 
(after that they are outlawed), they wear a wolt"'s head, so that 
they lawfully may be destroyed, without afiy judicial inquisi- 
tion, Bs who carry their own condemnation about them, and 
deservedly die without law, because they refused to live ac- 
cording to law.' 

"5. Ruine. Such was the success of tliis worthy lord's 
severity, that he made a thorough reformation among them ; 
and the ring-leaders being destroyed, the rest are reduced to 
legal obedience, and so, I trust, will continue." — Fuller's 
Worthies of England, p. 216. 

The last public mention of moss-troopers occurs during the 
civil wars of the 17th century, when many ordinances of 
Parliament were directed against them. 



Note O. 

tame the Unicornis pride, 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star. — P. 21. 

Tlie arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were. Vert on a cheveron 
betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three mullets sa- 
ble ; crest, a unicorn's head, erased proper. The Scotts of 
Buccleuch bore, Or, on a bend azure ; a star of six points be- 
twixt two crescents of the first. 



Note P. 



William of Delornine.—P. 21. 

The lands of Deloraiiie are joined to those of Buccleuch ir 
Ettrick Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the 
Buccleuch family, under the strong title of occupancy, al- 
though no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545. 
Like other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were occnsionall] 
iTanted by them to vassals, or kinsmen, for Bordei service 
Satchells mentions, among the twenty-four gentlemen- pension- 
ers of the family, *' William Scott, commonly called Cut-at 
tke-Black, who had the lands of Nether Deloraine foi his sei- 
vice." And again, " This William of Deloraine, commonly 
called Cut-at-the- Black, was a brother of the ancient hnuse ot 
Haining, wh-ch house of Haining is descended from the an- 
cient house of Hassendean." The lands of Deloraine nou 
"ive an earl's title to the descendant of Henry, the second war- 
viving son of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. 1 
have endeavored to give William of Deloraine the attriuHcs 
which characterized the Borderers of his day ; for whii.h I 
can only piead Froissart's apology, that, "it behoveth, in a 
Ivnage, some to be folyslie and outrageous, to maynteyne and 
s'ustayne the peasable." As a contrast to my Maroliman, I 
heg leave to transcribe, from the same author, the speech Oi 
Amergot Marcell, a cantain of the Adventurous Corapanionp 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY Oi'' THE La^T MINSTREL. 



ftioboTtT. and ft pilln^er of the country nf Aaverpene, who had 
bwn hrihed to pell his stronehoUls, and to assume a more hon- 
orable military lu'e under the banners of the Earl of Arniagnac. 
But "wlien he rememhered alle this, he was sorrowful; his 
trescJir he thought I;e wolde not mynysshe ; he wonte dayly 
wj serrhe for newe pyllages, wherebj-e enrresed his profyte, and 
then he sawe that alle was closed fro' hym. Then he sayde 
and miwfyaed, that to pyll and to robhe (all thin^ considered) 
was a Rood lyte, and so repented hym of his good doing. On a 
time, r.3 i»id fao liis old companyons, ' Sirs, there is no sporte nor 
gtetj Li this worlde imonge men of warre, but lo use suche 
lyft f(3 we have done in tyme pa-.t. What a joy was it to us 
wken we rode forth at adventure, and somtynie found by tlie way 
a rich priour or merchaunt, or ? route of mulettes of Mount- 
pellycT. itf Niirbonne. of Lymtn^, ( t T ongans, of Bpsyers, of Tholous, 
01 of Piircasonne, laden with cl^th of Erusspi" or p*'"'-* w<ir» 
comynire fro the favres. or '^den with spyr« iro B -7:7s, .to 
Damas, or fro Alysaundro ; whatsoever we m. t, all was ours, or 
els ransoumed at our pleasures ; dayly we gale new money, and 
the vyilaynes of Auver^ii'j and ■>{ Lymosyn dayly provyded and 
brought to our castell v;hete r.iele, good wynes, befTes, and fatte 
mottnns. pulliyne, and wylje foule : We were ever furnyshed as 
*ho we had been kings. Wnen we rode fort he, all the countery 
frymhiej for feare : all W..S ours goyng and comynge. How tok 
we Tarlast. I and thy l)0urge of Compayne, and 1 and Perot of 
Bemtiys took Calupet , how dyd we scale, with lytell ayde, the 
Htrong castell of Ma-iiiiell, pertayning to the Erl Dolphyn : 1 kept 
it nat past fyve days, hut I received for it, on a feyre table, fyve 
thousaiide fraiik'.s. and forgave one Ihousande for the love of the 
Erl Pnlptiin's children By my fayth, this was a fayre and a good 
iyfo ! wherefjre 1 repute mysdfe sore decejn^ed. in that I have 
rendered up the lor'-ress of Aloys; for it wolde have kept fro 
all the worlde, an-l the daye that 1 gave it up, it was foumyshed 
with vyt&ylles, to have been kept seven yere without any re- 
TylftyHinge. T'.is Erl of Armynake hath deceived me; Olyve 
Barbe, and Ptrot le Bemoys, showed to me how 1 shulde repente 
nyselfe : r-,rt,*yiie 1 sore repente myselfe of what I have done.' " 
Fp.oij'^ap/, vol. ii. p. 195. 



Note Q. 

By wHy turns, by da^erate hounds. 

Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounas.—P. 21. 

The kings and heroes of ScotVand, as well as the Border 
riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pni^ 
Buit ol' blood-hounds. Barbonr informs us, that Robert Bruce 
was repeatedly tracked by stenth-dogs. On one occasion, he 
escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and ascending 
into a tree by a branch whicfi overhung the water ; thus, leav- 
ing no trace on land of his footsteps, he baffled the scent. The 
paniers came up : 

Rycht to the bnrn thai passyt ware, 
Bot the steuth-liund made stinting thar, 
And waue^-yt lang tyme ta and fra, 
That he na certain gate conth ga ; 
Till at the last that John of Lome 
Perseuvit the hund the sleotii had lome." 

The Bruce, Book vh. 

A sore way of slopping the dog was to spill blood upon the 
track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of liis scent. 
A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such oc^a:=ions. Henry 
the Minstrel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this 
jircnmstance : — The hero's little band had been joined by an 
Irishman, named Fawdonn, or Fadzean. a dark, savage, and 
Br.spicioas character. After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne 
Side, Wallace was forced lo retreat with only sixteen follow- 
BR. The English puisaed with a Border sleuth'bratch, or 
olood -hound. 



" In Gelderland there was that hratchet bred, 
Siker of scent, to follow them that fled : 
So was he used in Eske and Liddesdail, 
Wliile (]. e. till) she gat blood no fleeing might avail " 

In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affecting to be so, would go h 
farther. Wallace, having in vain argued with him. in hasty anger 
struck off his head, and cnnlinueU the retreat. When tlic Engliab 
came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body : — 

'* Tlie sleuth stopped at Fawdon, still she stood. 
No farther would fra time she fund the bh od." 

The story concludes with a fine Gotnic scene of terror. Wallac* 
look refuge in the solitary tower of Ga^. Here he was disturbed 
at midnight by the blast nf a horn. He sent out his attendants by 
two and two. but no one returned with tidings. At length, wheD 
:.i was left alone, the sound was heard still louder. Tlie cham- 
pion descended, swoid in hand ; and, at llie g:Ue of the tower, wai 
encountered by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom he had 
slain so rashly. Wallace, in great terror, fled np into the tower, 
tore open the boards of a window, leapt do%vn fifteen feet in height, 
and continued his flight up the river. Looking back to Cask, he 
discovered the lower on fire, and the form of Fawdoun upon th« 
battlements, dilated to an immense size, and holding in his hand « 
blazing rafter. The*Iinstrel concludes, 

" Trust ryght wele, ttiat all this be sooth indeett. 
Supposing it to be no point of the creed." 

The Wallace, Book t. 

Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry'i 
Specimens of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 351. 



Note R. 

- the Afcot-hill's mound. 



Where Druid shades still flitted round. —P. 22 

This is a round artificial mniyit near Hawick, which, from jti 
name (j[¥lot. Ang Six Connlnim, Convcnfus), was probably 
anciently used as a place for assembling a National council of tbt 
adjacent tribes. There are many such mounds in Scotland, Koi 
they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form. 



Note S. 

the tower of Hazeldean. — P. 22. 

The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged 
formerly to a family of Scolls, thus commemorated by Satch 
ells :— 

" Hassendean came without a call, 
The ancientest house among them all." 



Note T. 
On Minto-mags the mconheams glint. — P. 92. 
A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above 
the vale of Teviot. in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, 
from which Lord Minto takes his title. A small platform, on 
a projecting crag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, is 
termed Bagnhills' Bed. This Barnhilla is said to have been a 
robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower be* 
neath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from 
which he derived his name. On the summit of the crags ar« 
the fragments of another ancient tower, in a pictnresiiQe situ* 



lion. Among the hou'^ea caai down by the Eail cf Hartford^ 
rj) 1545, occur the towers of Easter Bamhills, and ot" Minto- 
cr*g, with Minto town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, lather to 
the present Lord Minto,' was the author of a beautiful pasio- 
-al song, ot which the foUcwing is a more correct coj-y than is 
isr.ally published. Tiie poetical raaatle of Sir Gilbert EUiot 
S3 descended to hia family. 

** My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheej>-hooi[, 
And all the gay bauois of my youth I fonoffk : 
Ko more for Amynta fresti garlands 1 wove : 
Avabition, I said, would soon cure nie of lov3. 
Eat wJiat had my youth with ambition todcj 
VvTiy left I Amynta ! why broke I my vow ] 

*' Thioagh legions remote in vain do I roT«, 
.^d bid the wide world secure me from lavp. 
Ah, fool, to imagine, that aoght could scbo':;^ 
4 love so well founded, a passion so true 1 
i^JXf give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook raBtsr^f 
-.iSid i'ii wander from love and Amynta oo uiOSa I 

'' Ai&3 1 'tis too late at thy fate to repine t 
i'Gor sliepherd. Am)'nia, no more can be laia?. I 
\rty tears are all trnitles^, thy wishes aie v&iil, 
"^h^ moments neglected return not again. 
^h ! vrhat had ray yonth with ambition to dr E 
V'l'*' l'A\ i Amynta ! why broke I my vow i'* 



Note XT. 

■ j'-^'U'Kt RiddeWs fair denu>.-:. -T. w* 

Tiiti fc^ocly of Riddell have been very long ia posBCEBi&n of 
the barony caUei Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which still bears 
the latter name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a point 
extremely remote ; and is, in some degree, sanctioned by the 
discovery of two stone coffins, one containing an earthen pot 
filled with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date. A. D. 727 ; 
the other dated 936, and filled with the bones of a man of gi- 
gantic size. These coffins were discovered in the foundations 
of what was, but has long ceas«d to be. the ciiapel of Riddell ; 
and as it was argued with plausibility, that they contained the 
remains of some ancestors of the family, they were deposited 
in the moiiem place of sepulture, comparatively so termed, 
though built in 1110. But the following corioud and authen- 
tic docnments warrant roost conclosively the epithet of ' an- 
cient Riddell :*' let, A charter by David I. to Walter Ryda- , 
Sheriff of Koxborgb, confirming all the estates of Liliesciive, 
&c., of which hie father, Gervcsins de Rydale, died possessed. 
2dly, A bnli of Pope Adrian IV., confirming the will of Wal- 
ter de Ridale, knight, in favor of hia brother Anschittil de Ri- 
dale, dated 8tb April, U55. Sdly, A bnll of Pope Alexan- 
der III., confirming the said will of Waiter de Ridale, bo- 
qneathing to hU brother Anschittil the lands of Liliesciive, 
Whettnnes, fcc, and ratifying the bai^ain betwixt Anschittil 
end Hnctrecua, concerning the church of LilieFcHve. in eonse- 
yaence of t.ae medir.tioo of Malcolm II., and confirmed by a 
thartei fronilhat monarch. This bull is dated 17tl June, 1160. 
Kbly. A bud of the same Pope, confirming the will of Sir 
AniCiiittil de Ridale, in favor of his son Walter, conveying the 
■aid la^ils sf Liliesciive and others, dated 10th March, II520. 
ItisraTSMftable, that Liliesciive, otherwise Rydale, or Riddell, 
and tya Whittonea, have descended, through a long train of 
BnoestQCB, withotit ever passing into a collateral bne, to the 
oersQn'cf Sir Jf^hn Bnchanan Eiddell- Bart, of Riddell, the 
JineaJ descendant and representative of Sir Anschittil. — These 
(jroamstancae appeared woftby d notice hi a Bosd«- w(^~ 



Note V. 

But when Melrose he reached ^twas silence ail ; 

He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 

And sought the conaenVs lonely wall. — P. 22. 

The ancient and beautiful monastery of Meli^se \^ttB foindel 
by King David I. lis ruins a fiord the finest specimen of Golhit 
architecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast 
The stone of wJiich it is built, though it has resisted, the weaihe* 
for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that even t:»e 
most minute ornaments seem as entire as when newly wrought. 
In some of the cloisters, as is hinted in the next Cauto, theru 
are representations of flowers, vegetables, &c., car^sd in stone 
with accuracy and precision so delicate, that we almost distrus 
our senses, when we consider the difficulty of subjecting so 
hard a substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. 
This superb convent was dedicated to Sl Mary, and the monks 
were of the Cistertian order. At the time of tlie Reformation 
they shared the general reproach of sensuabty and irregularity, 
thrown upon the Roman churclimen. The old words of Qaia- 
shiels, a favorite Scotch air, ran tlms : — 

O the monks of Melrose made gudp knlc,^ 

On Fridays when they fasted. 
They wanted neither beet nor ale, 

As long as their neighbors' lasted 



Note W. 



fVken inittresa and buttress, altcntatdift 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 

When silver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. 

Then view St. David's ruined pile. — P. 23. 

The buttresses ranged along the sides of the ruins of Melrcse 
Abbey, are, according to the Gothic style, richly carved and 
fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled 
with scrolls, bearing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of 
these statues have been demolished, 

David I. of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity, 
by founding, and liberally endowing, not only ihe monastery 
of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedborgh. and many other? , 
which led to the well-known observation of liis successor, that 
he was a sore saint for the crowji. 



Note X. 



For Jftfls-f or prayer can I rarely tarry, 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray. — P. 24. 

The Borderers were, as may be supposed, very ignoran abou t 
leligiou? matters. Colville, in his Paranesis, or Admonition 
rtates. that the reformed divines were so far from undertaking 
listant journeys to convert the Heathen, "as I wold wis at 
Jod that ye wold only go hot to the Hielands and Borders ol 
)ur own realm, to gain our awin counlreymen, who, for lack 
of |)rechingand ministration of flie sacraments, must, with tyme, 
l>ecum either infidells, or atheists." But we learn, from Le"- 
I 'y, that, however deficient in real religion, they rcgulsrly toiJ 
;iieir beads, and never with more zeal than when going on t 
indecng expedition. 



IQnnd&tbn to tke present Eari. Xhl'i, 
S Since the above note was written, Uie DsaeaA fl 
^fftad witb all their 6cot«b estAt«B. — Ed. 



y cf r.uiueu Dave 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



61 



Note Y. 

So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start ; 

Sudden the flying jennet leheel, 
And hurl the unexpected dart.—V. 24. 
'• By my faith," sayd the Duke of Lancaster (to a Portu- 
guese squire), " of all tl)e feates of amies tliat the Castellyans, 
and they of your coantrey doth use, the castynge of their dertes 
best pleaseth me, and gladly I wolde se it : for, as I hear say, 
if ibey strike one aryghte. without he be well armed, the dart 
will pierce hira Uirughe." — "By my fayth, sir," sayd the 
equyer, " ye say troutli ; for I have seen many a grete stroke 
given with them, which at one time cost us derely, and was 
to us great displeasure ; for, at the said skjTmislie, Sir John 
Lawrence of Coygne was striken with a dart in such wise, that 
the head pcrced all llie plates of his cote of mayle, and a sacke 
stopped with sylke, and passed thrnglie his body, so that he 
fell down dead."— Froissart, vol. ii. ch. 44.— This mode of 
fifihting with darts was imitated in the military game called 
Jeuffo de las canas, which the Spaniards borrowed from their 
Moorish invaders. A Saracen champion is thus described by 
Froissart : " Among the Sarazyns, there was a yonge knight 
called Agadinger Dolyferne ; he was always wel mounted on 
a redv and a lyght horse; it seemed, when the horse ranne, 
that he did fly in the ayre. The knighte seemed to be a good 
man of armes by his dedes ; he bare always of usage three 
fethered dartes, and rychte well he could handle them ; and, 
according to their custome. he was clene armed, with a long 
white towel! about his head. His apparell was blacke. and 
his own colour browne, and a good horseman. The Crysten 
men say, they thoughte he dyd such deeds of armes for the 
love of some yonge ladye of his countrey. And true it was, 
that he loved entirely the Kin^ of Thune's daughter, named 
the Lady Azala ; she was inherytor to the realrae of Thune, 
after the discease of the kyng, her father. This Agadinger 
was sone to the Duke of Olyferne. I can nat telle if they were 
married together after or nat ; but it was shewed me, that 
this knyght, for love of the sayd ladye, daring the siege, did 
many featee of armeg. The knyghtes of France wold fayne 
have taken hym ; but they colde never attrape nor inclose 
feim ; his horse was so swyft, and so redy to his hand, that 
^waies he escaped." — Vol. ii. ch. 71. 



Note Z. 

jind there the dying lamps did burn, 

Before thy low and lonely urn, 

O gallant Chief of Ottcrburnd—V. 24. 

The famous and desperate battle of Otterbome was fought 
I5lh August, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and 
James. Earl of Douglas. Both these renowned champions were 
at the head of a chosen body of troops, and they were rivals 
in military fame ; so that Froissart affirms. " Of all the bat- 
tavles and encouuteryngs that I \\vlv2 made mencion of here 
before in all this hystory, great or sraalle, this battayle that 
I treat of nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten, with- 
out cowardes or faynte hertes : for there was neyther knyghte 
QOr squyer but that dyde his devoyre, and foughte hande to 
hande. This batayle was lyke the batayle of Becherell, the 
which was vahauntly fought and endured." The issue of the 

1 The e is eomething affecting in the manner In waich the old Prior of 
LocUlev >n luraa from describing the death of the gallant Ramaay, to the 
jeceral sorrow which it excited : — 

" To tell you there of the manere, 
It is Iwt aoTTOw for til here ; 
He weB the grettast menyd man 
That ony cowlh have thowcht of than^ 
Of hit state, or of mnre be fare : 
411 nwoyt bifD, bath bettyr and war; 



conflict is well known: Percy was made priBoner, and the 
Scots won the day, dearly purchased by the death of their gal- 
lant general, the Earl of Douglas, who was stain in the action 
He was buried at Melrose, beneath tiie high altar. " Hii 
obsequye was done reverently, and on his bodye layde a tombfl 
of stone, and hia baner hangyng over hym." — Froissart, 
vol. ii. p. iSo 



Note 2 A. 



Dark Knight of Liddesdale.—V. 2* 

William Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdalo, flour- 
ished during the reign of David IL, and was so distinguished 
by his valor, that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. 
Nevertheless, he tarnished hia renown by the cruel murder of 
Sir Ale.\ander Ramsay of Dalliousie, originally his friend and 
brother in arms. The King had conferred upon Ramsay Uie 
sheriffdom of Teviotdale, to which Douglas pretended soma 
claim. In revenge of this preference, the Knight of Liddes* 
dale came down upon Ramsay, while he was administering 
justice at Hawick, seized and carried him off to his remote 
and inaccessible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his un* 
fortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a dungeon, and left 
him to perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable captive pro- 
longed his existence for several days by the corn which fell 
from a granar}' above the vault in which he was confinoJ.i 
So weak was the royal authority, that David, although highly 
incensed at this atrocious murder, found himself obliged to 
appoint the Knight of Liddesdale successor to his victim, as 
Sheriff of Teviotdale. But he was soon after slain, while hunt- 
in" in Ettrick Forest, by his own godson and chieftain, Wil- 
liam, Earl of Douglas, in revenge, according to some authors, 
of Ramsay's murder; although a popular tradition, preserved 
in a ballad quoted by Godscroft, and some parts of which are 
still preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl to jealousy. 
The place where the Knight of Liddesdale was killed is called, 
from his name, William-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called 
William-hope, betwixt Tweed and Yarrow. His body, ac- 
cording to Godscrolt. was carried to Lindean church the firat 
night after his death, and thence to Melrose, where he waB 
intended with great pomp, and where his tomb is still showa. 



Note 2 B. 

The moon on the east oriel shone. — P. iM. 

It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of tha 
lightness and elegance of Gothic architecture, when in its 
purity, than the eastern window of Melrose Abbey, Sir James 
Hall of Dunslas. Bart., has, with great ingenuity and i)lausi- 
biUtv. traced the Gothic order through its various forms and 
seemingly eccentric ornaments, to an architectural imitation o' 
wicker work ; of which, as we learn from someof iiie hceaiU 
the f-arliest Christian churches were constructec. In Buch ci 
edifice, the original of the clustered pillars is traced to a set »/ 
round posts, begiit with slender rods of willow, whose looaa 
summits were brought to meet from all quarters, and bound 
together artificially, so as to i)roduce the frame-work of the 
roof : and the tracery of our Gothic windows is displayed i n tho 

The ryche and pure him menyde bath. 
For of his dede wea mekil ekalh." 

Some years ago, a peisoo digging for stones, about the old castle 01 
Hermitagfi, broke intn a vault, containing a quantity of chnff, some bones, 
and piecpB of iron ; amoDgst others, the curb of an ancient bridle which tha 
author haa since given to the E irl Dalhousie, under the inipreaaion thftt 
it possibly may be a relic of his brave ancestor. The worthy clergjiniin a 
the pariah hns mpntioned tbia diaco* i his Stalistica] Aooiunt « 

CftBtletown. 



-52 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



meeting and interlacing of rods and hoops, affording an inex- 
naostible variety of beauliful forms of open work. This inge- 
nioos system is alluded to in the romance. Sir James Hall's 
Essay on Gothic Atcliitecture is published in The Edinburgh 
Philosophical Transactions. 



Note 2 C. 
— ' — 7\b -condrous Michael Scott. — P. 24. 

Sii Mxnael Scott of Balwearie flourished daring the 13tli 
eenlaiy, snd was one of tlie ambassadors sent to bring tlie 
Maid of Norway to Scotland ujion the death of Alexander III. 
By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era. 
He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in fi)reign 
countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at 
Venice in 149G ; und several treatises upon natural philosophy, 
from which lie appears to have been addicted to the abstruse 
itudies of judicial astrology, alchyray, physiognomy, and chi- 
romancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a 
ekilfal magician. Dempster iniorms us, that he remembers to 
lave beard in liis youth, that the magic books of Michael 
Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without 
danger, on account of the malignant fiends who were thereby 
invoked. Dempstcri Historia Ecclesiastica, 1627, lib. .\ii. 
p. 495. Lesly characterizes Michael Scott as '* singiilarie 
pkilosophice, astronomic, ac mcdicin<£ laude prestans ; dice- 
batur pcnitissimos mag-ia: rccessus indagdsse.'^ Dante also 
mentions him as a renowned wizard : — 

" Q-uell aitro che no' fianchi 6 cosi poco, 
Michele Scotio fu, che veramente 
Delle magiche frode seppe il giuoco." 

Inferno, Canto xxmo. 

A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and Iiistorians, 
lOJea little of bis mystical fame in vulgar tradition. Accord- 
mgiy, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a 
tegend ; and in the south of Scotland, any work of great labor 
and antiquity is ascribed, eitlier to the agency of Ji aid Michael, 
of Sir William Wallace, or of the devil. Tradition varies con- 
cerning the place of his burial ; some contend for Home Col- 
trame, in Cumberland ; otliers for Melrose Abbey. But all 
agree, that his books of magic were interred in his grave, or 
preserved in the convent where he died. Satcliells, wishing to 
give some authority for his account of the oygin of the. name 
of Scott, pretends, tliat, in 1629, he chanced to be at Burgh 
under Bowness, in Cumberland, where a person, named Lance- 
lot Scott, sliowed him an extract from Michael Scott's works, 
lontjining that story : — 

" He said the book which he gave me 
Was of Sir Michael Scott's iiistorie ; 
Which history was never yet read through, 
Nor never will, for no man dare it do. 
Young scholars have pick'd out something 
From the contents, that dare not read witJiin. 
He carried me along the castle then, 
And shew'd his written book lianging on an iron pin. 
His writing pen did '^eem to me to he 
Of hardened meta', like steel, or accumie ; 
The volume of it did seem so large to me. 
As the Book of Martyrs and Turks historie. 
Then in the church he let me see 
A stone where Mr. Michael Scott did lie ; 
I asked at him how that could appear, 
Mr. Michael had been dead above five hundred year? 
He shew'd me none durst bury nnder that stone, 
More than he had been dead a few years agone ; 
For Mi. Miciael's name does terrifie each one.'* 

Hiitory '>/ the Right Honorable JVame o/ScOTi 



Note 2 D. 

Salamanca's cave. — P. 25. 

Spain, from the relics, doubtless, of Arabian learning am 
superstition, was accounted a favorite residence of magicians. 
Pope Sylvester, who actually imported from Spain the use ol 
the Arabian numerals, was sujiposed to have learned there 
the magic, for which he was stigmatized by tho ignorance oi 
his age. — Wli-Lixti of AFalmsburi/, lib. ii. cap. 10. Ther* 
were public schools, where magic, or rather the sciences eap 
posed to involve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at Toleilo, L 
Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were lield in | 
a deep cavern ; the mouth of which was walled up by Queen 
Isabella, wife of King Ferdinand. — D'Auton on Learned In- 
credulity, p. 45. These Spanish schools of magic are celebra 
ted also by the Italian poets of romance : — 

" Q,uesto citta di Tolleto solea 
Tenere studio di negromanzia, 
Q,uivi di raagica arte si leggea 
Pubblicamente, e di peromanzia ; 
E molti geomanti sempre avea, 
Esperimenti assai d' idromanzia 
E d' altre false opinion' di sctocchi 
Come e fatture, o spesso batter gU occhi." 

II Morgante Mnggiore, Canto xxv. St. 259 

The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to Rinaldo of Mont* 
alban, calletl, by AriosEo, Malagigi, studied the black art at 
Toledo, as we learn from U Histoire de Maugis D^Jiygre- 
mont. He even held a professor's chair in the necromantic 
university; ior so I interpret the passage, " ^.e'oH tous lea 
sept ors d'enchantemcnt, dcs charmes et conjurations, il n'y 
avoit mcillcur maistre que lui ; et en tel rcnom gti''on le lais- 
soit en. chaise, et Vappelloit on maistre Maguis." This 
Salamancan Domdaniel Ls said to have been founded by Hei^ 
cules. If the classic reader inquires where Hercules himself 
learned magic, he may consult " Z,€s faicts et processes du 
noble et vaillant Hrrcules," wh?re he will learn, that the 
fable of his aiding Atlas to support the heavens, arose from 
the said Atlas having taught Hercules, the noble knight-errant, 
the seven liberal sciences, and in particular, tliat of judicia' 
astrology. Such, according to the idea of the middle ages, 
were the studies, " maxiyiius gu^ docuit .'itlas." — In a ro- 
mantic history of Roderic, the last Gothic King of Spain, he 
is said to have entered one of those enchanted caverns. It was 
situated beneatii an ancient tower near Toledo ; and when the 
iron gates, which secured the entrance, were unfolded, there 
rnshed forth so dreadful a whirlwind, that hitherto no one had 
dared to penetrate into its recesses. But Roderic, tlireatened 
with an invasion of the Moors, resolved to enter the cavern, 
where he expected to find some prophetic intimation of the 
event of the war. -Accordingly, his train being furnished wilh 
torches, so artificially composed that the tempest could not ex- 
tinguish them, the King, with great difliculty. penetrated injo 
a square hall, inscribed all over with Arabian characters. In 
the midst stood a colossal statue of bniss, representing a Sara- 
cen wielding a Moorish mace, with wliich it discharged furious 
blows on all sides, an<l seemed thus to excite the tempest which 
raged around. Being conjured by Roderic, it ceased from 
striking, until he read, inscribed on tlie right hand, " Wretched 
Monarch, for thy evil hast thou come hither;" on the left 
hand. " Thou shall be dispossessed by a strange people;'' 
on one shoulder. '*Iinvoke the sons of Ho gar ;^^ on iheoihe* 
" I do mine ojfice.^^ When the King had deciphered thes« 
ominous inscriptions, the statue returned to its exercise, th* 
tempest commenced anew, and Roderic retired, to monm ovet 
tlie predicted evils which approached his throne. He causeJ 
the gates of the cavern to be locked and b&rricaded ; but, in 
the course of the night, the tower fell with a tremendous noise, 
and under its ruins concealed forever the entrance to the mys- 
tic cavern. The conquest of Spain b"* tho Saracens and il-t 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



63 



imih of the onfortonate Don Rmleric, fulfilled the prophecy 
of the brazen statue. Historta vcrda<lcra del Rey Don Kod- 
rigo por el Snbio Alcayde Abxilcacim, traduzcda de la Icngiia 
Arabiga por Miqud de JLiina, iG51, cap. i i. 



Note 2 K 



Tht hells would ring in J^otre Dame.— P. 25. 

" Tantnmne rem tarn negligenter ?" says Tyrwhitt, of his 
predecessor, Speight ; who, in his commentary on Chaucer, 
had omitted, as trivial and fabulous, tlie story of Wade and 
bis boat Guingelot, to the great prejudice of posterity, tlie 
meiuory of the hero and the boat being now entirely lost. Tliat 
fntore antiquaries may lay no sucli omission to my charge, I 
have noted one or two of the most current traditions concern- 
ing Michael Seotl. He was chosen, it is said, to go upon an 
embassy, to obtain from the King of France satisfaction for 
certain piracic-a committed by his subjects upon those of Scot- 
land. Instead of preparing a new equipage and splendid 
retinue, the ambassador retreated to his study, opened his book, 
and evoked a fiend in the shape of a liuge black horse, mount- 
td opon his back, and forced him to fly through the air to- 
wards France. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously 
taked hia rider, What it was that the old women of Scotland 
muttered at bedtime ? A less experienced wizard might have 
mswered that it was the Pater Noster, which would have 
licensed the devil to precipitate him from his back. But 
Michael sternly replied, " What is that to thee? — Mount, 
Diabolus, and fly !" When he airived at Paris, he tied his 
hoise to the gate of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered 
his message. An ambassador, v;ith so little of the pomp and 
circumstance of diplomacy, *a3 not received with much re- 
spect, and t)ie King was cboi't to return a contemptuous refusal 
to his demand, when Michael besought him to suspend Iiis 
resolution till he had seen his horse stamp three times. The 
first stamp shook every steeple in Paris, and caused all the 
bells to ring ; the second threw down three of the towers of 
the palace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof to give 
the third stamp, when the IClng rather chose to dismiss Michael, 
with tlie most ample concessions, than to stand to the probable 
consequences. Another time, it is said, that, when residing at 
the Tower of Oakwood, upon the Ettrick. about three miles 
above St-lkirk, he heard of the fame of a sorceress, called the 
Witch of Falsehope, who lived on the opposite side of the 
river. Michael went one morning to put her skill to the test, 
but was disappointed, by her denying positively any know- 
ledge of the necrortiantic art. In his discourse with her, he 
laid his wand inadvertently on the table, which the hag ob- 
Ber^ing. suddenly snatched it up. and struck him with it. 
Feeling the force of tlie charm, he rushed out of the house; 
6ut, as it had conferred on him the exlc-rnal appearance of a 
hare, his servant, who waited without, halloo'd upon the dis- 
comf 'id wizard his own greyhounds, and pursued him so 
close :.iat, in order to obtain a moment's breathing to reverse 
Uie charm, Michael, after a very fatiguing course, was fain to 
lake rt-foge in h'a own jaithaU {Anglice, coinmon sewer). In 
CT^ei to revenue himself of the witch of Falsehope, Michael, 
one morning in the ensuing harvest, went to the hill above the 
hon^e with V. k dogR, and sent down his servant to ask a bit of 
"oread from th:- goodwife for his greyhounds, with instructions 
what to do if he met with a denial. Accordingly, when the 
witch had refused the boon with contumely, the servant, as his 
Uiaaler had directed, laid above the door a paper which he had 
given him. containing, amongst many cabalistical words, the 
well-known rhyme, — 

" Maister Michael Scott's man 
Sought meat, and gat nane." 
iliimediatelv the good old woman, instead of pursuing her 



domestic occjupolion, which was baking bread for the reap- 
ers, began to dance round the fire, repeating the rliyme, and 
continueu this exercise till her husband sent the reapers ta 
the house, one after another, to see what had delayed their 
provi>ion ; but the charm caught each as they entered, and 
losing all idea of returning, they joined in the dance and 
chorus. At leiigth tlie old man himself went to the *io'JM)' 
but as his wife's frolic with Mr. Michael, whom he had spod 
on the hill, male him a little cautious, he contented himself 
with looking in at ttie window, and saw the reapers at theil 
involuntary exercise, dragging his wife, now comjileteiy ex- 
hausted, sometimes round, and sometimes througii, the fire 
whitfli was, as usual, in the midst of the house. Instead o. 
entering, he saddled a horse, and rode up the hill, to humble 
himself before Michael, and beg a cessation of the spell ; 
which the good-natured warlock immediately granted, direct 
iiig hirn to enter the house backwards, and, with his left hand, 
take the spell from above the door; which accordingly ended 
the supernatural dance. — This tale was told less particularly 
in former editions, and I have been censured for inaccuracy 
in doing so. — A similar charm occurs in Huon dc Bourdeaux, 
ami in the ingenious Oriental tale, called the Calip/ftf^athek. 

Notwithstanding his victory over the witch of Falseliope, 
Michael Scott, like his predecessor. Merlin, fell at last a vio 
tim to female art His wife, or concubine, elicited from him 
the secret, that his art could ward off" any danger except the 
poisonous qualities of brotii, made of tlie flesh of a brcme sow 
Sucli a mess she accordingly administered to the wizard, wlio 
died in consequence of eating it; surviving, however, lon^ 
enough to put to death his treacherous confidant 



Note 2 F. 



The words that cleft Eildon hills in three.— P. 25. 

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed 
by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding 
constant emjiloyment. He commanded him to build a canld, 
or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso ; it was accomplished 
in one night, and still dues honor to the infernal architect 
Michael next ordered that Eildon hill, which was then a uni- 
form cone, should be divided into three. Anothernight was 
sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks 
which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered thii 
indefatigable deipon, by employing him in the hopeless and 
endless task of makin<; ropes out of sea-sand. 



Note 2 G. 



That lamp shall burn unquenchably. 
Until the eternal doom shall be. — P. 25. 
Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural 
magic, talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been 
found burning in ancient sepulchres. Fortunius Licetus in- 
vestigates the subject in a treatise, De Lucernis Jintiquoriim 
Reeonditis, published at Venice, 1621. One of these perpet- 
nal lamps is said to have been discovered in the tomli of Tnl- 
liola, the daughter of Cicero. The wick was sojjposetl to be 
composed of asbestos. Kircber enumerates three diff"erent 
recipes for constructing such lamps; and wisely concludes, 
that the thing is nevertheless impossible, — Mundiis Subter- 
ranneiis, p. 72. Delrio imputes the fabrication of such lighU 
to magical skill. — Disquisitiojies JSIagicat, p. 58. In a very 
rare romance, which " treateth of the life of Virgilius, and of 
his deth, and many marvayles that he dyd in his lyfe-time. by 
wychecrafte and nygramancye, throughe the heipe of th* 
devyls of hell," mention is made of a very extraordinary prtr 
cess, in winch one of these mysdcal lamps was emplop^d. \t 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■eens that Virgil, as he advanced in years, became desirous of 
renovating liis youth by magical art. For this purpose he 
constructed a solitary tower, having only one narrow portal, in 
which he placed twenty-four copper figures, armed with iron 
finils, twelve on each side of the porch. These enchanted 
Btatiies struck with (heir flails incessantly, and rendered all en- 
trance impossible, unless when Virgil touched the spring, which 
Btoii))ed their motion. To this tower he repaired privately, at- 
tended by one trusty servant, to whom he corjimunicated the 
secret of the entrance, and hither they conveyed all the ma- 
gician's treasure. "Then sayde Virgilios, my dere beloved 
frende. and that I above alle men truste and knowe mooste of 
my secret ;" and then he led the man into a cellar, where he 
made a.fayi:r lamp at all seasons burnynge. " And then 
eayd Virgili as to the man, ' f?e you the barrel that standeth 
here ?' and be sayd, yea : ' Therein must thou pnt me : fyrst 
ye mus:t, slee me, and hewe me smalle to pieces, and cut my 
hed in iiii pieces, and salte the heed under in the bottom, and 
then the pieces there after, and my herte in the myddel, and 
then set the barrel under the lampe, u'lat nyghte and day the 
fat therein may droppe and Icake ; and ye shall ix dayes long, 
onei in tli^day, fyll the lampe, and fayle nat. And when this 
is all done, then shall I be renened, and made yonge agen'." 
At this extraordinary proposal, the confidant was sore abashed, 
and made some scruple of obeying his master's commands. 
At length, however, he complied, and Virgil was slain, pick- 
ted, and barrelled up, in all respects according to his own 
airection. The servant then left the tower, taking care to put 
the copper tlirashers in motion at his departure. He continued 
daily to visit the tower with the same precaution. Meanwhile, 
the emperor, with whom Virgil waa a great favorite, missed 
him from the conrt, and demanded of his servant where he 
was. The domestic pretended ignorance, till the emperor 
threatened him with death, when at length he conveyed him 
to the enchanted tower. Tlie same threat extorted a discovery 
of the mode- of stopping the statues from wisldiug their flails. 
" And then the emperour entered into the castle with all his 
folke, and pought all aboute in every corner aftec "Virgilius ; 
and at the laste they sought so longe, that they came into tho 
seller, where they sawe the lampe hang over the barrell, 
where Virgilius lay in deed. Then asked the emperour the 
man, who liad made hym so herdy to put his mayster Virgi- 
lius so to dctlie ; and the man answered no worde to the em- 
perour. Atul then the emjierour, with great anger, drewe out 
his sworde, and slewe he there Virgilius' man. And when all 
tins was done, then sawe the emperour, and all his folke, a 
naked child iii tymes rennynge about the barrell, saynge these 
wordes, ' Cni-sed be the tyme that ye ever came here.' And 
with those words vanyslied the chylde awaye, and was never 
Bene ageyn ; and thus abyd Virgilius in the barrell deed." — 
Virgilius, hi. let., printed at Antwerpe by John Doesborcke. 
This curious volume is in the valuable library of Mr. Douce ; 
and is supposed to be a translation from the French, printed 
in Flander:^ for the English market. Sre Goujet Bihlioth. 
Franc, ix. G'io. Catalogue de la Bibliothique J^'^'titiale, torn. 
B p. 5. Dc Bure, No. 3857. 



by the beard ; but he had no sooner touched the formidable 
whiskers, than the corpse started up, and half unshea*hed hia 
sword. The Israelite fled ; and so permanent waa the effect o. 
his terror, that he became Christian. — Heywood's Hierarchic 
p. 480, quoted from Scbas'iaii Cobarruvias Croice 



Note 2 H. 



Then Deloraine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the Mighty Book, 

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown^ d. — P. 90. 

William of Deloraine might be strengthened in this belief by 
ne well-known story of the Cid Ruy Diaz. Wlien the body 
of tliat famous Christian cliampion was sitting in state by the 
high altar of the cathedral church of Toledo, where it remained 
br tea years, a certain malicious Jew attempted to pull him 



NOTK 2 I. 



Th e Baron's Dwarf his courser held. — P. 27. 

The idea of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page is taken from a 
being called Gilpin Horner, who aj»peared, and made some 
stay, at a farm-house among the Bordei^mountains. A gentle- 
man of that country has noted down the following particnlara 
concerning his appearance : — 

" The only certain, at least, most probable account, that evei 
I heard of Gilpin Horner, was from an old man, of the name 
of Anderson, who was born, and lived all his life at Todshaw- 
liill, in Eskedale-muir, the jilace where Gilpin appeared and 
staid for some time. He said there were two Bien, late in the 
evening, when it was growing dark, employed in fastening the 
horses upon the uttermost part of their ground" (that is, tying 
their forefeet together, to hinder them from travelling far in 
the night), when they heard a voice at some distance, crying, 
' Tint! Tint! Tint!'^ One of tlie men, named Moffai, 
called out, * What diel has tint you? Come here.' Imme- 
diately a creature, of something like a human form, ajipeared. 
It was surprisingly little, distorted in features, and misshapen 
in limbs. As soon as the two men could see it plainly, they 
ran home in a great fright, imagining they had met with some 
goblin. By the way, Moffat fell, and it ran over him, and waa 
liome at the house as soon as either of them, and staid there a 
long time ; but I cannot say how long. It was real flesh and 
blood, ;ind ate and drank, was fond of cream, and, when 
it could get at it, wonld destroy a great deal. Ii seemed a 
mischievous creature ; and any of the children whom it could 
master, it would beat and scratch without mercy. It was once 
abusing a child belonging to the same Moti'at, who had been 
so frightened by its first appearance ; and he, in a passion, 
struck it so violent a blow upon the side of the head, thai it 
tumbled upi'n the ground; but it was not stunned; for it sei 
up its head directly, and exclaimed, ' Ah, hah. Will o' Moffat, 
you strike sair !' (viz. sore). After it had staid there long, ona 
evening, xrhen the Wi;men were milking the cows in the loan, 
it was playing among the children near by them, when suddenlj 
they heard a loud shrill voice cry three times, ' Qilpia Hor- 
ner!^ Itstarted, and said, ^That is vie, I must away,^ ami 
instantly disappeared, and was never heard of more. Old An- 
derson did not remember it, but said, he had often iieard his 
falher, and other old men in the place, who were there at the 
time, speak about it ; and in my younger years I have often 
heard it mentioned, and never met with any who had the re- 
motest doubt as to the IrutJi of the story ; although, I must 
own, I cannot help thinking there must he sorfie misrepresenta- 
tion in it." — To this account, I have to add the following pa^ 
ticulars from the most respectable authority. Besides coi^tant- 
ly repeating the word tint! tint! Gilpin Horner was often 
heard to call upon Peter Bertram, or Be-Ie-ram, as he pronoun- 
ced the word ; and when the shrill voice called Gilpin Horner, 
he immediately acknowledged it was the summons of the said 
Peter Bertram : who seems therefore to have been the devil 
who had tint, or lost, the little imp. As much has been ob- 
jected to Gilpin Horner, on account of bis being supposed 
rather a device of the author than a popular superstition, I can 
only say, that no legend which 1 ever heard seemed to be 
more universally credited ; and that many persons of very good 
rank, and considerable information, are well known to lepo^ 
absolute faith in the tradition. 

1 TuU Bii.'oifiei totl 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



65 



Note 2 K. 

But the Ladyc of Branksomc irathn-\l a band 

Of tlic best that would ride at her command. — P. 27. 

' Ifjjon 25th June, 1557, Dame Janet Beatoune Lady Buc- 
eleuch, anil a great number of the namex)!' Sootl, delaitit (ac- 
cused; for coining to Ihe kirk of St. Mary of tlie Lowes, to the 
no • l)er of two hundred persons bodin in feire of weire (arrayed 
iL armor), ami breaking open the door of the said kirk, in or- 
der to apprt-'liend tlie Laird of Cran^toune tor his destruction." 
On ttie 20th July, a warrant from the Q,ueen is presented, dis- 
charging the justice to jiroceed against the Lady Buccleuch 
while new calling — Abridgment of Books of Adjournal, in 
Advocates' IJbrary. — The following proceedings upon this 
case appear on the record of the Court of Justiciary ; On the 
25th of June, 1557, Robert Scott, in BowhiU parisJi, priest of 
the kirk of St. Mary's, accused of the convocation of the 
Queen's lieges, to the number of two hundred persons, in wai^ 
like array, with jacks, helmcLs, and other weapons, and march- 
ing to the chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes, for tlie slaughter 
jf Sir Peter Cransloun, out of ancient feud and malice pre- 
pense, and of breaking the doors of tlie said kirk, is repledged 
jy the Archbisliop of Glasgow, The bail given by Robert 
Scott of Allaidiaugh, Adam Scott of Burnfnte, Robert Scott 
in Howfurde. Walter Scott in Todshawhaugh, Walter Scott 
younger of Synlon, Thomas Scott of Hayning, Robert 
Scott, WiUiain Scott, and James Scott, brothers of the said 
Walter Scott, Walter Scott in the WoU, and Walter Scott, 
son of William Scott of Harden, and James Wemyss in Eck- 
I'ord, all accused of the same crime, is declared to be forfeited. 
Oq the bame day, VValtcr Scott of Synton, and Walter Chis- 
Holme of Chibiiolnie, and William Scott of Harden, became 
jound, jointly and severally, that Sir Peter Cranstoun. and his 
Kindred and servants, should receive no injury from them in 
future. At the same time. Patrick Murray of Fallohill, Alex- 
ander Stuart, uncle to the Laird of Trakwliare, John Murray 
of Newhall, John Fair'ye, residing in S-dkirk, George Tait, 
younger ofPin, Joliu Pennycuke of Pennycuke, James Ram- 
day of Cokpen, the Laird of Fassyde. and th? Laird of Henders- 
toune, were all severally lined for not attending as jurors; 
being probably either in alliance with the accused parties, or 
dreading their vengeance. Upon the ilDth of July following, 
Scott of Synlon, Cliisholine of Cliisholnie, Scott of Harden, 
Scott of Howpx«Iie, Scott of Burnfute, witli many others, are 
ordered to appear al next calling, under the pains 'of treason. 
Bui no farther procedure seems to have taken place. It is 
•aid, that, upon this rising, the kirk of St. Mary was burnt by 
the flcotts. 



Note 2 L. 



Like a book-bosom' d priest. — P, 29. 

"At L^nthank, two miles N. E. from the church (of Ewes), 
OieM are ihe ruins of a chapel for divine service, in time of Po- 
pery. There is a tradition, that friars were wont to come from 
Melrose or Jedburgh, to bajitize and marry in thia parish ; and 
from being in use to carry the mass-book in their bosoms, they 
were called by the inhabitants, Book-n-bosomis. There is a 
man yet alive, who knew old men who had been baptized by 
these Book-a-bosomes, and who says one of them, called Hair, 
Used this parish for a very long time." — Account of Parish of 
F.wis, apud Macfarlanc's M.SS. 



Note 2 M. 
Alt was delusion, naught was truth.—'P. 29. 
Olamour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, means the 
magic power of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, so 
9 



that the appearance of an object shall be totally different from 
the reality. The transformation of Michael Scott by the witch 
of Falsehope, already mentioned, was a genuine operation of 
glamour. To a similar charm the ballad of Johnny Fa' im 
putes the fascination of the lovely Countess, who eloped with 
that gipsy leader : — 

" Sae soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, 
They cast Ihe glamour o'er her." 

It was formerly used even in war. In 1381, when the Dukp 
of Anjou lay before a strong castle, upon the coast of Naples, 
a necromancer offered to " make the ayre so thycke, that tney 
within shall thynke that there is a great bridge on the see (by 
which the castle was surrounded) for ten men logo a frftnt ; 
and whan they within the castle se this bridge, they will be so 
afrayde, that they shall yelde thorn to your mercy. The 
Duke demanded, — ' Fayie Master, on this bridge that ye speke 
of, may our people assuredly go thereon to the ca.stcll, to as- 
sayle it ?'^' Syr,' quod the enchantour. ' 1 dare not assure you 
that ; for if any that passeth on the bridge make the signeof the 
crosse on hym, all sliall go to noughte, and they that be on the 
bridge shall fall into the see.' Then the Duke began to laugh ; 
and a certain of young knightes, that were there present, said 
' Syr, for godsake, let the mayster assey his cunning : we shall 
leve making of any signe of the crosse on us for that tyme.' " 
The Ea'rl of Savoy, shortly after, entered the tent, and recog- 
nized in the enchanter the same person who had put the castle 
into the power of Sir Charles de la Payx, who then held it, by 
persuading the garrison of the (iueen of Naples, through magic- 
al deception, that the sea was coming over the walls. The 
sage avowed the feat, and added, that lie was the man in the 
world most dreaded by Sir Charles de la Payx. " ' By my 
fayth,' quod tlie Earl of Savoy, ' ye say well ; and ftiil tliat 
Syr Charles du la Payx shall know tliat lie hatli grel wronge 
to fear you. But I shall assure hym of you ; for ye shal 
never do enchantment to deceyve hym, nor yet none other. 1 
wolde nat that in tyme to come we shulde be reproached tliat 
in so high an enterprise as we be in, wherein there be so many 
noble knyghtes and squyres assembled, that we sliulde do any 
thyng be enchantment, nor that we shulde wyn our enemys be 
suclie crafte.' Then he called to him a servannl, and said, '.Go, 
and get me a hangman, and let him stryke off this niaysler's 
heed without delay ;' and as soone as the Erie had command- 
ed it, incontyncnt it was done, for his heed was stryken of 
before the Erie's tent."— Fuoissart, vol. i, eh. 391, 392. 

The art of glamour, or other fascination, was anciently a 
principal part of the skill of \.\\e jongleur, or juggler, whose 
tricks formed much of the amusement of a Gothic castk 
Some instances of this zxt may be found in the Minstrelsy nj 
the Scottish Border, vol. iv. p. 106. In a strange allegorical 
poem, called the Houlat, written by a iiependent of the house 
of Douglas, about 1452-3, the jay, ir an assembly of birds, 
plays the part of the juggler. His feats of glamour are thai 
described ; — • 

" lie gart them see, as it semyt in samyn houre, 

Hunting at herdis in holtis so hair ; 
Some sailand on the see schippis of toure, 
Bernis battalland on burd brim as a bare : 
He coulde carye the coup of the kin^s des, 
Syne leve in the stede, 
Bot a black bunwede ; 
He could of a henJs hede 
Make a man mes. 

*' He gart the Emproure trow, and trewlye bebailk, 
That the corncraik, the pondere at hand, 

Had poyndit all his pris hors in a poynd fald 
Because thai ete of the corn in the kirkland. 

He could wirk windaris, quhat way tliat he wald 
Mak a gray gus a gold garland, 

A lang spere of a bittile, for a berne bald 



Nobilis of natschelles, and silver of sand. 
Thus joukit with JQxtere the jai"lane ja, 

Fair ladyes in ringis, 

Knythtis in caralyngis, 

Bayth dansis and singii 
It semyt as sa." 



Note 2 K 

JVo» if you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 

It was not given by man alive. — P. 29. 

Dr. Henry More, in a letter pre6xed to Glan^ille's Saducis' 
nu5 Triiimphatus, mentions a similar phenomenon. 

" I remember an old gentleman in the country, of my ac- 
quaintance, an excellent justice of peace, and a piece of a 
mathematician ; but what kind of a philosopher he was, you 
may understand from a rhyme of his own making, which he 
Jomniended to me at my taking horse in his yard, which rhyme 
is this: — 

* Ens is nothing till sense finds out : 
Sense ends in nothing, so naught goes about.' 

Which rhyme of his was so rapturous to liimself, that, on the 
reciting of the second verse, the old man turned himself about 
upon his toe as nimbly as one may observe a dry leaf whisked 
round the corner of an orchard-walk by some little whirlwind. 
With tliis philosoplier I liave had many discourses concerning 
the immortality of the soul and its distinction ; when I have 
run him quite down by reason, he would but laugh at me, and 
eay tiiis is logic, H, (calling me by my Christian name) ; to 
which I replied, tins is reason, fathrr L. (for so I used and 
Ktme olhere to call him) ; bat it seems yoii are for the new 
iights, and immediate inspiration, which I confess he was as 
little for as for flic other; but I said so only in the way of 
drollery to him in those times, but truth is. nothing but palpa- 
ble experience would move him ; and being a bold man, and 
fuaring nothing, he told me he iiad used all the magical cere- 
monies of conjuration he could, to raise the devil or a spirit, 
and liad a most earnest desire to meet witli one. but never could 
do it. But this lie told me, when he did not so much as think 
' of it, while his servant was pulling oil' iiis boots in the hall, 
eome mvisible hand gave him sucli a clap upon the back, that 
it made all ring again; 'so,' thought lie now, ' I am invited 
to the converse of my spirit,' and therefore, so soon as his boots 
were off, and his shoes on, out he goes into the yard and next 
field, to find out the spirit that had given him Iliis familiar clap 
on the back, but found none neither in the yard nor field next 
to it. 

"But thc/cigh he did not feel this stroke, albeit he thought 
it aflerwaril-s (finding nothing came of il) a mere delusion ; 
yet not long before his death, it had more force with him than 
all ihe philosophical arguments I could use to him, lliougti I 
could wind him and nonplus him as I pleased ; but yet all my 
it^uments, liow solid soever, made no impression upon him ; 
<Lerefore, after severa. reaionings of tliis nature, whereby [ 
*oald prove to h'm the soul's distinction from the body, and 
.U immortality, when nothing of such subtile consideration did 
tjv more execution on his mind than some lightning is said to 
lo, though it melts the sword, on the fuzzy consistency of the 
lejbbard, — 'Well,' said I, ' father L., though none of these 
things move you, 1 have something still behind, and what 
Tonrself has acknowledged lo be true, that may do the busi- 
ness : — Do you remember the clap on your hack when your 
fcervant was puiUng off your boots in the hall ? Assure your- 
»elf,' says I, ' father L., that goblin will be the first to bid yon 
welcome into the other world.' U[ion that his countenance 
changed most sensibly, and he was more confounded with this 
rubbing up his memory, than with all the rational or philoso- 
phical argumentalijiis that t could produce." 



Note 2 O. 

The -unning stream dissolved the spell.— ¥. 30 

It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantment cat 
subsist in a living stream. Nay, if you can interpose a brook 
betwixt you and witches, spectres, or ever, fiends, you are in 
perfect safety. Burns's inimitable Tarn o' Shanter toms en- 
tirelv upon such a circumstance. The belief seems to be al 
antiquitv. Brompten informs us, that certain Irish W'Zar* 
could, by spells, convert earthen cluds, or stones, into fat pigt, 
which they sold in the market, but which always reassameo 
their proper form when driven by the deceived purchaser across 
a running stream. But Brompton is severe on the Irish, for a 
very good reason. "Gens ista spurcissima non solvunt deci 
mas.'* — Ckronicon Johannis Brompton apud decern Scrip- 
tores, p. 1076. 



Note 2 P. 

He never counted him a man, 

Would strike below the knee. — P. 30. 

Imitated from Drayton's account of Robin Hood and bii 
followers : — 

" A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, 
Still ready at Iiis call, that bowmen were right good ; 
All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and bluGii 
His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew. 
When netting to their lips their bugles shrill, 
Tiie warbling et-hoes waked from every dale and hill ; 
Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast 
To wiiich under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast, 
A sJiort swonl at iheir belt, a buckler scarce a span. 
Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. 
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong 
They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long. 
Of archery they had the very perfect craft, 
With broad arrow, or but. or prick, or roving shaft." 

Pohj-Mbion, Song 26. 

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg. was reckoned 
contrary to the law of arms. In a tilt between Gawain Mi- 
chael, an English squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenchman, 
" tliey met at the speare poyntes rudely; the French squyei 
justed right pleasantly ; the Englishman ran too lowe, for he 
sli-ak the Frenchman dcpe into the thigh. Wliercwilh the 
Erie of Buckingham was right sore displeased, and so wer; all 
the other lords, and sayde how it was shamefully done, '' — 
FroissaRt. vol. i. chap. 36(i. Upon a similar occasion, ' the 
two knyghts came a fote eche against other rndelj, with ihcir 
speares low couched, to stryke eche other within the fonre 
quarters. Johan of Castell-Morant strake the English squye 
on the brest in such wyse, that Syr Wyllyam Fermelone 
stombled and bowed", for his fote a lyltel fayled him. He 
helde his sjiere lowe wilh both his haiides, and coude nal 
amende it, and slrake Syr Johan of the Ca'^tell-Morant in the 
tliighe, so that the speare went dene throughe. that the heed 
was sene a handfull on the other syde. And Syr Johan with 
the stroke reled, but he fell nat. Than the Englyshe knygiites 
and squyers were ryghte sore displeased, and sayde how it was 
a foule stroke. Syr Wyllnm Fermeton excused himselfe, and 
sayde how he was sorrie of that adventure, and liowp that yf 
■ he had knowen that it shuhle have bene so, he wolde nevei 
have begone it ; sayeiige howTie could nat amende ii, by cause 
of glaunsing of his fote by con?traynt of the grea' stroke tnat 
Sy*r Johan of the Caste ll-Moranr i< id given him." — Froissart. 
vol i. chap. 373. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



m 



Note 2 Q. 

She irnc the splinter from the loound, 
And with a charm she stanched the bliji. — P. 31. 

See several cliarms Cor this purpose in Reginald Scotl's 
Disccoery of fVitchcraft, p. 273. 

•* Tom Polls was Iml a serving man, 
Bdt vet lie was a doctor good ; 
lie bound his haiulkerchief on the wound, 
Ai.d with some kinds of words he stanched the blood." 
Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, Lond. 1791, p. 131. 



Note 2 R. 



Bit she has ta*en the broken lance. 
And wash\I it from the clotted gore, 
And salved the splinter o'er and o^cr. — P. 31. 
Sir Kenelm Digby, in a discourse upon the cure by sympa- 
Uiy, pronounced at Montpelier, before an assembly of nobles 
»nd learned men, translated into English by R. White, gen- 
tleman, and published in 1658, gives us the loUowing curious 
enrgioal case : — 

" Mr. James Howe! (well known in France for his public 
works, and particularly for his Dendrologie, translated into 
French bv Mons. Baudouin) coming by chance, as two of his 
best friends were fighting in duel, he did his endeavor to 
part them; and pulling himselfe between iheni, seized, with 
his left hand, upon the liilt of the swonl of one of ihe com- 
batants, while with his right hand he laid liold^f the blade of 
the other. TJiey, being transported with fury one against tiie 
other, struggle.1 to rid liiemselves of the hinderance their friend 
made, that they sliouUl not kill one another ; and one of them 
roughly drawing the blade of his sword, cuts to the very bone 
the nerves and muscles of Mr. Howol's hand; and then the 
other disengaged his hilts, and ^ve a cross blow on his adver- 
sarie's head, which glanced towards his friend, whoieaving up 
bis sore hand to save the blow, he was wounded on the back 
of his hand as he had been before within. It seems some 
itrange constellation reigned then against him, that he should 
lose 50 much bloud by parting two such dear tiiend?, who, had 
they bfcen themselves, would have hazarded both their lives to 
have preserved his ; but this involuntary effusion of bloud by 
them, preventeil that which they sholde have drawn one from 
the other. For they, seeing Mr. Howel's face besmeared with 
bloud, by heaving up his wounded hand, they both ran to em- 
brace him ; and, having searched his hurts, they bound up his 
nands with one of his garters, to close the veins which were 
cat, and bled abundantlv. They brought him home, and sent 
for a surgeon. But this being heard at court, the King sent 
one of his own Surgeons ; for his Majesty much aflected the 
laid Mr. Howel. 

" It was my chance to be lodged hard by him ; and four or 
6ve days after, aa I was making myself ready, he came to my 
•ODse, Scd prayed me to view his wounds ; ' for I understand,' 
laid he, * that you have extraordinary remedies on such ocea- 
lions, and my surgeons apprehend some fear that it may grow 
to a ga"ngrene, and so the hand must be cul ofl'.' In effect, his 
countenance discovered that he was in much pain, which he 
laid was insupportable, in regard <'f tlie extreme inflammi- 
tion. I told him I would willingly serve iiim : but if haply 
he knew the manner how I would cure him, without touching 
or seeing him, it may be he would not expose himself to my 
nianner of curing, because he would think it, peradvenlure. 
Either inert'eclual or superstitious. He replied, ' The wonderful 
ihings which many have related unto me of your way of 
medicament, makes me nothing doubt at all of its efficacy ; 
md all that I have to say unio yon is comprehended in the 
iSpanJsb proverb, Hagase el milagro y hagaio JIahoma — Let 
ne miracle hi done, thoagb Mahomet do it.' 



" I asked him then for anything ihat had the blood upon it ; 
so he presently sent for his garter wherewith his hand was firsi 
bound ; and as I calU-d lor a basin of water, as if I would wash 
my hands, I took a handful of powder of vitriol, which I had 
in my study, and presently dissolved it. As soon as the bloud 
garter was brought me, I put it within the basin, observing 
in the interim, what Mr. Howel did, who stood talking with t 
gentleman in a corner of my chamber, not regarding nt a) 
what I was doing ; but he started sudden ) •;- i." he had founo 
some strange alteration in himself. I asked him wha! M 
ailed 1 ' I know not what ailes me ; but I tinde that I fee) no 
more pain. Metlmiks that a phasing kinde of freshnesse, as 
it were a wet cold napkin, did spread ever my hand, which 
hath taken away the inflammation that tormented me before.' 
• — I replied, ' Since then that you feel already so good effect 
of my medicament, I advice you to ca^l away all your plays* 
ters ; only keep the wound cltan, and in a modera'.e tempei 
betwixt heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the 
Duke of Buckingham, and a little after to the King, who wen 
both very curious to know the circumstance of the businesse, 
which was, that after dinner 1 took the garter out of the water, 
and put it to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, but 
Mr. Howel's servant came running, that bis master felt as 
much burning as ever he had done, if not more ; for the heat 
was such as if his hand were 'twixt coles of fire. I answered, 
although that bad happened at present, yet he should find ease 
in a short time : for I knew the reason of this new accident, 
and would provide accordingly ; for his master should be fre*- 
from tliat inflammation, it may be before be could possibl* 
return to him ; but in case he found no ease, I wished him to 
come presently back again ; if not, he might forbear coming 
Thereupon he went ; and at the instant I did put again the 
garter into the water, thereupon he found bis master withoQl 
any pain at all. To be brief, there was no sense of pain after- 
ward ; but within five or six dayes the woimds were cicatrized, 
and entirely healed." — Page 6. 

The King (James VI.) obtained from Sir Kenelm the dis 
coverv of his secret, which he pretended had been taught 
him by a Carmelite friar, who had learned it in Armenia, or 
Persia. Let not the age of animal magnetism and metalli, 
tractors smile at the symjiathetic powder of Sir Kenelm Bigby 
Reginald Scott mentions the same mode of cure in these 
terms : — " And that which is more strange . . . they can 
remedie anie stranger with that verie sword wherewith the^ 
are tvounded. Yea, and that which is beyond all admiration, 
if they sti'oke the sword upward with their fingers, the parlie 
shall feele no pain ; whereas, if they draw their fingers down- 
wards, thereupon the partie wounded shall feele intolerabl*. 
pain." 1 presume that the success ascribed to tbesympathetit 
mode of treatment might arise from the pains bestowed ir 
washiiiff the wound, and excluding tbi? air. thus bringing on a 
cure by the fii-st intention. It is introduced by Drydeo in tb« 
Enchanted Island, a (very unnecessary) alteration of th* 
Tempest ' — 

" Ariel. Anoint the sword which pierced him with thia 
Weapon-salve, and wrap it close from air, 
Till I have time to visit him again. — Act v. sc. 2. 

Again, in scene 4lh, Miranda enlerp with Hippolito'e nv«ri 
wrapt op : — * 

" Hip. O my wound pains ra" 

Mir. I am come to ease you. {She unwraps tie sicori 

Hip. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me ; 
Mv wound shoots wor^e than ever. 

Mir. Does it still grieve yon ? [She wipes and anointe 1K 
sword. 

Hip. Now, melhinks, there's something laid just upon \* 

Mir. Do you find no ease? 

Hip. Yes, yes- opon the sudden all this pain 
Is leaving me. Bweet heaven, how I am eased!** 



08 



SCOTT^S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 S. 

On Penchnjst glows a bale ofJire.—P. 32. 

Bale, beacon- fagot. Tlie Border beacons, from their num- 
ber anj position, formeii a sort of telegraphic commmiication 
witli Edinburgli. — The act of Parliament, 1455, c. 48, directs, 
that one baie or fagot sliall be warning of llie approach of 
the Kngiish in any manner; two bales that they are coming 
indeed; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the enemy 
w* ill great force. '• Tiie same taikenings to be watelied and 
maid at Eggerhope (Eggerstand; Castell, fra they se llie fire of 
Huiiic, that ihey fire right swa. And in like manner on Sow- 
In Edge, sail se the fire of Eggerhope Castell, and mak 
taikemng in like manner: And then may all Louthaine be 
warned, and in special the Castell of Edinburgh ; and their 
four fires to be made in like manner, that they in Fife, and fra 
Striveling east, and the east part of Louthaine, and to Dunbar, 
all may see them, and come to the defence of tlie realme." 
These beacons (at least in latter timesj were a " long and 
Btrong tree set up, with a long iron pole across the head of it, 
and an iron brander fixed on a stalk in the middle of il, for 
holding a tai^barrel." — Stevenson's History, vol. ii. p. 701. 



Note 2 T. 



Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise. — P. 32. 

The speed with which the Borderers collected great bodies 
of horse, may be judged of from the following extract, when 
the subject of the rising was much. less important than that sup- 
posed in the romance. It is taken from Carey's Memoirs : — 

" Upon the death of the old Lord Scroop, the Queen gave 
•Jie west wardenry to his son, that had married my sister. He 
•laviBg received that office, came to me with great earnestness, 
and desired me to be his deputy, ollering me that I should live 
with him in bis house ; that he would allow me half a dozen 
men, and as many horses, to be kept at his charge ; and his fee 
being 1000 merks yearly, he would part it with me, and I 
khould have the half. This liis noble ofter I accepted of, and 
went with him to Carlisle ; where I was no sooner come, but 
[ entered into my oflice. We had a stirring time of it : and 
few days past over my bead but I was on horseback, either to 
prevent mischief, or take malefactors, and to bring tlie Border 
in better quiet than it had been in times past. One memorable 
thing of God's mercy sliewed unto me, was such as I have 
good cause still to remember it. 

" I had private intelligence given me, that there were two 
Scottishmen that had killed a churchman' in Scotland, and 
were by one of the Grxmes relieved. This Gricme dwelt 
within five miles of Carlisle. He had a pretty house, and 
•lose by it a strong tower, for Iiis own defence, in time of 
need. — About two o'clock in the morning, I took horse in Car^ 
lisle, and not above twenty-five in my company, thinking to 
Burprise the house on a sudden. Before I could surround the 
house, the two Scots were gotten in the strong tower, and 1 
Mol'l «ee a boy riding from tlie house as fast as his horse could 
Miry hrm ; I little suspecting what it meant. But Thomas 
Carlelon came to me presently, and told me, that if I did not 
^MWently prevent il, both myself and all my company would 
oe either slain or taken prisoners. It was strange to me to hear 
his language. He then said to me, ' Do you see that boy that 
rideth away so fast ? He will be in Scotland within lliis lialf 
.lour ; and he is gone to let them kno\* , that you are here, and 
(c what end you are come, an.l the small number you have 
with you ; and that if they will make haste, on a sudden they 
way surprise us, and do with us what they please.' Hereupon 
we took advice what was best to be done. We sent not-'ce 
presently to all pans to raise the country, and to come to us 
with all the speed ihey could ; and withall we sent to Carlisle 
to ra'se the lo-vusmen ; for without foot we could do no good 
taaiut the tower. There we staid some houre, expecting more 



company ; and within short time after the country came in oa 
all sides, so that we were quicklv between three ami four hun 
dred horse ; and, after some longer stay, the fool of CarHsla 
came to us, to the number of three or four hundred men , 
whom we presently set to work, to get to the lop of the tower, 
and to uncover the roof; and then some twenty of 'Jiem to fall 
down together, and by that means to win the *ower. — The 
Scots, seeing their present danger, offered to parlwy, and yielded 
tliemselves to my mercy. Tliey had no sooner opened the irou 
gate, and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we might see 
400 horse witliin a quarter of a mile coming to their rescue, 
and to surprise me and my smalt company ; but of a sudden 
they stayed, and stood at gaze. Then had I more to do than 
ever; for all our Borderers came crying, with full mouths, 
' Sir, give us leave to set upon them ; lor iiissv are they that 
have killed our fathers, our brothers, and uncles, and our cou 
sins ; and they are coming, thinking to surprise you, upon weak 
grass nags, such as they could get on a sudden ; and God hath 
put them into your hands, that we may take revenge of thetn 
for much blood that they have spilt of oui-s.' I desired they 
would be jiatient a while, and bethought myself, if I should 
give them their will, there would be few or none of tlie Scots 
tliat would escape unkilled (there was so many deadly feuda 
among tliem) ; and therefore I resolved with myself to give 
them a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So I 
told them, that if I were not there myself, they might then da 
what they pleased themselves; but bsing present, if I should 
give them leave, the blood that should be spilt that day would 
lie very hard upon my conscience. And tlierefore I desired 
them, for my sake, to forbear ; and, if the Scots did not pres- 
ently make away with all the speed ihsy could, upon my send- 
ing to them, they slioiild then have their wills lo do what they 
pleased. Tliey were ill satisfied with my answer, but duret 
not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them 
puck away with all the speed they could ; for if they stayed 
the messenger's return, they should few of them return to their 
own homf. They made no stay ; but tht'y were returned 
homewards before the messenger had made an end of his mes- 
sage. Thus, by God's mercy, I escaped a great danger; and, 
by my means, there were a great many men's lives sav^d that 
day." 



Note 2 U. 



On many a cairn's gratj pyramid. 

Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid. — P. 32. 

The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the sani- 
mit of most of our Scottish bills, and are found in other re- 
markable situations, seem usually, though not universally, to 
have been sepulchral monuments. Si.x flat p'.ones are com- 
monly found in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or small* 
er dimensions, in which an urn is often placed. The author ia 
possessed of one, discovered beneath an immense cairn at 
Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is of the most barbarous con- 
struction ; the middle of the substance alone having been sub- 
jected to the fire, over which, when hardened, the artist nad 
laid an inner and outer coal of unbaked clay, etched witli some 
very rude ornaments ; his skill apparently being inadequate to 
baking the vase, when completely finished. Tiie content* 
were bones and ashes, and a quantity of beads made of coal. 
This seems to nave been a barbarous imitation of the Rorau 
fashion of sepulture. 



NOTl'. 2 v. 



For pathless march and mountain celt, 
The peasant left his lowly shed. — P. 33 

The morasses were the usual rtfuge of the Border herdsmen, 
on tlie approach of an English army. — {Minstrelsy of tht 



Scottish Border, vol. i. p. 393.) Caves, hewed in the most 
laii<;froufi and innccessible [tIacL's, also atlbrded an occasional 
etreai. Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous banks of 
•J\e Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale at Ancrani. upon the 
led at Iluiulalee, and in many other [ilaces upon the Border. 
The banks of the Eske, at Gorton and Hawiliorndfn, are hol- 
■•»wfd into similar recesses. But cvoii these dreary dens were 
^'t always secure [ilaces of concealment. " In the way as we 
;a ne, not far from this place (Long Niihlry), George Ferres, 

1 gentleman of my Lord Piotector'ji happened 

1011 a cave in the grounde, the mouth whereof was so wome 
vith thn fresh print of stej's, thai he seemed to be certayne 
.hear wear some foike within ; and gone doune to trie, he was 
leadily reeeyved with a hakebul or two. He left them not 
yet. till he had known wheyilicr ihei wohle bu content to yield 
and come oot ; which thev fondly refusing, he went to my 
lord's grace, and upon alterance of the thynge, gat hcence to 
deale with them as he couMe ; and so returned to them, with 
a skore or two of pioners. Three ventes had tlieir cave, that 
we wear ware of. whereof he first stopt up on ; anoother he 
fill'd full of strawe, and set it a fyer. whereat they within cast 
waler apace ; but it was so wel maynteyned without, that the 
fver prevayled, and thei within fayn to get them belyke into 
anoolher parler. Then devysed we (for I hapt to be with him) 
lo stop the same up, whereby we should eyther smootlier them, 
or fynd out their venles. if thei hadde ^ny moe ; as this was 
lione at another issue, about .\ii score of, we moughte see the 
fame of their smoke to come out: the which continued with 
*o great a force, and so long a while, that we conld not but 
thinre they must needs get tliem out. or smoother within ; and 
forasmuch as we found not that they dyd the tone, we thought 
[t for certain thei wear sure of the toother." — Patten's j?c- 
:ount of Somerset's Expedition into Scotland, apud DaL- 
itell's Fragments. 



Note 2 W. 



Showed southern ravage was begun. — P. 33. 

From the following fragment of a letter from the Ejurl of 
Northumberland to King Henry VIIL, preserved among the 
Cotton MSS. Calig. B. vii, 179, the reader may estimate the 
nature of the dreadful war which was occasionally waged upon 
the Borders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the personal 
haired of the wardens, or leaders. 

Some Scottish Barons, says the Earl, liad threatened to come 
within " tliree miles of my pore house of Werkworth, where I 
lye and gif me light to put on my clothes at mydnight; and 
alsoo the said Marke Carr said there opynly, that seyng they 
had a governor on tJie Marches of Scotland, as well as Uiey 
had in Ingland, he shulde kepe your higiioess instructions, 
gyffyn unto yonr garyson, for making of any day-forrey ; for 
he and his friends wolde burne enough on the nyght, lettyng 
your eounsaill here defyne a notable acte at ihej-re pleasures. 
Upon whiche, m your highnes name, I comaundet dewe watche 
to be kepte on your Marchies. for comyng in of any Scotts. — 
Neuertheles, upon Thursday at night last, came ihyrty light 
horsemen into a litii village of myne, called Whitell, having 
aot past 6ex houses, lying towards Ryddisilaill, upon Shilbotell 
Pf.ore, and there wold have fyred the said bowses, hut ther was 
no fyre to gel there, and they forgate to brynge any withe 
theyme ; and took a wyf being great with chylde, in the said 
towne. and said to hyr, Wher we can not gyve the lard lyght, 
yet we shall doo this in spyte of hym ; and gyve her iii mortal! 
F-ounds upon the heid, and another in the right side, with a 
iagger ; whereupon the said wyf is deede, and the childe in 
ler bely is losle. Beseeching your most gracious highness to 
^dace onto your gracious memory this wylful and shamefull 
acurder, done within this your highnes real me, notwithstanding 

1 Rup, creak Rive, tear. 



all the inhabitants thereabout rose unto the said fray, and gate 
warnyngG by becons into the countrey albre theyme, and yet 
the Scotlsmen dyde escape. And uppon cerleyne knowledge 
to my brother Clyfforthe, and me, had by credible persons li 
Scotland, this abomynable act not only to be done by dyverse 
of the Mershe, but also the afore iiameil persons of Tyvidaill, 
and consented to, as by appearance, by the Erie of Morey, 
upon Friday at night last, let slip C ol the best horsemen o 
Glendaill, with a parte of your highnes subjects of Deiw yke 
together with George Dowglas, whoo came into Ingland agaynfi 
in the dawning of the day ; but afore thejre retorne, they dyO 
mar the Earl of Murreis provisions at Coldingham ; for thtj 
did not only burne the said town of Coldinf,'hair, with all ttis 
corne tliereunto belonging, which is esteemed worthe cii marke 
sterling ; but alsoo burned twa towncs nye adjoining thereunto 
called Branerdergest and the Black Hill, and toke xxiii persons, 
Ix horse, with cc bed of cataill, which, iiowe, as I am inform- 
ed, hathe not only been a slaye of the siii<l Eric of Murreis tio\ 
coming to the Bordure as yet, but al^oo, that none inlands 
man will adventure Iheyr si;lf uppon the Marches. And as foi 
the tax that shulde have been grauntyd for finding of the said 
iii hundred men. is utterly deiiyed. Upon which the King of 
Scotland departed from Edynburgli to Stirling, and as yet 
there doth remayn. And also I, by the advice of my brothel 
Clyfforlh, have devysed, that within this iii nyghts, Godde wil- 
ling Kelsey, in like case, shall be brent, with all the com in 
the said town ; and then tliey shall have noo jdace to lye any 
garyson in nygh unto the Burdcrs. And as I shall attelgne fur 
ther knowledge, I shall not faill to satisfye your highnes, ac- 
cording to my most liounden dutie. And for this burnyng at 
Kelsey is devysed to be done secretly, by Tyndaill and Ryddis 
dale. And thus the holy Trynite .ind * * * your most royal 
estate, with long lyf, and a^ much increase of honour as your 
most noble heart can desire, jil H'crkworth, the xxud day of 
October.''' (1522.) 



Note 2 X. 
Watt Tinlinn.—V. 33. 
This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a 
fireside tale. He was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and 
held for his Border service a small tower on the frontiers ol 
Liddesdale. Watt was, by profession, a sutor, bu*, hy incli- 
nation and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one occft- 
sion, the captain of Bewcastle, militaiy governor of that wild 
district of Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion into 
Scotland, in which he was defeated, and forced to fly. Watt 
Tinlinii pui-sued him closely through a dangerous morass ; the 
captain, however, gained the firm ground ; and seeing Tinlinn 
dismounted, and Houndering in the bog, used these words ol 
ipsult : — "Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your boots; the heeli 
risp, and the sea me rive."^ — " If I cannot sew," retorted Tia- 
linn. discharging a shaft, which nailed the captair.' s thigh *" 
his saddle, — " If I cannot sew, I can yerk '^^ 



Note 2 Y, 

BUlhope Stag.—F. 34. 

There is an old rhyme, which thus celebrates the placM tfl 
Liddesdale remarkable for game ; 

" Billhope braes for bucks and raes, 
And Cant haugh for swine, 
And Tarras for Uie good bull-trout. 
If he be ta'en in time." 

The bucks and roes, as well as the old awine, are now a 
tinct ; bnt the good ball-trout is still famous. 



a Terk, to twitch. 



I olioemakArB do, ; wcuriut; the atitOw ea or thai 



10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 Z. 
Belted (Vilt. Howard.— P. 34. 

Lord William Howard, t lini son of Thomas, Duke of Nor- 
folk, succeeded to NaworlU Castle, and a large domain an- 
nexed to it, in right of his wif** EHzabeth, sister of George 
Uord Dacre, who died without heira male, in the 11th of 
fWeen Elizabeth. By a poetical anachronism, he is intro- 
duced into 'he romance a few years earlier than he actually 
flourished. He was warden of the Western Marches: and, 
from tlie rigor with which he repressed the Border excesses, 
the name of Belted Will Howard is still famous in our tradi- 
lions. In the castle of Nawortii, his apartmeuts, containing 
■ bedroom, oratory, and library, are still shown. They im- 
press us witli an unpleasing idea of the life of a lord warden 
of the Marches. Tliree or four strong doors, separating these 
rooms from the rest of the castle, indicate the apprehensions 
>f treachery from his garrison ; and the secret winding pas- 
I8gc?, through which he could privately descend into the 
guardroom, or even into the dungeons, imply the necessity of 
no smfll decree oJ" secret superintendence on the part of the 
governor. As the ancient books and furniture have remained 
ondisturbed, the venerable appearance of these apartments, 
and tlie armor scattered around the chamber, almost lead us to 
expect the arrival of the warden in person, Naworth Castle 
ia situated near Brampton, in Cumberland. Lord William 
Howard is ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle. 



Note 3 A. 
Lord Dacre. — P. 34. 
The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits 
of one of their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemai;*, 
under Richard Coeur de Lion. There were two powerful 
branches of that name. The first family, called Lord Dacres 
of the South, held the castle of the same name, and are an- 
cestors to the present Lord Dacre. The other family, descend- 
ed from the same stock, were called Lord Dacres of the 
North, and were barons of Gilsland and Graystock. A cliief- 
tain of the latter branch was warden of the West Marclies 
during the reign of Edward VL He was a man of a hot and 
obstinate character, as appears from some particulars of Lord 
Surrey's letter to Henry VIII., giving an account of his beha- 
vior at the siege and storm of Jedburgh. It is printed in the 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Appendix to the Intro- 
duction. "" 



Note 3 B. 



The German hackbut-men. -~V. 34. 

In the wars with Scotland, Henry VIII. and bis successors 
(mployed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the bat- 
le of Pinky there were in the English array six liundred liack- 
'Otters on foot, and two hundred on horseback, comi)owd 
.hiefly of foreigners. On tlie 27th of September, 154y, the 
Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector, writes to the Lord Dacre, 
warden of the West Marches: — "The Almains, in number 
Iwo thousand, very valiant soldiers, shall be sent to you shortly 
from Newcastle, together with Sir Thomas Holcroft, and with 
Ibe force of your wardenry (wliich we would were advanced 
to the mo^t strength of horsemen that might be), shall make 
khe attempt to Loughmaben, being of no such strength, but 
th«t it may be skailed with ladders, whereof, beforehand, we 
woold you caused secretly some number to be provided ; or 
«,W • wiermined with the pyke-axe, and so taken : either to be 



kept for the King's Majesty, or olr.erwise to be dfrfaoed, an 
taken from the profits of the enemy. And in Uke naanerthe 
house of Carlaverock to be used." Repeated mention occun 
of the Almains, in the subsequent correspondence ; ar^d the 
enterprise seems finally to have been abandoned, from the dif 
ficulty of providing these strangers with the neOesaaty "vie* 
tnals and carriages in so poor a country as Dumfries-shire."— 
History of Cumberland, vol. i. Introd. p. Ixi. From tha 
battle-pieces of the ancient Flemish painters, we learn, that 
the Low Country and German soldiers marched to an asaaalt 
with their right knees bared. And we may also observe, it 
such pictures, the extravagance to which the^ i-am*il iH» 
fashion of ornamenting their dress with knots of ribhon Thu 
custom of the Germans is alluded to in the MtTTOur for M' f «* 
tratis, p. 131. 

" Their pleited garments therewith well accord, 
All jagde and frouust, with divers colours deckt 



Note 3 C. 



*' Ready, ay^ ready," for the field. — P. 34. 

Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of James 
v., and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamesclench, 
&c., lying upon the river of Eltriek, and extending to St. 
Mary's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appear?, that when 
James had assembled his nobdity, and their feudal followers, 
at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as ia 
well known, disappointed by the obstinate refusal of his peers, 
this haron alone declared himself ready to follow the King 
wherever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James 
granted to his family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear 
a border of fleurs-de-luce, similar to the Iressure in the royal 
arm.*, with a bundle of spears for the crest ; motto, Ready, 
aye ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbet ; but his 
work being scarce, I insert the following accurate transcript 
from the original, in the possession of the Right Honorable 
Lord Napier, the representative of John of Tliirlesiainu. 

*' James Rex. 
We James, by the grace of God, King of Scottis, consider 
and the Ifaith and guid servis of of of right traist friend John 
Scott of Thirlestane, qnha cummand to our hoste at Sootra- 
edge, with three score and ten launcieres on horseback of his 
friends and followers, and beaud willing to gang with ws into 
England, when all our nobles and others refused, he was 
ready to stake at all our bidding ; flor the quhilk cauie, it is 
our will, and we doe straitlie command and charg our lion 
herauld and his deputies for the time beand, to give and to 
graunl to the said John Scott, ane Border of fReure de Uae« 
about hin coatte of amies, sik as is on our royal banner, and 
alsua ane bundell of launces above his helmet, with thir words, 
Readdy, ay Readdy, that he and all his aftercummers maj 
bruik the samine as a pledge and taiken of our guid will and 
kyndnes for his true worthines ; and thir our letters seen, y« 
nae waes failzie to doe. Given at Ffalla Muire, under ou 
hand and privy casliet, the xxvii day of July, ni c and xxzll 
zeires. By the King's graces speciall ordinance. 

"Jo. Arskini. * 

On the back of the charter is written, 
" Edin. 14 January, 1713. Registred, conform to the Mtoc 
parliament made anent probative writs, per M'Kailo, pnit. 
and produced by Alexander Borthwick, servant to Sir Willlui 
Scott of Thirlestane. M. L. J." 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



71 



Note 3 D. 

An aged Knight, to danger steel'd, 

IVitA many a moss-trooper came on ; 
J3nd azure in a golden fxld, 
T'^f stars and crescen graced his shield, 
ffithout the bend oj Murdieston. — P. 34. 

The famil) vf Harden are Jwcemleil from a younger son of 
;ae ' airJ ol' Buccleucli, who flourif^iied before Uie estate of 
Ulirdieston was acquired by tbe marriage of one of those 
.fiiefi&.n9 with the heiress, in 1-96. Hence they bear the cog- 
aiznnce of tlie Scotts upon the field ; whereas tliose of the 
Bt 6 !uch are disposed upon a bend dexter, assumed in conse- 
? j». t of that marriage, — See Gladstaine of Whitelawc's 
MS6 and Scott of Stokoe's Pedigree, Newcastle, 1783. 

Wa er Scott of Harden, who flourished during the reign of 
Uueen Mary, was a renowned Border freebooter, concerning 
whom ti edition has preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of 
which h: ve been publislied in tbe Minstrelsi/ of the Scottish 
Border; . thei-s in Leyden's Sclucs of Infancy ; and others, 
more lately in The Jlountain Burd, a collection of Border 
ballads by IVlr. James Hogg. Tlie bugl5-horn, said to have 
been used bj this formidable leader, is preserved by liis de- 
scendant, tli6 oreaent Mr. Scott of Harden. His castle was 
■Ituated upon he very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, 
.iirough which /■ scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. 
in the recess ol "his glen he is ?aid to have kept his spoil, 
which served foi lie daily maintenance of his retainers, until 
the production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered dish, an- 
nounced to the hungry band, that they must ride for a supply 
cf provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, daughter of 
Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called in song the Flower of 
Varrow. He possessed a very extensive estate, which was di- 
vided among Ills five sons. There are numerous descendants 
jf this old marautling baron. The following beautiful passage 
)f Levden's Scenes of Infancy, is tbunded on a tradition re- 
ipecting an infant captive, whom Walter of Harden carried off 
ji a predatory incursion, and who is said to have become the 
inthor of some of our most beautiful pastoral songs : 

" Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, 
Rolls her rod tide to Teviot's western strand, 
Through slaty liills, whose sides are shagg'd with ttiorn, 
Where springs, in scalter'd tufts, the dark-green corn, 
Towers wood-girt Harden, ^is-r above the vale, 
And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail. 
A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, 
The Seott. to rival realms a miglity bar, 
Here fix'd his mountain home ; — a wide domain. 
And rich the soil, had jjurple heath been grain ; 
But what the niggard ground of wealth denied. 
From fields more bless'd his fearless arm supplied. 

" The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; 
The warder's horo was heard at dead of night ; 
And as the massy portals wide were flung, 
With stamping hoofs tJie rocky pavement rung. 
Wha-. fair, half veil'd, leans from her latticed hall. 
Where red the wavering gleams of torchlight fall ? 
Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who, through the gloom, 
Looks, wistful, for her lover's dancing plume. 
Amid the piles of spoil, that strew'd the ground, 
Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; 
With trembhng haste the yoothful matron flew, 
And from the hurried heaps an infant drew. 

" Scared a* the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her ne.^k. and to her bosom clung ; 
While beauteous Mary soothed, in accents mild, 
His fluttering sonl, and ulasp'd her foster child. 
Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, 
Vor loved the MMues that scared his infant view ; 



In vales remote, from camps and cast.es far, 
He shunn'd the fearful shuddering joy of war ; 
Content the loves of simple swains to sing. 
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string. 

" His are the strains whose wandering echoes thriii 
The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill. 
When evening brings the merry folding hours. 
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowera, 
He lived o'er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear, 
To strew the holly leaves o'er Harden's bier : 
But none was found above the minstrel's tomb 
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom : 
He, nameless as the race from which he sprung. 
Saved other names, and left his own unsung.'- 



Note 3 E. 

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band. — P. 35. 

In this, and the following stanzas, some account is given Om 
the mode in which the property in the valley of Esk was trana 
ferred from the Beattisons, its ancient possessors, to the nam« 
of Scott. It is needless to repeal the circumstances, which 
are given in the j)oem, literally as they Ij^ve been preserved 
by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the latter |iart of the six* 
teentli century, took upon himself the title of Earl of Morton. 
The descendants of Beattison of Wooilkerrick, who aided tha 
Earl to escape from his disobedient vassals, continued to hold 
these lands within the memory of man, ami were the only 
Beattisons who had property in the dale. Tlie old people give 
locality to the story, by showing the Galliartl''* Haugh, tt" 
place where Buccleuch's men were concealed, &c. 



-P 36. 



Note 3 F, 

Their gathering word was Bellenden.- 

Bellosden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and 
being m the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was fre- 
quently ^jsed as theii place of rendezvous and gathering word. 
— Survey of Selkirkshire in Maefarlane^ s MSS., Advocates 
Library. Hence Satchells calls one part of Iiis gen(>alogical 
account of the families of that clan, his Bellenden. 



Note 3 G. 

The camp their home, their law the sword. 
They knew no country, own^d no lord. — P. 36 

The mercenary adventurers, whom, in I'dSO, the Earl ol 
Cambridge carried to the assistance of the King of Portuja' 
against the Spaniards, mutinied for want of regular pay, Al 
an assembly of their leaders. Sir John Soltier, a natural lc 
of Edward the Black Prince, thus addressed tiiem : " * I »on 
sayle, let us be alle of one alliance, and of one accorde, acd jt- 
us among ourselves reyse up the banner of St. George, and let 
us be frendes to God, and enemyes to alle the worlde ; for 
without we make ourselfe to be feared, we gete nothynge.' 

** * By my fayth,' quod Sir William Helmon, ' ye saye right 
well, and so let us do.' They all agreed with oae voyce, ancl 
so regarded among them who shulde be their capitayne. Then 
they advysed in the case how they coude nat have a bettei' 
capitayne than Sir John Soltier. For they sulde than hava 
good leyser to do yvel, and they thought he was more metel* 
yer thereto than any other. Then they raised up the nenon 
of St. George, and cried, * A Soltier ! a Soltier I the valyannl 
bastarde ! frendes to God, and enemies to all the worlde I' ~ 
Froissart, vol. i. ch. 393. 



72 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 H. 

That ke may suffer rnarch^trcason pain. — P. 37. 

Several species of offences, peculiar t« the Border, constita- 
xd what was called march-treason. Among others, was the 
crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite country 
iloring the lime of truce. Thus, in an mdenture made at the 
water of Eske, heside Salom, on the 25th day of March, 1334, 
betwixt noble lords and mighty. Sirs Henry Percy, Earl of 
Northumberland, and Archibald Douglas, Lord of Galloway, 
a truce is agreed upon until the 1st day of July ; and it is ex- 
pressly accorded, " Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on 
tis fothyr, that he shall be hanget or heofdit ; and gif ony 
company stellis any gudes witliin the trieux beforesayd, ane of 
that company sail be hanget or heofdit, and the remnant sail 
icatore the gudys stolen in the dabble." — History of fVesi- 
moreland and Cumberland, Introd. p. xxxix. 



Note 3 I. 



Dtloraine 

Witt cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain. — P. 38. 

In dubious cases, the innocence of Border criminals was oc- 
casionally referred to their own oath. The form of excusing 
billo, or indictments, by Border-oath, ran thus : " You shall 
Bwear by heaven above you, hell beneath you, by your part of 
Paradise, by all that God made in six days and seven nights, 
and by God himself, you are wliart out sackless of art, part, 
way, witting, ridd. kenning, having, or recetting of any of the 
goods and cattels named in this bill. So help you God." — 
History of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 



Note 3 K. 



Knighthood he took of Douglas* sword. — P. 38. 

The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institu- 
aoD, had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the mon- 
arch, but could be conferred by one who himself possessed it, 
upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit 
the honor of chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to 
j;eneral3, who were wont to create knights bannerets after or 
aefore an engagement. Even so late as the reign of Q,ueen 
EUzaheth, Essex highly offended his jealous sovereign by the 
Indiscriminate exertion of this privilege. Among others, he 
knighted the witty Sir John Harrington, whose favor at court 
was by no means enhanced by his new honom. — Sec the J^itgis 
Antiques, edited by Mr. Park. But probably the latest in- 
slance of knighthood, conferred by a subject, was in the case 
of Thomas Ker, knighted by the Earl of Huntley, after the de- 
lea* of the Earl of Aigyle in the battle of Belrinnes, The fact 
to aWested, both by a poetical and prose account of the en- 
jagenw"" contained in an ancient MS. in the Advocates' Li- 
tar«v and edited by Mr. Dalyell, in Oodly Sangs and Batlets, 
Bim. i80C. 



Note 3 L. 

When. English blood swelled Ancram''s ford. — P. 38. 

The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch, was fought 
A. D. 1545. The English, commanded by Sit Ralph Evers 
tnd Sir Brian Latoun, were totally routed, and both their 
.eaders slain in the action. The Scottish army was com- 
manded by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the 
..aird of Btccleuch and Norman Leslef ^ 



Note 3 M. 

For who, tn field or foray alack, 

Saw the blanclic lion e'er fall back ? — P. 'Jt 

This was the cognizance of the noble house of Howard in al' 
its branches. The crest, or bearing, of a warrior, was often 
used a.'i a nomme de guerre. Thus Richard III. acquired hii 
well-known epithet. The, Boar of York. In the violent satiie 
on Cardinal Wolsey, written by Roy, commonly, bat erro- 
neously, imputed to Dr. Bull, the Duke of BuckJr.gham it 
called the Beautiful Swan, and the Duke of Norfolk, or Earl 
of Surrey, the White Lion. As the book is extremely rare, 
and the whole passage relates to the emblematical interpreta- 
tion of heraldry, it shall be here given at lengeth. 

" The Description of the Jirmes. 

'* Of the proud Cardinal this is the shelde 
Borne up betweene two angels of Sathan ; 
The six bloudy axes in a bare felde, 
Sheweth the cruelte of the red man, 
Which hath devoured the Beautiful Swan, 
Mortal enemy unto the Whyte Lion, 
Carter of Yorke, the vyle butcher's souae, 
The six bulles heddes in a felde blacke, 
Betokeneth his stordy furiousness, 
Wherefore, the godly lyght to put abacke, 
He bryngetli in his dyvlish darcness ; 
The bandog in the middes doth expresse 
The mastiff curre bred in Ypswich towne, 
Gnawynge wilh his tetli a kinges crowne. 
The cloubbe signifieth playne his tiranny, 
Covered over with a Cardinall's hatt. 
Wherein shall be fulfilled the prophecy, 
Aryse up, Jacke, and put on thy salatt. 
For the tyme is come of bagge and walatl. 
The temporall chevalry thus thrown doune, 
Wherefor, prest, take hede, and beware thy crowDO.' 

There were two copies of this very scarce satire in the libra* 
ry of the late John, Duke of Roxburghe. See an account of it 
also in Sir Egerton Brydges' curious miscellany, the Cenaura 
Literaria. 



Note 3 N. 

Z.et Mu.^gravc meet fierce Detoraine 
In single fight. P. 33. 

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single combat, so 
peculiar to the feudal system, was common on the BordeiB. 
In 1558, the well-known Kirkaldy of Grange fougli'. a duel 
with Ralph Evre, brotlier to the then Lord Evre, it conse- 
quence of a dispute about a prisoner said to have been ill- 
treated by the Lord Evre. Pitscottie gives the (bllowing ao 
count of the affair : — " The Lord of Ivers his brother provoked 
William Kircaldy of Grange to fight with him. in singulai 
comb It, on horseback, with spears ; who, keeping the appoint 
nient, accompanieil with Monsieur d'O^^el. lieutenant *o tht 
French king, and the garrison of Haymouth, and Mr. Ivers, 
accompanied with the governor and garrison >f Berwick, it 
was discharged, under the pain of treason, that any mar 
should come near the champions within a flight-shot, excepi 
one man for either of them, to hear their spears, two trompeis, 
and two lords to be judges. When they were in readiness, tho 
trumpets sounded, the heraulds cried, and the judges lef them 
go. They then encountered very fiercely ; but Grange stnictl 
his spear through his adversary's shoulder, and bare him oil 
his horse, being sore wounded : But whether he died or not, it 
is uncertain." — P. 202. 

The following indenture will show at how late a period thd 
trial by combat was resorted to on the Border, as a proof of 
guilt or innocence : — 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



73 



"ft is agreed between Thomas Mnsgrave and Launcelot 
Uarleton, for tlie true trial of such controversies as are betwixt 
them, to have it openly tried by way of combat, before God 
and the face of the world, to try it in Canonbyliolme, before 
England ami Scotland, apon Thursday in E:ister-week, being 
the eighth diy of April next ensuing, A. D. 1602, betwixt nine 
of the clocK and one of the same day, to fight on foot, to be 
anr--ii witn jack, steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite breaclies, 
ii'ii'.e sockes, two bas^eard swords, tlie blades to be one yard 
hiA iialf a quarter in lengtli, two Scoteli daggers, or dorks, at 
ti.eT giri'le^, and either of ihem to provide armour and weap- 
ons for themselves according to Uiis indfntnre. Two gentle- 
men to be appointed on the field, to view both the parties, to 
s'>e lliat they both be equal in arms and weaipons, according to 
this indenture ; and being so viewed by the gentlemen, the 
gentlemen to ride to the rest of the company, and to leave 
them but two boys, viewed by the gentlemen, to be under six- 
teen years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony of this 
our agreement, we have both set our hands to this indentnre, 
of intent all matters shall be made so plain, as there shall be 
no (juestion to stick upon that day. Which indenture, as a 
witness, shall bt- delivered to two gentlemen. And for that it 
h convenient the world should be privy to every particular 
of the grounds of the quarrel, we have agreed lO set it down 
in this indenture betwixt us. that, knowing the quarrel, their 
•ryes may be witness of the trial. 

THE GROUNDS OP THE QUARREL. 

" 1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Musgrave before 
the Lords of lier Majesty's Privy Council, that Lancti'ot Carle- 
ton was told by a gentleman, one of her Majesty's sw(>rn ser- 
vants, tiiat Thomx'^ Musgiave had offered to deliver her Majes- 
ty's Castle of Bewcastle to the King of Scols ; and to witness 
the same, Lancelot Carleton had a letter under the gentleman's 
uwn hand for his diticharge. 

*' 2. He chargeth him, that whereas Iier Majesty doth yearly 
bestow a great fee upon him, as ca[itain of Bewcastle, to aid 
and defend her Majesty's subjects tlierein : Thomas Musgrave 
hath neglected his duty, I'or that her Majesty's Castle of Bew- 
;astle was by him made a den of thieves, and an harbour and 
receiitt for murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdemeanors, 
The precedent was (iuintin Whitehead and Runion Blackbume. 

"3. He chargeth liim, that his office of Bewcastle is open 
for the Scotch to ride in and through, anil small resistance 
made by him to the contrary. 

"Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this chaige ; and saith, 
that he will prove that Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bety him, 
and will prove the same by way of combat, according to this 
indenture. Lancelot Carleton hath entertained the challenge ; 
and BO, by God's permission, will prove it true as before, and 
oath set his hand to the same 

(Signed) " Thomas Musgrave. 

" Lancelot Carleton." 



Note 3 0. 



He, the jovial harper.— V. 39. 

The person here alluded to, is one of our ancient Border 
ninstiels. called Rattling Roaring Willie. This soubriquet 
pvas probably derived from his bullying disposition : being, it 
ff'onid seem, sucii a roaring boy. as is frequently mentioned in 
old plays. While drinking at Newmill. upon Teviot, about 
five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to quarrel with one 
of his own profession, who was nsually distinguished by the 
odd name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule Water so 
tailed. They retired to a meadow on the opposite side of the 
Teviot, to decide the contest with their swords, and Sweet 



I The d(iy fpf the Uoo<I-fair at Jedburgh. 

8 Sii Gilbert Elliot of Stoba, and Bcott ofFiiInoBh 

10 



Milk was killed on the spot. A thorn-tree maiks tlie scene oi 
the murder, which is still called Sweet Milk Thorn. WilUl 
was taken and executed at Jedburgh, bequeatliing his namfl 
to tlie beautrful Scotch air, called " Rattling Roaring Willie " 
Ramsay, who set no value on traditionary lore, published a 
few verses of this song in the Tca-7'ab/e Miscellany, carefully 
suppressing all which Iiad any connection with the history o! 
tlie author and origin of the piece. In this case, however, 
honest Allan is in some degree justified, by the extreme wortb* 
lessness of the poetry. A verse or two may be taken, jis iKat* 
tralive of the history of Roaring Willie, alluded to in the fti V 

" Now Willie's gane to Jeddart, 

And he's for the rood-day ;\ 
But Stobs and young Falnash^ 

They follow'd him a' tlie way ; 
They follow'd him a' the way. 

They sought him uj) and down 
In the links of Ousenam water 

They fand him sleeping sound 

" Stobs light aff'his horse. 

And never a word he spak, 
Till he tied Willie's hands 

Fu' fast beliind his back ; 
Fu' fast behind his back. 

And down beneath his knee, 
And drink will be dear to Willia, 

When sweet milk^ gars liini d» 

" Ah wae light on ye, Stobii I 

An ill death mot ye die ; 
Ve're the fintt and foremost man 

That e'er laid hands on me ; 
Thai e'er laid hands on me. 

And took my mare me frae : 
Wae to yon, Sir Gilbert Ellin* » 

Ye are my mortal fas ! 

" The lasses of Ousenam Watei 

Are rugging and riving their ban 
And a' '"or the sake of Willie, 

His beauty was so fair: 
His beauty was so fair, 

And comely for to sew. 
And drink will be dear to WillH), 

When sweet milk gars him die " ' 



Note 3 P. 



He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black I^ord Archibald's battle-latot 
In the Old Douglas' day.—V. 39. 

The title to the most ancient collection of Border regnlatlofc 
runs thus : — " Be it remembered, that, on ihe 18th day of D* 
cember. 1468, Earl fVilliavi Douglas assembled the whola 
lords, freeholders, and eldest Borderers, that best knowledge 
had, at the college of Livcloiiden ; and there he caused these 
lords and Borderers bodily to be sworn, the Holy Gospa! 
touched, that they, justly and truly, after their cunning, 
sliould decrete, decern, deliver, and put in order and writing, 
the statutes, ordinances, and usesof marche, that were ordained 
in Black Archibald of Douglas's days, and Archibald hit 
son's days, in time of warfare ; and tliey came again to him 
advisedly with these statutes and ordinances, which were in 
time of warfare before. The said Enrl William, seeing the 
statutes in writing decreed and delivered by tlie said lonli and 

S A wrelcQua pun ud ms ani«t£Otu*i'* oam* 



74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Borderers, thought them right ?peedfnl and profitable to the 
Borders ; the which statutes, ordinances, and points of warfare, 
he took, and tlie whole lords and Borderers he caused bodily to 
be sworn, that they should maintain and supply him at their 
•goodly power, to do the law upon those that should break the 
iMlutes underwritten. Also, the said Earl William, an.. 
Ijrds, and eldest Borderers, made certain points to he treason in 
»ime of warfare to be used, which were no treason before hu 
biiue, but to be treason in his time, and in all time coming." 



Note 3 Q. 

The Bloody Heart Hazed in the van, 
Announcing Douglas, dreaded name. — F. 40. 

The chief of this potent race of heroes, about the date of the 
wem, was Archibald Douglas, se%'enth Earl of Angus, a man 
of great courage and activity. The Bloody Heart was the 
well-known cognizance cf the House of Douglas, assumed from 
the time of good Lord James, to whose care Robert Brnce 
•ommitted his heart, to be carried to the Holy Laud. 



Note 3 R. 



And Swinton laid his lance in rest, 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 
Of Clarence's Plantagenel. — P. 40. 

At the battle of Beaug6, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clat^ 
ence, brotlier to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton 
of Swinton, who distinguished him by a coronet set with 
prei'ions stones, which he wore around his helmet. The family 
of Swinton is one of the most ancient in Scotland, and pro- 
duced many celebrated warriors.i 



Note 3 S. 
And shouting still, A Home ! a Home '. — P. 40. 

The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient 
Earls of March, carried a lion rampant, argent ; but, as a 
difference, changed the color of the shield from gules to vert, 
in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient possession. The slogan, 
or war-cry, of this powerful family, was, "A Home I a 
Home ! " It was anciently placed in an escrol above the crest. 
The helmet ii armed with a lion's head erased gules, with a 
cap of state gules, turned up ermine. 

The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lothian, were 
nsoally in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of this 
clan was Hepburn, Lord of Hailes ; a fami'.y which terminated 
in the too famous Earl of Bothwell. 



Note 3 T. 



And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, reveiry, and rout. 
Pursued the foot-ball play. — P. 4L 

The foot-ball was anciently a very favorite sport all through 
Scotland, but especially upon the Borders. Sir John Carmi- 
chael of i'armichael. Warden of the Middle Marches, was 
lulled in 1600 by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a 
foot-ball match. Sir Robert Gary, in his Memoirs, mentions 
R great meeting, appointed by the Scotch riders to be held at 
Kelso for the purpose of playing at foot-ball, but which ter- 
minated in an incursion upon England. At present, the foot- 
See the Battle of HalidoD Hill. Sir W. Scott wae desceuded from Sir 
JcLn S^-iiiton.— El'. 



ball is of\en played by the inhabitants of adjacent paitanM 
or of tlie opposite banks of a stream. The victory is con 
tested with the utmost fury, and very serioua accidents hav 
sometimes taken place in the struggle. 



Note 3 U. 



^Twtxt truce and war, suck sudden change 
Was not infrequent, nor held strange, 
In the old Border-day. — P. 4L 

Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, an- 
the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual inroads 
the inhabitants on either side do not appear to ha\e regarded 
each other with that violent and personal animosity, which 
might have been expected. On the contrary, like the out 
posts of hostile armies, they often carried on something re 
semhliug friendly intercourse, even ]n the middle of hostili* 
ties ; and it is evident, from variojs ordinances against trad* 
and intermarriages, between English and Scottish Borderers, 
that the governments of both countries were jealous of their 
cherishing too intimate a connection. Froissart says of both 
nations, that " Englyshmen on the one party, and Scottes oo 
the other party, are good men of warre ; for when they meet, 
there is a harde tight without sparynge. There is no hoc 
[^truce] between th^"i, as long as spears, swords, axes, or dag 
gers, will endure, hi»^ 'aye on eche upon uther ; and whan 
they be well beaten, and ^''at the one party hath obtained the 
victory, they then glorifye so in theyre dedes of armies, and 
are so joyfuU, that Buch as be taken they shall be ransomed, 
or that they go out of the felde ; so that shortly eche of them 
is so content with other, that, at their departynge, curtyslye 
they will say, God thank you." — Berners' Froissart, vol. 
ii. p. 153. Tlie Border meetings of truce, which, although 
places of merchandise and merriment, often witnessed the most 
bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the description in tha 
text. They are vividly portrayed in the old baMad of *iie 
Reidsquair. [See Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 15.] Both parties 
came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet they intermixed 
fearlessly and peaceably with each other in mutual sports and 
familiar intercourse, until a casual fray arose : — 

" Then was there naught hot bow and spear, 
And every man pnll'd out a brand." 

In the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an attempt to ex- 
press some of the mixed feehngs, witli which the Borderers d 
each side were led to regard their neighbors. 



Note 3 V". 



- on the darkening plain. 



I.oud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 
As bands their stragglers to regain, 

Oioe the shrill watchword of their clan. — P. 41. 

Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly condncl 
of the English Borderers, who attended the Protector Some^ 
set on his expedition against Scotland. " As we wear then a 
selling, and 'he tents a setting up, among all things els 20m 
mendable ic our hole journey, one thing seemed to me ao 
intollerable disorder and abuse : that whereas always, both ic 
all tonnes of war, and in all cainpes of armies, quietness and 
stilnes, without nois. is, principally in the night, aJYer the 
watch is set, observed (I need not reason why), our northern 
prikers, the Borderers, notwithstandyng, with great enormitJe 
(as thought me), and not unlike (to he playn) unto a masterle* 
hounde howlyng in a hie way when he hath lost him he waited 
upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng, and most with crying, A 
Berwyke, a Berwyke ' A Fenwyke. a Fenwyke ! A Bulmer, 
a Bulmer! or so ootherwise as tlieyr captains names wear 



A1>PENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



never linMe tciese troublons ami daiigeroua noyses all the 
nyghte longe. They said, tliey ditl it to find their captain and 
fellows ; but f the souldiore of our oolher countreys and sherea 
had used the same mailer, in that case we should have oft 
'mes liaii tlie state of our campe more like llie outrage of a 
fissolute huntyng. than the quiet of a well ordered armye. It 
3 3 feat of war, in mine opinion, that might right well be left. 
1 fluLiid reheree causes (but yf I take it, they are better unspo- 
ken th^n ultred, unless the faut wear sure to be amended) that 
ought shew the! move alweis more peral to our armie, but in 
Jieir one nyght's so doynge, than they shew good service (aa 
jome eey) in a hoole vyage." — J3pud Dalzbll's Fragments, 



Note 3 W. 



To see how thou the chase couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, 
jjnd with the bugle rouse the fray. — P. 45. 

The pursuit of Border marauders was followed by the in- 
'ored party and his friends with blood-hounds and bugle-horn, 
and was called the hut-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could 
trace the scent, to follow the invaders into the opposite king- 
dom ; a privilege wliich often occasioned bloodshed. In addi- 
tion to what has been said of the blood-hound, 1 may add, 
ihat the breed was kept up by the Buccleuch family on their 
Border estates till witliin the 18th century. A person was 
alive in the memory of in:m, who remembered a blood-hound 
being kept at Eldinhope, in Ettrick Forest, for whose main- 
tenance the tenant had an allowance of meal. At that time 
the sheep were always watched at night. Upon one occasion, 
when the duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he be- 
came exhausted with fatigue, and fell asleep upon a bank, 
near son-rising. Suddenly he was awakened by tlie tread of 
horses, and saw five men, well mounted and armed, ride 
briskly over the edge of the hill. They stopped and looked at 
the flock ; but the day was too far broken to admit the chance 
of their carrying any of them off. One of them, in spite, 
leaped from his horse, ami coming to the shepherd, seized 
him by the belt he wore round his waist ; and, setting his foot 
apon his body, [)ulled it till it broke, and carried it away 
with him. They rode off at the gallop ; and, the shepherd 
givinf. the alarm, the biood-hound was turned loose, and the 
people in the neighborhood alarmed. The marauders, how- 
ever, escaped, notwithstanding a sharp pursuit. This circum- 
stance serves to show how very long the license of the Borderers 
continaed in some degree to manifest itself. 



Note 3 X. 



She wrought not by forbidden spell. — P. 46. 

Popular belief, thongh contrary to the doctrines of the Church, 
■ade a favorable distinction betwixt ma^Mcians, and necroman- 
•ere, or wizards ; the former were supposed to command the 
evil spiriu. and the latter to serve, or at least to be in league 
and compact with, those enemies of mankind. The arts of 
■objecting tite demons were manifold ; sometimes the fiends 
were actually swindled by the magicians, as in tlie case of the 
bargain betwixt one of their number and the poet Virgil. The 
classical reader will doubtless be curious to peruse this anec- 
dote :— 

" Virgilins was at scole at Tolenton, where he stodyed dyly- 
fenlly, for he was of great understandynge. Upon a tyme, 
(he Bcolers had lycense to go to play and sprote them in the 
%Ides, after the usance of the old tyme. And there was also 



Virgilins tlierbye, also walkynge among the hylles alle about 
It fortuned he spyed a great hole in the syde of a great hyll 
wherein he went so depe, that lie cold not see no more lyght, 
and than he went a lytell farther therein, and tlian he sa« 
some lyght egayiie, and than he went foorth streyghte, anit 
within a lytell wyle after he harde a voyce that called ' Vir 
gilios! VirgiliusI' and looked aboute, and he colde nat sej 
no body. Than sayd he (i. e. the voice), ' Virgilins, see y* 
not the lytell borde lying besyde you there maiked with ihal 
word ?' Than answered Virgiliua, ' I see that borde well 
anough.' The voice said, ' Doo awaye that borde, and Iett« 
me out there atte.' Than answered Virgilins *.o the voice tha» 
was under the lytell borde, and sayd, 'Who art thou iha* 
callest me so ?' Than answered the devyll, 'I am a de\ yll 
conjured out of the bodye of a certeyne man, and banyssl ed 
here tyll the day of jodgmend. without that I be delyve/ed 
by the handes of men. Thus, Virgilins, I pray tlie, del) vei 
me out of this puyn, and I shall shewe unto the many bukea 
of negromancye, and how thou shalt come by it lyghtly, and 
know the practyse therein, that no man in the scyciice of ne* 
gromancye shall passe the. And moreover, I shall shewe and 
enforme the so, that thou shalt have alle thy desyre, whereby 
methinke it is a great gyfle for so lytyll a doyng. For ye may 
also thus all your power frendys heljie, and make ryche yout 
enemyes.' Thorough (hat great promyse was Virgilins tempt- 
ed ; he badde the fynd show the bokes to hym, that he might 
have and occupy them at his wyll ; and so the fynde shewed 
him. And than Virgilius polled open a borde, and there was 
a lytell hole, and thereat wrang the devyll out like a yell, and 
cam and stode before Virgilius lyke a bygge man ; whereol 
Virgilius was astonied and marveyled greatly thereof, that so 
great a man myght conje out of so lytyll a hole. Than .sayd 
Virgilius, ' Shulde ye well passe into the hole that ye cam out 
of?' — ' Yea, 1 shall well,' said the devyl. — ' I holde the best 
plegge that I have, that ye shall not do it.' — ' Well,' sayd the 
devyll, 'thereto I consent.' And than the devyll wrange 
himselfe into the lytyll hole agene ; and aa he was therein, 
Virgilius kyvered the hole ageyne with the borde close, an*' 
so was the devyll begyled, and myght nat there come out 
agen, but abydeth shytte stytl therein. Tlian called the devyll 
dredefully to Virgilius, and said, ' What have ye done, Vir- 
gilius?' — Virgilius answered, ' Abyde there slyll to your day 
appoynted ;' and fro thens forth abydeth he there. And so 
Virgilius became very connynge in the practyse of the black 
scyence." 

This story may remind the reader of the Arabian tale of the 
Fisherman and the imprisoned Genie; and it is more than 
probable, that many of the marvels narrated in Uie life of Vir- 
gil, are of Oriental extraction. Among such I ara disposed to 
reckon tlie following whimsical account of the foundation of 
Naples, containing a curious theory concerning the origin of 
the earthquakes with which it is afflicted. Virgil, who was a 
person of gallantry, liatl, it seems, carried off the daughter of ^ 
certain Soldan, and was anxious to secure his prize. 

" Than he thought in his niynde how be myghte marye hyr, 
and thought in his mynde to founde in the midder -jf the set 
a fayer towne, with great landes belongynge to it . and bo hc 
did by his cunnynge, and called it Napells. And tne fand* 
cyon of it was of egges, and in that town of Nape.ls he made 
a tower with iiii corners, and in the toppe he set an apelZ upon 
an yron yarde, and no man culde pull away that apell without 
he brake it ; and thoroughe that yren set he a bolte, ? nd in tha 
bolte set he a egge. And he henge the apell by the stanke 
upon a cheyne, and so hangeth it still. And when the egge 
styrreth, so shulde the towne of Napells quake; and whan 
the egge brake, then shulde the towne sinke. Whan he had 
made an ende, he lette ca'l it Napells." This appears to have 
been an article of current belief during the middle ages, aa ap« 
pears from the statutes of the order I)u Saint Esprit au droit 
d^sir, instituted in 1352. A chapter of the knights is appointed 
to be held annoally at tlie Castle of the Enchanted Egg, neai 
the grotto of Virgil. — Montfaucon. vol. ii. p. 329 



76 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



NoTK 3 Y. 

Ji merlin sat. upon her wrist. 

Held by a leash of silken twist. — P. 46. 

A n-ertin, or sparrow-hawk, wa^ actually carried by ladies 
of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attend- 
r.vit .>f a kniyiit or Uaron. See Latham on Falcomnj. — Gods- 
ertjft rel&tes that when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed 
the Earl cf Au^'us to admit a royal garrison into his Castle of 
TaataU»n. To this he returned no direct answer; but as if 
dposifC'i^hizing a goss-hawk, which sat on hi: wr.a,, ana which 
be was feeding during; the Queen's speech, he exclaimed, 
" The devil's in tins greedy glcde, she will never be full." — 
Huid^'s History of the Homsc of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 
131. Barclay comjilains of the common and indecent practice 
»f bringing hawks and hounds into chorches- 



KOTE 3 Z. 
And princely peacock^ s gilded train. 
And o'er the boar-kead garnished brave. — P. 47. 
The peacock, it is well known, was considered, during the 
times of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a 
Jisli of peculiar solemnity. After being roasted, it was again 
decorated with its [ilumage, and n sponge, dipped in lighted 
BpiriLs of wine, was placed in its bill. When it was introduced 
on days of grand festival, it was the signal for the adventurous 
knights to take upon them vows, to do some deed of chivalry, 
' befoie tlie peacock and the ladies." 

The boar's head Wi^s also a usual dish of feudal splendor. 
I,n Scotland it w;is sometimes surrounded with little banners, 
ditfplaying the colors and acliievements of the baron at whose 
bourd it was served. — Pinkbrton's History, vol. i. p. 432. 



Note 4 A. 

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill. — P. 47. 
The Rulhcrfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border 
Lairds, whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending 
the frontier against the English, sometimes as disturbing the 
peace of their own country. Dickon Draw-t he-sword was son 
to the ancient warrior, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, 
remarkabU' lor leading into battle nine sons, gallant warriors, 
all sons of the aged champion. Mr. Rutherford, late of New 
York, in a letter to the editor, soon after these songs were first 
published, quoted, when upwards of eighty years old, a ballad 
apparently the same with the Raid of the Reid-square, but 
which apparent>y ia lost, except the following lines ; — 

" Bauld Rutherfurd he was fu' stoat, 
With all his nine sons him about, 
He brought the lads of Jedbrught out. 
And baaldly fought tliat day.'* 



Note 4 B. 

bit his glove.~r. 47. 

jf4 bite the thumb, or the glove, seeme not to have been con- 

1 Frniss&rt relates, that a knight of the household of the Comte deFoix 
■xkibited ft Biniilar feat of strength. The hsil-fire bad waxed low, luid 
Kood wilt wiintod to uiend it. The knight went doivn to the court-yard, 
There tsUtod an ass laden w^th fagots, seized oc the nniniHl and burden. 
And, caiTying hiui up to the hall on his shoulders, tumbled hiin into the 
chinmey with hie hecle uppermost : a humane pleasantry, much applauded 
by the Count and all ihe apectatore. 

S " Minions of the moon," as FalBt.^ff woidd have said. The vOHiBtion 

poreued by our ancient Borderera may be jnatified on the authority of the 

Kioet polished of the ancient nations : " For the Grecians in old time, and 

fich barbariana as in the continent lived neere unto the sea, or else inhib- 

*l>a Lalanda, after once they began to crosse over one to another in 



aidered, upon the Border, as a gjstore of contempt, though s* 
tsed by Shakspeare, but as a pledge of mortal revenge. It ii 
yet remembered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale. on the 
morning after a hard drinking-bout, observed that he had bitten 
his glove. He instantly demanded of liis companion with 
whom he hid quaiTcUed ? And, learning that he had hari 
words with one of the party. i:J±isted on in^itant satisfaction, 
asserting, that though he remembered nothing of the dispute, 
yet he was sure he never would have bit his gipve unless hs 
had received some unpardonable insult. He fell in the duel, 
which was fought near Selkirk, in 1721. 



Note 4 C. 

Since old Bucclcuck the name did gain, 
When in the clench the buck was ta'en. — P. 47. 
A tradition preserved by Scott of Satchells. who published, 
in 1688, A true History of the Right Honorable name of Scott^ 
gives the following romantic origin of tiiat name. Two breth- 
ren, natives of Galloway, liaving been banished from that 
country for a riot, or insurrection, came to Ranklebnrn, in El- 
trick Forest, where the keeper, whose name was Brydone, re- 
ceived them joyfully, on account of their skill iu winding the 
horn, and in the other mysteries of the chase. Kenneth Mac- 
Alpin, then King of Scotland, came soon after to hunt in tht 
royal forest, and pursued a buck Irom Eririck-heugh to the 
glen now called Buckcleuch, about two miles above the junc- 
tion of Rankleburn with the river Ettrick. Here the stag stood 
at bay; and the King and his attendants, who followed on 
horseback, were thrown out by the steepness of the hill and the 
raoras.1. John, one of the brethren from Galloway, had fol- 
lowed the chase on foot ; and, now coming in, seized tlie buck 
by the horns, and, being a man of great strength and activity, 
threw him on his back, and ran with his burden about a mile 
Qp the steep hill, to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Ken- 
neth had halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign's feet.^ 

" The deer being cureed in that place. 

At his Majesty's demand, 
Then John of Galloway ran apace, 

And fetched water to his hand. 
The King did wash into a dish, 

And Galloway John he wot ; 
He said, ' Tliy name now after this 

Shall ever be called John Scott. 

" ■ The forest and the deer therein, 
We commit to thy hand ; 
For tliou shall sure the ranger be, 

If thou obey command ; 
And for the buck thou stoutly brought 

To us up that steep heuch. 
Thy designation ever shall 

Be John Scott in Buckscleucli.* ' 

• « » * • « 

" In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then. 
Before the buck in the clench was stain , 
Night's men3 at lirst they did appear, 
Because moon and stars to their arms they bear. 
Tlieir crest, supporters, and hunting-horn, 
Show their beginning from hunting came ; 

sliips, became theevea, and went abroad under the coi iuct ot their mor« 
pnisaent men, both '.o enrich ihemaelves, .ind to I'otch in maintenance fof 
the weak ; and falling upon towns unfortified, or scattoriugly inhabited 
ruled them, and made this tho best means of thear living ; being a matter al 
that time nowhere in disgrace, but rather currying with it something of glory. 
This is nianifeat by some that dwell upon the conliueni, iimong-st whom, so 
it bo performed nobly, it is sltll esteemed as on ornament. The same is 
also proved by some of the ancient poets, yho introduced men questioning 
of euch as sail by, on all coasts alike, wlietUer Ihi'v be theeves or not ; oa » 
thyng neyther scorned by such as were asked, nor upbraided by those Ih&l 
were desirous to know. They also robbed one nnolher, within the aiatn 
land : and much of Greece usetti that old custome. aa the Locriani thi 



Their nnme, and style, the hook doth say, 
John gained them hoth into one day." 

Watt's BcUcndcn. 

The Baceleuch arms have been altered, and now allude less 
pointedly to this hunting, whether real or fabulous. The la- 
mily now bear Or, upon a bend aznre, a mullet betwixt two 
crescents of the field ; in addition to which, they formerly bore 
in the field a hunting-horn. The supporters, now two ladies, 
were formerly a hound and buck, or. according to the old 
terms, a hart of leash and a hnri of greece. The family of 
Scott of Ho\*pa.sley and Thirlest^ne long retained the bugle- 
horn ; they also carried a bent bow and arrow in tlie sinister 
cautle, perhaps as a difference. It is said the motto was — 
Best riding by moonlight, in allusion to the crescents on the 
ihiekt, and perhaps to the habits of those who bore it. The 
rriotto now given is Amo, applying to the female supporters. 



Note 4 D. 

old Albert Grume, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name. — P. 48. 

" John Gricme, second son of Malice, Earl of Monteitk, 
commonly surnamed John with the Bright Sword, upon some 
displeasure risen against him at court, retired with many of his 
clan and kindred into the English Borders, iu the reign of King 
Henry the Fourth, where they seated themselves; and many 
of their posterity have continued there ever since. Mr. Sand- 
'brd, speaking of them, siys (which indeed was applicable to 
most of the Bordereri on both sides), 'They were all stark 
BOss-troopere, and -arrant thieves : Both to England and Scot- 
iaod outlawed ; yet sometimes connived at, because they gave 
jitelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 horse at any 
lime upon a raid of the English into Scotland. A saying is re- 
2orded of a mother to her son (which is now become prover- 
bial). Ride, Rowley, kougJi's i' the pot : that is. the last piece 
of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time to go and 
fetch more.' " — Introduction to Uic History of Cumberland. 

The residence of the Gnemes being chiefly in the Debatea- 
ble Land, so called because it w-is claimed by both kingdoms, 
their depredations extended both to England and Scotland, 
with impunity ; for as hoth wardens accounted them the pro- 
per subjects of their own prince, neither inclined to demand 
reparation for their excesses from the opposite officers, which 
would have been an acknowledgment of his jurisdiction over 
them. — See a long correspondence on this subject betwixt Lord 
Dacre and the English Privy Council, in Introduction to His- 
tory of Cumberland. The Debateable Land was finally divid- 
ed betwixt England and Scotland, by commissioners appointed 
(jy both nationB.i 



Note 4 E. 
The sun shines fair on Carlisle icail. — P. 48. 
This burden is adopted, with some alteration, from ar old 
Scottish song, beginning thns : — 

" She lean'd her back against a thorn. 
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa' : 
And there she has her young babe bom, 
And the lyon shall be lord of a'." 

4carTuirii'int, nnd tbose of the e< uUncnt in that quurter, unto this day. 
Iloreover, the fashion of wearing iron remameth yet with the people of that 
MDtiDent, from their old trade of thieving." — Hobbes* TAucydirfe*, p. 4. 
Lond. 
1 See variouB notes in the Muutrelsy. 

S The tomb of Sir William St. Clair, on which he appears aoulptured in 
ftrmor, with n greyhound at his feet, is still to be seen in Roslin chapel. 
Hie iwrMD who shows it always tells the story of his hunting match, with 



Note 4 F. 

fVko has not heard of Surrey's fame ? — P. 48. 

The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Poi 
rey, was unquestionably the most accomplished cavaE*t of hii 
time ; and his sonnets display beauties which would do hoaot 
to a more polished age. He was beheaded on Tower-hdl' ii 
154G ; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., wfaii 
could not bear so brilliant a character near his throne. 

The song of the supposed bard is founded on an incidet t^-A 
to have happened to the Earl in his travels. Cornelius Agri* 
pa, the celebrated alchemist, showed him, in a looking-glaai, 
the lovely Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted his pep 
and his sword. The vision represented her as in jt^osed, ani. 
reclining upon a couch, reading her lover's verses by the light 
of a waxen taper. 



Note 4 G. 



The storm-sicept Orcadcs : 

Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway, 
O^er isle and islet, strait and bay. — P. 49. 
The St. Clairs are of Norman extraction, being descended 
from William de St. Clair, second son of VValderne Compte dti 
St. Clair, and Margaret, daughter to Richard Duke of Nor- 
mandy. He was called, for his fair deportment, the Seemly 
St. Clair ; and, settUng in Scotland during the reign of Mai 
colm Caenmore, obtained large grants of land in Mid-Lothian. 
These domains were increased by the liberality of succeediit' 
monarchs to the descendants of the family, and comprehended 
the baronies of Roslinc, Pentland, Cowsland, Cardaine, and 
several others. It is said a large addition was obtained from 
Robert Bruce, on the following occasion : — The King, in fol 
lowing the chiise upon Pentland-liills, bad often started a 
" white faunch deer," which had always escaped from his 
hounds ; and he asked the nobles, who were assembled around 
him, whether any of them had dogs, which they thought might 
be more successful. No courtier would affirm that his hounds 
were fleeter than those of the king, until Sir William St. Claii 
of Rosline unceremoniously said, he would wager his head that 
his two favorite dogs, Help and Hold, would kill the deer be- 
fore she could cross the March-bum. The King instantly 
caught at his unwary offer, and betted the forest of Penlland- 
moor against the life of Sir William St. Clair. All the houkda 
were tied up, except a few ratches, or slow-hounds, to put up 
the deer ; while Sir William St. Clair, posting himself in tht 
best situation for slipping his dogs, pnyed devoutly to Christ, 
the blessed Virgin, and St. Katherine. The deer was shortly 
after roused, and the hounds slipped; Sir William following 
on a gallant steed, to cheer his dogs. The hind, however, 
reached the middle of the brook, upon which the hunter threw 
himself from his horse in desjiair. At this critical moment 
however. Hold stopped her in the brook ; and Help, coming 
op, turned her back, and killed her on Sir William's eide 
The King descended from the hill, embraced Sir William, qd^ 
bestowed on him the lands of Kirkton. IjOgan-house Ein 
craig, &c., in free forestrie. Sir William, in £crr,c->vledjfnw 
of St. Kalherine's intercession, built the ch^pe of St. Kathe 
rine in the Hopes, the churchyard of which ;s still to be Been. 
The hill, from which Robert Bruce beheld ihis memorable 
chxse, is still called the King's Hill ; and the place where S'v 
William hunted, is called the Knight's Field. 2—^1/5. Histcry 

Boitie addition to Mr. Hay's account ; as that the KnifjhtofRoslhe's fright 
made him poeticnl, and that in the I&sl emeigoncy, he shoutod, 
" Help, Hand, an ye may. 
Or RoslLii will h so his head this day." 
If this couplet does him no great honor as a poet, the conclusion of tbt 
story does him slill less credit. He sol his foot on the dog, says the nar- 
rator, and killed him on the spot, saying he would never again put hia beel 
in auch a risk. As Mr. Hay does not mention tliis circumstance, I hope t 
is only fotmded on the couchaat posture of the hound on tb9 nooumeot 



18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



pf the Family of St. Clair, &y Richard Augustin Hay, 
Canon of St. Genevieve. 

This ad^'eiiturous Imntsman married EtizaUelh, dtughter of 
Malice Spar. Earl of Orkney and Stratheriie, in wliose right 
Iheir son Henry was. in 1379, created Earl of Orkney, by Haco, 
king of Norway. His title was recognized by the Kings of 
Scotland, and remained with his snccessors until it was an- 
nexed to the crown, in 1471, by act of Parliament, In ex- 
char^e for this earldom, the caslle and domains of Ravens- 
craif, or Ravensheuch, were conferred on William Saintclair, 
]&arl of C'ftiihness. 



Note 4 H. 



Still nods their palace to its fall. 

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall. — P. 49. 

The Castle of Kirkwall was built by the St. Clairs, while 
Earls of Orkney. It was dismantled by the Ea'l of Caithness 
about 1615, liaving been garrisoned against the government by 
Robert Stewart, natural son to the Earl of Orkney. 

Its rnins affbnled a sad subject of contemplation to John, 
Master of St. Clair, who, fiying from his native country, on 
account of his share in the insurrection 1715, made some stay 
at Kirkwall. 

" I had occasion to entertain myself at Kirkwall with the 
melancholy prospect of the ruins of an old castle, the seat of 
the old Earls of Orkney, my ancestors ; and of a more melan- 
choly refieetion, of so great and noble an estate as the Orkney 
and Shetland Isles being taken from one of them by James the 
Third for faultrie, after his brother Alexander. Duke of Alba- 
ny, had married a daughter of my family, and for protecting 
and defending the said Alexander against the King, who wish- 
ed to kill him, as he had done Ins youngest brother, the Earl 
«f Mar; and for which, after the forfaultrie, he gratefidly 
jjvofced my forfaulted ancestor's sister; though I cannot per- 
fuade myself that be had any misalliance to plead against a 
fau'.ilie in whose veins the blood of Robert Bruce ran as fresh 
as in his own ; for their title to the crowne was by a daughter 
0*" David Bruce, son to Robert ; atid our alliance was by maiv 
r/ing a grandchild of the same Robert Bruce, and daughter to 
Uie sister of the same David, out of tiie familie of Douglass, 
tvhich at that time did not much sullie the blood, more than 
my ancestor's having not long before had the honour of marry- 
ing a daughter of the King of Denmark's, who was named 
Florentine, and has left in the town of Kirkwall a noble mon- 
nment of the grandeur of the times, the finest church ever I 
saw entire in Scotland. I then had no small reason to think, 
in that unhapjiy state, on the many not inconsiderable services 
rendered since to the royal familie, for these many years by- 
gone, on all occasions, when they stood most in need of friends, 
which they have thought themselves very often obliged to ac- 
knowledge by letters yet extant, and in a style more like friends 
than souveraigns ; our attachment to them, without any other 
tbanks, having brought upon us considerable losses, and among 
Others, that of our all in Cromwell's time; and left in that 
condition without the lea-^t relief except what we found in our 
own virtue. My father was the only man of the Scots nation 
wh: had courage enough to protest in Parliament ag:iinst King- 
William's title to the throne, which was lost, God knows how ; 
and this at a time when the losses in the cause of the royall 
familie, and their usual gratitude, had scarce bft him bread to 
maintain a numerous familie of eleven children, who had soon 
after sprung up on him, in spi'e of all which, he had honoura- 
bly persisted in his principle. 1 *&y, these things considered, 
and after being treated as 1 was, and in that unlucky state, 
wlien object; appear to men in their true light, as at the hoar 
of death, cocld I be blamed for making some bitter reflections 
to myself, and laughing at the extravagance and unaccountable 
humour of men. and tlie singularitie of my own case fan exile 
&V the cause of the Stuart family), wlien I ought to have 
sown, that the jfreatest cnaie I, or my family, could have 



committed, was persevering, to my own destrnction, in bci -inf 
the royal family faitlifuUy, tli«'vgh obstinately, after so great « 
share of depression, and after i^iay had been pleased to dooi • 
me and my familie to starve. MS. Mem-'irs of John ^ Mas- 
ter of St. Clair. 



NoTA V I. 
Of that Sca-Snnkc, trevifii 'ous eutl^d, 
fVhose monstrous circle g-ird-t thr woWd.— 1 . 49. 

Thejorviungtndr, orSfckeof the Ocu , whose folds sur- 
round the earth, is one of the wildest licti< ' »f llie Edda. It 
was very nearly caught by the god Thor, n t went to fish foi 
it with a hook baited with a bull's head. V the battle be- 
twixt the evil demons and the divinities of ^ » wjiich is to 
precede Uie liagnarockr, or Twilight of tl. J 4t, this Snake 
is to act a conspicuoui part. 



Note 4 K. 

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yel V. \9. 

These were the Valcyriur, or Selectors of i ^ > ; Vun, tiJe* 

patched by Odin from Valhalla, to choose those a i \ vere to 

die, and to distribute tlie contest. They were weU t«iini to 

the English reader as Gray's Fatal Sisters. 



Note 4 L. 



Of Chiefs, ipho, guidci through th^gloom 

By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 

Ransark^d the graves oficarriors old. 

Their falchions icrench' d from corpses' hold^—V. 49. 

The northern warriors were usually entombed with theii 
arms, and their other treasures. Thus. Angantyr, before com- 
mencing the duel in which he was slain, stipulated, that if i\« 
fell, his sword Tyrllng should be buried with him. His daugK- 
ler Hervor, afterwards took it from his tomb. The dialogna 
wliich passed betwixt her and Angantyr's spirit on this occr- 
sion has been often translated. The whole history may bi 
found in the Hervarar-Saga. Indeed, the ghosts of tlie nortK 
ern waiTiors were not wont tamely to sailer their tomhs to b 
plundered ; and hence, the mortal heroes had an additiono 
temptation to attempt such adventures ; for they held nothing 
more worthy of their valor than to encounter supernatural bi 
itig'=i. — Bartholini's Dii causis contempts a iJanis mortit 
lib. i. cap. 2, 9, 10, 13. 



Note 4 M. 

■ Castle Ravensheuch. — P. 50. 



A large and strong castle, now rui'ious. situated belwii 
Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, hashed by the Frith o 
Forth, tt was confcired on Sir William St. Clair as a siigh 
compensation for the earldom of Orkney, by a charter of Kinj 
James III. dated in 1471, and is now the property of Sir Jame 
St. Clair Erskine (now Earl of Rosslyn), representative of th* 
family. It was long a principal residence of tlie Barons o 
Roslin, 



Note 4 N. 



Seem'd all on fire within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar^s pale ; 

Shone ccenj pillar foliage boitnd. 

And glimmered nil the dead men's mail. — P. 50. 
The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in tolerable prese«a- 
tion. It was founded in 1446, by William St. Clair, Prince W 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



79 



0.<fcne}, Dike of 01denbarf;h, Earl of Caithness Ttml Strath- 
une Lord St. Clair, Lord Niddesdale, Loni Admiral of the 
Scottish Seas. Lonl Cliiff Justice of Srotlarid, LonI \Vardeii 
of Ihe three Marelit-^, Baron of Rosliii, Penllami, Pentland- 
inour, iti , Kriiphl of the Cookie, atul of the Garter (as is 
affiri-.ed). High Chancellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of 
Scotland. This lofty pei-son. whose titJes, says Godscroft, 
night weary a Si)aiiiard, built the castle of Roslin, wiiere he 
resided in princely spk-iidor. and foundeil the chapel, which is in 
LSe most rii'h and llorid style of Gotliie architecture. Among 
die profuse carving on Ihe pillars and buttresses, the rose is fre- 
f^uently introduced, in allusion to the name, with which, how- 
ever, the flower has no connection ; the etymology :'eing Ross- 
linnhe, the promontory of the linn, or wateH'all. The chapel 
19 said 10 appear on fire previous to the death of any of liis de- 
scendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer, in liis Thea- 
trum Scotiw, and alluded to in the text. Is probably of Nor- 
wegian derivation, and may have been imported by the Earls 
of Orkney into their Lothian dominions. The tomb-tir-es of 
the north are mentioned in most of the Sagas. 

The Barons of RosHn were buried in a vault beneath the 
chapel floor. The manner of their interment is thus described 
by Father Hay, in the MS. history already quoted. 

" Sir William Sinclair, the father, was a lewd man. He 
kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it is alleged, he went to 
Ireland ; yet I think the cause of his retreat was rather occa- 
sioned by the Presbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of 
his religion being Roman Catholic. His son. Sir William, died 
during the troubles, and was inten-ed in the chapel of Roslin 
the very same day thai the battle of Dunbar was fought. 
When my godfather was buried, Iiis (i. e. Sir William's) corpse 
seemed lo be entire at the opening of the cave ; but when thev 
carae to toach his body, it fell into dust. He was laying in 
hi? armor, with a red velvet cap on his liead, on a flat stone ; 
nothing was spoiled except a piece of the white furring that 
went round the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the 
ftead. All his predeces.sors were buried after the same man- 
ner, in iheir armor : late Rosline, my good father, was the first 
that was buried in a cofthi, against the sentiments of King 
James the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and several 
other persons well versed iu antiquity, to whom my mother 
would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be buried after that 
manner. The great expenses she was at in burying her hus- 
band, occasioned tlie sumptuary acts which were made in the 
following parliament." 



Note 4 0. 



For he was speechless, gha»lly, wan 

Likr. him of irhom the story ran, 

Wkv spoke titc spectre-hound in Man. — P. 5L 

The ancient castle ot Peel-town, in the Isle of Man, is sui^ 
lonaded by four churches, now ruinous, Throogh one of these 
fiapels there was formerly a passage from the guard-room of 
he gar-'.son. This was closed, it is said, upon the following oc- 
asion **They say, that an apparition, called, in the Mankb^h 
ingua^'. the Mautkc Doog "n t^e shape of a V"""^ black 
ipaaie.. Titt curled sna^'gy hai.- wxj ased to haunt Peel-castle ; 
snd ha^ beer frequently seen in every room, but particularly in 
xr.e guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were lighted, it 
came and lay down before the fire, in presence of all the sol- 
diers, who, at length, by being so much accustomed to the 
■gnt af it, lost great part of the tenor tJiey were seized with at 



its first appearance. They still, however, retained a yertair. 
awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which only waittj per- 
mission to do them hurt ; and, for that reason, forebore ; vear- 
irig and all profane di^^course, while iu its company. Bn* 
though ihey endured the shock of such a guest when altog thef 
in a body, none cared to be left alone with it. It bein^ thd 
custom, therefore, for one of the soldiers to lock i.h« fate* >J 
the castle at a certain Iiour, and carry the keys to the captME. 
to wliose a|)artmfnt, as I said before, the "Jay led through '-'■ 
church, they agreed among themselves, that '-vhoevei .«&d w 
succeed the ensuing niglit his fellow in tK' errand *houia nc 
company him tliat went first, and by this mean^ taj mar. would 
be exposed singly to the danger; for I forgot to mention, that 
the ^Mauthe Doog' was always seen to come oe*. from that pas- 
sage at the close of the day, and return to it again as soon as 
the morning dawned ; which made them look on this place as 
its peculiar residence. 

" One night a fellow being drunk, and by the strength of his 
liquor rendered more daring than ordinarily, laughed at the ' 
simplicity of his companions, and, though it was not his torn 
to go with the keys, wouUl needs take that office upon him, to 
testify his courage. All the soldiers endeavored to dissuade 
him ; but the more they said, the more resolute he seemed, and 
swore that he desired nothing more than that the Mautke 
Doug would follow him, as it had done the others ; for he 
would try if it were dog or devil. Afier having talked in a 
very reprobate manner for some time, he snatched up the keys, 
amd went out of the guard-room. In some time after his de- 
parture, a great noise was heard, but nobody had tlie boldness 
to see what occasioned it, till the adventurer returning, lliey 
demanded the knowledge of him ; but as loud and noisy as he 
had been at leaving them, he was now become sober and silent 
enough ; for he was never heard to sjieak more, and though 
all the time he lived, wliich was three days, he was entreated 
by all who came near him, eitiier to speak, or, if lie could not 
ilo that, to make some signs, by which they miglit understand 
what had happened to him, yet nolliing intelligible conld be 
got from him, only that, by the ilistortion of his limbs and fea- 
tures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than is 
common in a natural death. 

••The Mautke Doog was, however, never after seen in tin 
castle, nor would any one attempt to go through that passage 
for which reason it was closed up, and another way madt 
This accident happened about three score years since ; and I 
heard it attested by several, but especially by an old soldier 
who assured me he had seen it oftener than he had then haira 
on his head."-^ Waldron's Description of the Isle of Man, 
p. 107. 



Note 4 P. 



- St. Bride of Douglas.— P. 51 



This was a favorite saint of the house of Douglas, and of the 
Earl of Angus in particular, as we learn from the following 
pa.ssage : — "The Q,ueen-rcgent had proposed to raise a rival 
noble to the ducal dignity ; and discoursing of her purpose with 
Angus, he answered, ' Why not, madam ? we are liappy tnax 
have such a |)rincess, that can know and will acknowledge 
mer.'s services, and is willing to recompense it ; but, by the 
might of God' (this was his oath when he was serious and in 
anger ; at other times, it was by St. Bryde of Douglas), ' if h( 
be a Duke, I will be a Drake 1' — So s le desisted from prowc- 
ling of that purpose." — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 131 



M a r m ion: 

A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.' 
IN SIX CANTOS. 



Alas I that Scottish maid should sing 
The combat where her lover fell ! 

That Scottish Bard should wake the suing, 
The triumph of our foes to tell. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Some alterations in the text of the Introduction 
to MarmioQ, and of the Poem itself, as well as 
various additions to the Author's Notes, will be 
observed in this Echtion. We have followed Sir 
Walter Scott's interleaved copy, aa finally revised 
by him in the summer of 1831. 

The preservation of the original MS. of the 
Poem has enriched this volume with numerous 
vaj'ious readings, which will be found cm'ious and 
interesting. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

What I have to say respecting this Poem may 
be briefly told. In tlie Introduction to the " Lay 
of the Liist Minstrel," I have mentioned the cir- 
cumstances, so far as my literary Ufe is concerned, 
which induced me to resign the active pursuit of 
an honorable profession, for the more precarious 
resources of htcrature. My appointment to the 
Sheriffdom of Selliu-k called for a change of resi- 
dence. I left, therefore, the pleasant cottage I 
had upon the side of the Esk, for tlie " pleasanter 
bank' of the Tweed," in order to comjjly with the 
law. wliich requij'es that the Sheriff sliall be resi- 
dent, at n.ast durmg a ccrtam number of months, 
witliui his jurisdiction. We found a delightful re- 
tirement, by my becoming the tenant of my inti- 
mate fiiend and cousiu-german, Colonel Russell,^ 
bi Ms mausion of Ashestiel, which was unoccupied, 
dmiiig his absence on mihtary service in IncUa, 
The liouse was adequ.ate to our accommodation, 
ind the exercise of a limited hospitality. The 

' Publklieii in 4to, £1 lis. 6(1., February, 1808. 



situation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side of i 
fine river, whose streams are there very favorable 
for angling, sui'rounded by the remains of natural 
woods, and by liills abounding in game. In point 
of society, according to the heartfelt phrase ol 
Scripture, we dwelt " amongst our own people ;" 
and as the distance from the metropoHs was only 
tliirty miles, we were not out of reach of our Ed- 
inbiu-gh friends, in wliich city we spent the terms 
of the summer and winter Sessions of the Court, 
that is, five or six months in the year. 

An unportant circumstance had, about the same 
time, taken place in my life. Hopes had been 
held out to me from an influential quarter, of a 
nature to reUeve me from the anxiety which I 
must have otherwise felt, as one upon the preca- 
rious tenure of whose own life rested tlie principal 
prospects of "his family, and especially as one who 
had necessarily some dependence upon the favor 
of the pubhc, which is proverbially capricious 
though it is but justice to add, that, in my own 
case, I have not found it so. Mr. Pitt had express- 
ed a wish to my personal friend, tlie Riglit Hon- 
orable William Dundas, now Lord Clerk Registei 
of Scotland, that some fitting opportunity should 
be taken to be of service to me ; and as my views 
and wishes pointed to a future rather tlian an im 
mediate provision, an opportunity of accomphsh- 
iiig this was soon found. One of the Principal 
Clerks of Session, as they ai-e called (official per- 
sons who occupy an important and responsible 
situation, and enjoy a considerable income), who 
had served upwards of thirty years, felt liimself, 
from age, and the infirmity of deafness with which 
it was accompanied, desirous of retiring from hia 
ofiicial situation. As the law then stood, such 



3 Now Majof-Geoeval Sir James Russell, K. C. B 
Life of Scott, vol. viu. pp. 133, 318 



-8e« 



MARMION. 



81 



official persons were entitled to bargain with their 
s»iccessors, either for a sum of money, which was 
usually a considerable one, or for an interest in the 
emoluments of the office during their life. My 
predecessor, whose services had been unusually 
meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments of his 
office during his Ufe, while I should enjoy the sur- 
nvorship, on the condition that I discliarged the 
duties of the office in the mean time. Mr. Pitt, 
however, having died in the interval, liis adminis- 
tration was dissolved, and was succeeded by that 
known by the name of the For' and Grenville Min- 
istry. My affair was so far completed, that my 
commission lay in the office subscribed by his 
Majesty ; but. from hurry or mistake, the uiterest 
of my predecessor was not expressed in it, as had 
been usual in such cases. Although, therefore, it 
only required payment of the fees, I could not in 
honor take out the commission in the present state, 
since, in the event of my dying before him, the 
gentleman whom I succeeded must have lost the 
vested interest which he had stipulated to retain. 
I had the honor of an interview with Earl Spen- 
cer on the subject, and he, in the most handsome 
manner, gave directions that the commission should 
issue as originally intended ; adding, that the mat- 
ter having received the royal assent, he regarded 
only as a claim of justice wnat he would have 
willingly done as an act of favor. I never saw 
Mr. Fox on this, or on any other occasion, and 
.lever made any apphcation to him, conceiving 
that in doing so I might have been supposed to 
express political opinions contrary to those which 
I had always professed. In his private capacity, 
there is no man to whom I would have been more 
proud to' owe an obUgation, had I been so distin- 
guished. 

By this arrangement I obtained the survivor- 
ship of an office, the emoluments of wliich were 
fully adequate to my wishes ; and as the law re- 
specting the mode of providing for superannuated 
officers was, about five or six years after, altered 
from that which admitted the arrangement of as- 
> eistant and successor, my colleague very hand- 
somely took the opportunity of the alteration, to 
accept of the retirhig armuity provided in such 
cases, aod admitted me to the full benefit of the 
office. 

1 See Life, vol. iii. p. 4. 

3 " Neil view in state, prood prancing on his roan, 
The golden-crested haughty Marmion, 
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 
Not qaite a felon, yet but half a knight. 
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
A mighty mixtare of the great and base. 
And tliink'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perchance, 
On public taste lo foist thy stale romance. 
Though Murray with his Miller niay combine 
To yield thy mose just half-a-crown per linet 
II 



But although the certainty of succeeding to a 
considerable income, at the time I obtained it, 
seemed to assiu*e me of a quiet harbor in my old 
age, I did not escape my share of inconvenience 
from the contrary tides and currents by which we 
are so often cncotmtered in om- journey tlu-ough 
life. Indeed, the publication of my next poetical 
attempt was prematurely accelerated, from one oi 
those unpleasant accidents which can neither bn 
foreseen nor avoided. 

I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavor 
to bestow a Uttle more labor than I had yet done 
on my productions, and to be in no hurry again to 
annoimce myself as a candidate for literary fame. 
Accordingly, particular passages of a poem, which 
was finally called " Marmion," were labored with 
a good deal of care, by one by whom much care 
was seldom bestowed. Whether the work was 
worth the labor or not, I am no competent judge ; 
but I may be permitted to say, tliat the period of 
its composition was a very happy one, in my life ; 
so much so, that I remember with pleasm-e, at tliis 
moment, some of the spots in which particular pas- 
sages were composed. It is probably owing to 
this, that the Introduction to the several Cantos 
assumed the form of familiiir epistles to my inti- 
mate friends, m which I alluded, perhaps more 
than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic 
occupations and amusements — a loquacity -nhich 
may be excused by those who remember, that 1 
was still young, light-headed, and K.ppy, and that 
" out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh." 

The misfortmies of a near relation and friend, 
which happened at this tmie, led me to alter ray 
prudent determination, which had been, to uao 
great precaution in sending this poem into the 
world ; and made it convenient at least, if not ab 
solutely necessary, to hasten its publication. Tlie 
pubUshers of " The Lay of the Last Minstrel," em- 
boldened by the success of that poem, willingly of- 
fered a thousand pounds for •' Marmion."' The 
transaction being no secret, afforded Lord Byron, 
who was then at general war with all who blacked 
paper, an apology for mcluding me in liis satire, 
entitled " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers."* 
I never coiUd conceive how an arrangement be- 
tween an author and his pubUshers, if satisfactory 

No ! when the sons of song descend to trade. 
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the poet's sacred name. 
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame ; 
Still for stem Mammon may they toil in vain I 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain ! 
Such be their meed, such still the just rewaxd 
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard t 
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
And bid a long ' Good-night to Marmion.' " 

Dyron's Works, vol. vii. o 235-» 



89 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



to the persons concerned, could afford matter of 
ceasure to any third party. I had taken no nnu- 
Bual or ungenerous means of enlianciug the value 
of my merchandise — I had never higgled a mo- 
ment about the bargain, but accepted at once 
what I considered the handsome offer of my pub- 
lishers, 'fhese gentlemen, at least, were not of 
opinion that they had been taken advantage of in 
the transaction, which indeed was one of their own 
h'aming ; on the contrary, the sale of the Poem 
wag so fai" beyond their expectation, as to induce 
them to supply the Author's cellars with what is 
always an acceptable present to a young Scottish 
housekeeper, namely, a hogshead of excellent claret. 
The Poem was finished in too much haste, to 
allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not 
removing, some of its most prominent defects. The 
nature of Marmiou's guilt, although similar instan- 
ces were found, and might be quoted, as existing 
in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently 
necuhar to be indicative of the character of t!ie 
period, forgery being the crime of a commercial, 
railier than a proud and warlike age. This gross 
defect ought to have been remedied or palliated. 
Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it had fallen. I 
remember my friend. Dr. Leyden, then in the East, 
wrote me a furious remonstrance on the subject. 

On first reading this satire, 1809, Scott says, " It is funny 
enoagh to see awlielp of a young Lord Byron abusing me, of 
whose circumstances he knows nothing, for endeavoring to 
scratch out a living with ray pen. God help the bear, if hav- 
ilg little else to eat, he must not even suck Ills own paws. I 
c-in assure the noble imp of fame it is not my fault that I was 
Dol born to a park and £5000 a year, as it is not iiis lordship's 
merit, although it may be his great good fortune, that he was 
3*r. jorn to Uve by his literary talents or success." — Life, vol. 
til. p. 195. — See also Correspondence with Lord Bvrou Jbru. 
pp. 3^5 398. 

» ''Mdrmion was first printed it a splencnd quarto, price 
aiie 5'.inea and a half Tue 2000 copies of this edition were 
ail A'Hposed of i'". le»s than a month, when a (.tcond of 3000 
f'Opiet), in 8vo., was sent to press. There ';^.owed a third and 
t fuurth edition, each of 3000, in J*^ . a fifth of 2000, early 
^o IfilO ; and a sixth of 300(/, 'c two volumes, crowD 8vo., 



I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion, that 
corrections, however in themselves judicious, have 
a bad effect — after pubUcation. An author is nev- 
er so decidedly condemned as on his own confes- 
sion, and may long find apologists and partisans, 
until he gives up his own cause. I was not, there- 
fore, inclined to afford matter for censure out oi 
my own admissions; and, by good fortune, the 
uove'ty of the subject, and, if I may say so, some 
force and vivacity of description were allowed to 
atone for many imperfections. Thus the second 
experiment on the pubhc patience, generally the 
most perilous, — for the pubhc are then most apt 
to judge with rigor, what in the first instance they 
had received, perhaps, with imprudent generosity, 
— was in my case decidedly successful. I had the 
good fortune to pass this ordeal favorably, and the 
return of sales before me makes the copies amotmt 
to tlurty-sis thousand printed between 1808 and 
1825, besides a considerable sale since that period.* 
I shall here pause upon the subject of " Marmion," 
and, in a few prefatory words to '* The Lady of 
the Lidie," the last poem of mine which obtained 
eminent success, I will continue the task which I 
have imposed on myself respectmg the origin of 
my producti<nis. 

Abbotsfobh, April, 1830. 

with twelve desurs by Singleton, before the end of that year; 
a seventh of 400tl and an eighth of 5000 copies 8vo., in 1811 ; 
a ninth of 3000 in 18i5 : a tenth of 500 in 1820 ; an eleventh of 
."iOO, and a twelfth of 2000 copies, in foolscap, both in 1825 
The legitimate sale in this country, therefove. down to the 
time of its being included in the first collective edition of hia 
poetical works, amounted to 31,000 ; and the aggregate of that 
sale, down to the period at which I am writing (May, 1836), 
may be staled at 50,000 copies. I presume it is right for me 
to facilitate the task of future historians of our literature by 
preserving these details as often as I can. Snt-h particulars 
respecting many of the great works even of the last century, 
are already sought for with vain regret ; i.nd 1 anticijiate no 
day when the student of English civilization will pass witlioiit 
curiosity the contemporary i-eueption of the Tale of Floddes 
Field."— IjOCKHart, Life of Scott, ^ol. lit. p. 66. 



in a t m 1 n . 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

HENRY LORD MONTAGU,* 
d'c. &c. (he. 

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCEIBED B* 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

It tt \prMy ic be exv^cied^ that an Author whom the Public have honored \inth some degree of ap- 
ph-AK, fhould not be again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author o/Makmion must be sup- 
f'fjsed to feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this secon4 
intrusion, any reputation which his first Poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon 
the private adt^entures of a fictitious character ; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, becau.^e tfte heroes 
fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The design of the Author 
Wio-!, if possible, to apprize his readers, at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for 
the manners of th-e Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far more an attempt at Epic 
cmipnsition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be permitted to hope, from the popularity 
o/The Lay or the Last Minsteel, thut an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upon a 
broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the Public. 

T/te Poem opens about the comtnencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden,<i< ft 
Beptemier, 1613. 

AsHEsriEL, 1808. 



ill arm ton. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 



TO 
W7LLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESa.' 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest 
November's skj is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the tteepy linn. 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dai'k and narrow glen, 
Tru scai-ce the rivulet might ken. 
So thick the tangled greenwood grew. 
So feeble triU'd the streamlet through : 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green. 

Lord Montagn was the second sod of Henry Dake of Bac- 
ciench, by the only daughter of John last Duke of Montagu. 

3 For tho origin and progress of Scott's acquaintance with 
S4r. Rose see Life, vols. ii. iii iv. vi. Part of Marmion 



An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade, 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed, 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our P'orest hills is shed f 
No more, beneatli the evemng beam, 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ; 
Away hath pass'd the heather-bell 
That bloom'd so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow Ilia brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven, 
To shelter'd dale and down are drivan. 
Where yet some faded herbage pines. 
And yet a watery sunbeam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The wither'd sward and wintry sky, 

was composed at Mr. Rose's seat in the New Fomt, /Ma 
vol. iii. p. 10. 
a MS ^'* No longer now in glowio^ red 

The Ettericke-Forest hills are clad." 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's riU : 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
And wraps him closer from the cold ; 
His dogs, no merry circles wheel. 
But, shivering^ foUow at his heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though liardy, bold, and wild. 
As best befits the mountain child, 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower ; 
Their summer gambols teU, and moiirn. 
And anxious ask, — WiU spring retm-n. 
And birds and lambs again be gay. 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 

Yes. prattlers, yee. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower ; 
Agam the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The iambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you fiolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings ;' 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But oh I my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate ! 
What powerful call shall bid arise «j 
Tlie buried warUke and the wise ;' 
The mind that thought for Britain's weal, 
Tlie hand that grasp'd the victor's steel ? 
The vernal sun new Ufe bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine, 
Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; 



1 " The ' chance and change' of nature, — the vicissitndes 
which are observahle in the moral a3 well as the physical part 
•f the creation, — have given occasion to more exquisite poetry 
than any other general subject. The author had before made 
ample use of the sentiments suggested bv these topics ; yet he 
9 not satisfied, but begins again with the same in his first in- 
troduction. The lines are certainly pleasing ; but they fall, in 
our etttimation, far bs(ow that beautiful simile of the Tweed 
which he has introduced into his former poem. The At, at. 
Tat ixa\aKai of Moschus is, however, worked up again to some 
advantage in the following passage ; — ' To mate,* &c." — 
Monthly Rev.. May, 1808. 

2 MS. — " What call awakens from the dead 

The hero's heart, the patriot's head 1" 

3 MS. — " Deep in each British bosom wrote, 

O never be those names forgot 1" 

* Nelson. 

^ Copenhagen. 

• MS — " Tngg'd at subjection's cracking rein.** 



And vainly pierce the solenm gloom. 
That shrouds, Pitt, thy haUow'd tomb I 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
O never let those names depart !' 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave. 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ;' 
To him, as to the bimiing levin. 
Short, bright, resistless course was given. 
Where'er his country's foes were fotmd, 
Was heard the fated thimder's soimd, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
RoU'd, blazed, destroy 'd,—^and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less Ins perish'd worth. 
Who bade the conqueror go forth. 
And launch'd that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia,' Trafalgar ; 
Who, born to guide such high emprize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britam's sins, an early grave 1 
His wortli, wlio, in liis mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurn'd at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself; 
"Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strain'd at subjection's bursting rsin,' 
O'er their wild mood fuU conquest gain'd, 
The pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, 
Show'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause,"" 
And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the flre» 
man's laws. 

Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of 
power,' 
A watclunan on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trimip had roused the land, 
When fraud or danger were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beacon-Ught, 
Otu' pilots had kept cou'rse aright ; 
As some proud colunm, though alone 

' MS. — " Show'd their bold zeal a worthier cause." 
« This paragraph was interpolated on the blank page of tilt 
MS. We insert the lines as they appear there ; — 
" O had he lived, though stripp'd of power. 
Like a lone watchman on the tower. 
His thrilling trumpet through the land 
Had wam'd when foemen were at hand. 
As by some beacon's lonely light, 
By thee our course had steer'd aright ; 
Our steady course had steer'd arigh 
Oar pilots kept their course aright ; 
His single mind, unbent by fate. 
Had propp'd his country's tottering weight ; 
tall 



right; 1 
ght ; I 
.t; ) 



SHad propp'd our tottering atate and throne, 
His strength had propp'd our tottering thron% 
The beacon light is qnenchM in smoke, 
The warder fallen, the colaiun broke." 



MARMION. 



a* 



Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne : 
Now ia the stately cnlumn broke, 
The beacon-Ught is quencli'd in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still, 
The warder silent on the hill 1 

Oh think, how to Ills latest day,^ 
When Death, just hovering, claim'd liis prey, 
With Palinure's unalter'd mood, 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
Each call for needful rest repell'd. 
With dying hand the rudder held. 
Till in liis fall, with fateful sway, 
The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
Then while on Britain's thousand plains, 
One unpolluted chm*ch remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound, 
But still, upon the halloAv'd day,^ 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a teai', — 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, Ues here ! 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his rival slumbers nigh ; 
Nor be thy requiescat diuub, 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.* 
For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
When best employ'd, and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius liigh, and lore profound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
And all the reasoning powers divine. 
To penetrate, resolve, combme ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave, 

» MS. — *' Yet think how tahis latest day." 
. * MS. — " But still upon the kolij dny." 

3 In place of this couplet, and the ten lines which follow it, 
#ie originaJ MS. of Marraion ha-s only the following: — 

" If genius high and judgment sound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound. 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, comhitie, 
Could save one mortal of the herd 
From error — Fox had never err'd." 

While Scoii was correcting a second proof of the passage 
where Pitt and Fox are mentioned together, at Stanmore Priory, 
In April, 1807. Lord Abercorn suggested that the compliment 
to the Whig statesman ought to be still further heightened, and 
leveral lines — 

' For talents monm untimely lost. 
When best cmployrd, mid icanted most,' &c. — 
were added accordingly. I have heard, indeed, that they came 
from the Marquis's own pen. Ballantyne, however, from some 
inadvertence had put the sheet to prera before the revise, as it 
u called, arrived in F.dinburgh. and some few copies got abroad 
^ which tlie additional couplets were omitted. A London 



Be every harsher thought suppresa'd, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, wliere the end of earthlj- things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and smig; 
Kere, where the fretted aisles pmlnrg 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke agen, 
*' All peace on eartli, good-will to men ** 
If ever from an English heart, 
0, here let prejudice depart, 
And, piU'tial feeling cast aside,^ 
Record, that Fox a Britj^n died ! 
When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm Russian's pm-pose brave, 
Was barter'd by a timorous slave, 
Even then dishonor's peace he spurn'd, 
The sullied ohve-branch return'd, 
Stood for his country's glory fast. 
And nail'd her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
A portion in tliis honor'd grave, 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust.^ 

-With more than mortal powers endow'd. 
How high they soar'd above the crowfi I 
Theirs was no conunon party race,^ 
JostUng by dark intrigue for place , 
Like fabled Gods, theii* mighty war 
Shook reahns and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each baimer proud to stand, 
Look'd up the noblest of the land, 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizai'd grave 

journal (the Morning Chronicle) was stupid and malignant, 
enough to insinuate thiii the author had his presentation copiei 
struck otr with or without them, according as they were for 
Whig or Tory hands. I mention the circum?tance now only 
because I see by a letter of Heber's *,hal Scott had thought it 
wortli his while to contradict the absurd charge in the news- 
papers of the day." — LocKHART, IJt'e of Hcutt, vol. ill. p GS. 

* MS. — " And party [la^sion dofTd aside ' 

^ '* The Jirst epistolary eftiision, containing a threnodv JQ 
Nelson, Pill, and Fox, exhibits a remarkable failure. We aw 
unwiUiiig to quaiTcl with a poet on the score of pol;*;cs : I'd: 
the manner in which he has chosen to praise the \La'. of ihesa 
great men, is more likely, we conceive, to ^ivo v»rtence to hia 
admirers, than the most direct censure. The only deed fof 
which he is praised is for having broken off the negotiation fio* 
peace; and for this act of firmness, it is added, Heaven r» 
warded him with a share in the honored grave of Pitt ! Il u 
then said that his errors should be forgotten, and that he died 
a Briton — a pretty plain insinuation tiial. in the autlior's opin 
ion, he did not live one ; and just i-nch an encomium as hf 
himself pronounces over the grave of his villain hero, Mar* 
mion." — Jeffrey. 

" MS — '■ Theirs was no common courti •■ ran" • 



86 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


E'er frame I in dark Thesaalian cave, 


Like frostwork in the morning ray, 


Though his coiiU drain the ocean dry, 


The fancied fabric melts away ;' 


And force the planets from tlie sky.' 


Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 


These spells are spent, and, spent with these. 


And long, dun, lofty lisle, are gone ; 


The wine of hfo is on the lees. 


And, lingering last, deception ^lear. 


Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 


Tlie chou-'s high sounds die on my ear. 


Forever tomb'd beneath the stone. 


Now slow return the lonely down, 


Where — taming thought to human pride ! — 


The silent pastures bleak and brown. 


The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.' 


Tlie farm begirt with copsewood wild. 


Drop upon Fo.x's giave the tear. 


The gimibols of each frolic cliild. 


'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; 


Mixuig their shrill cries with the tone 


O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem somid. 


Of Tweed's dark wjiters rushing on. 


And Fox's sh.ill the notes rebound. 




The solemn echo seems to cry, — 


Prompt on unequal tasks to run, 


" Here let then- discord with them die. 


Thus Nature disciplines her son : 


Speak not for those a separate doom. 


Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 


■Wliom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; 


And waste the soUtary day. 


But search the land of living men, 


In plucking from yon fen the reed. 


■Where wilt thou find their like agen V 


And w.atch it floating down the Tweed ; 




Or idly hst the shrilUng lay. 


Rest, ardent Spu-its 1 till the cries 


With which the milkmaid cheers her way. 


^ 01 dying Natiu-e bid you rise ; 


Marking its cadence rise and fail. 


Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 


As from the field, beneath her pail, 


The leaden silence of your hearse ; 


She trips it down the imeven dale ; 


Then, 0, how impotent and vain 


Meeter for me, by yonder cau-n. 


This grateful tributary strain ! 


The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 


Though not uumark'd from northern clime, 


Tliough oft he stop in rustic fear,* 


Ye heai'd the Border Minstrel's rhvme : 


Lest liis old legends tire the ear 


His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 


Of one, who, in his simple "mind. 


The Bard you deign'd to praise, your deathless 


M.ay boast of book-learn'd taste refined. 


names has sung. 






But thou, my friend, can'st fitly tell 


Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 


(For few have read romance so well), 


My wilder'd fancy still beguile 1 


How stUl the legendary lay 


From tliis high theme how can I part. 


O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 


Ere Lalf unloaded is my heart 1 


How on the ancient minstrel strain 


For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 


Time lays liis palsied hand in vain ; 


And all the raptures fancy knew. 


And how our hearts at doughty deeds. 


And all the keener rush of blood. 


By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 


That throbs through b.ard in bard-like mood. 


StUl thi-ob for fe.ar and pity's sake ; 


Were here a tribute mean and low. 


As when the Champion of the Lake 


Though all their mingled streams coiJd flow — 


Enters Morgana's fated house. 


Woe, wonder, and sensation high. 


Or in the Chapel Perilous, 


In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 


Despising spells and demons' force. 


It will not be — it may not last — 


Holds converse with the unburied corse ;' 


The vision of ench.antment's past : 


Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move 


MS. — " And force the pale moon from the eky.*' 


Which hushes all ! a calm nnstormy wave 


" Reader ! remember when thou wert a lad. 


Which oveisweeps the world. The theme is old 


Then Pitt was all ; or. if not all, so ranch. 


Of ' dust to dust ;' but h.alf its tale untold ; 


His very rival almost deem'd him such. 






We, we have seen the intellectual race 


Byron's Age of Brvntt, 


Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face ; 


3 " If but a beam of sober reason play, 


AtJios and Ida, w*ith a dashing sea 


Lo! Fancy's fairy frostwork melts away." 


Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free. 


Rogers' Pleasures of Memory 


As the deep billows of the Mge-in roar 


i MS. — " Though oft he stops to wonder still 


Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore. 


That his old legends have the skill 


But where are they — the rivals ! — a few feet 


To win so well the attentive ear, 


Of sullen ear+h divide each winding-sheet. 


Perchance to draw the sigh or tear " ^ 


Ciow peaceful and how powerful is '.he grave 


^ See Appendix, Note A. 



tAKTO I. 



MARMION. 



81 



(Alas, that lawless was (beir love !) 
He sought proutl Tavquiii in his den, 
And free full sixty kiilghts ; or when, 
A rmful man, and unconfiss'd, 
He took the Sangi-eal's holy quest, 
And, slumbering, saw the vision high. 
He might not view with waking eye.' 

The mightiest cliiefs of British song 
Scorn'd not ?u;h legends to prolong : 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream. 
And mix in Hilton's heavenly theme ; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Round again,' 
But that a ribald Kmg and Court 
Bade liim toil on, to make them sport ; 
Demanded for then- niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 
Licentious satire, song, and play •,' 
The world defrauded of the liigli design,* 
Profaned the God-given strength, and marr'd 
the lofty line. \ 

Warm'd by such names, well may we then, 
^ough dwindled sons of little men, 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
Wliere long through talisman and spell, 
Wliile tyrants riUed, and^iamsels wept. 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth. 
On venturous quest to prick again. 
In all his arms, with all his train.^ 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf. 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells, 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 
Mystery, half veil'd and half reveal'd ; 
And Honor, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fix'd eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 



• See Appendi.t, Note B. 2 Ibid. Note C. 

MS - ' Licentious song, lampoon, and play." 
MS. — Tile world defrauded of tlie bold design. 

And quencli'd tlie lieroic ( fire, and marr'd the 
Profaned tile Iieavenly ) lofty line." 
Ugain, 

* Profaned kis God-given strength, and marr'd his lofly line.' 
6 Id tlie MS. the rest of the passage stands aa follows : — 

•• Aronnd him wait with all their S =''^™5. 
( spells. 

Pure Love which i ^'""^ ""'.'' """^ • 

I scarce his passion tells ; 

Mystery, half seen and half conceal'd ; 

And Honor, vritb unspotted shield ; 



And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; 
And Valor, lion-mettled lord, 
Leaning upon liis own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
Ytene's" oaks — beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart and Bevis bold,' 
And that Red King," who, while of old. 
Through Boldrewood the chase he led 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled- 
Ttene's oaks ha»e heard again 
Renew'd such legendary straui ; 
For thou hast sung, how He of Gaul, 
That Ainadis so famed in hall. 
For Oriana, foil'd in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might ; 
And well in modern verse hast wove 
Partenope.x's mystic love :' 
Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder dajy. 



ill a r in i n 



CANTO FIKST. 



SrSe fflastle 



Day set on Norham's castled steep," 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. 

And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
The battled towers, the donjon keep," 
The loophole grates, where captives weep, 
The flanking walls that romid it sweep, 

In yellow lustre shone." 
The warriors on the tm-rets high, 
Movuig athwart the evening sky," 

Seem'd forms of giant height : 
Tlieir armor, as it caught the rays. 

Attention, with fix'd eye ; and Fear. 
That loves the tale she shrinks to he.ir; 
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith. 
And Valor that despises death." 
c The New Forest in Hampshire, anciently so called 
^ See Appendi.Y, ] ote D. 
s William Rufus. 

8 Partmopcz de B/ois, a poem, by W. S. Rose, Esq., m 
published in 1808.— Ed. 

' See Appendix, Note E. Ibid. Note F. 

13 In tlie MS. the first line has " hoary keep :'* tl« foarU 
" donjon steep ;" the seventh *' ruddy lustre." - 
■ " MS.— " Eastern BkT." 



S8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO I 



Flash'd back again the western blaze,' 
In lines of dazzling light. 

II. 

Saint George's banner, broad and gay, 
No-w faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
Tlie evening gale had sciirce the power 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search 

The Castle gates were barr'd ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

Tlie Warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along. 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 

III. 
A. distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er HornchfT-hill a plump^ of spears, 
' Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a summer cloud. 
Spurs on his mettled coui'ser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
That closed the Castle biu-ricade, 

His bugle horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And waru'd the Captain in the hall 
For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight did cidl. 
To sewer, squu'e, and seneschal. 

IV. 

" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe. 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee, 

And all om' trumpets blow ; 
And, from tlie platform, spare ye not 
To fii-e a noble salvo-shot :' 

Lord Mahmion wiiits below I" 
Tlien to tlie Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron-studded gates unbarr'd, 

1 '* Evening- blaze.*' 

2 This word properly applies to a flight of watei^fowl ; Dat 
• apphod, by analogy, to a body of horse. 

"There is a knight of the North Conntry, 
Which leads a lusty plump of spears." 

Ftaddcn Field. 
MS. — '(' A welcome shot.'* 

* MS. — " On his brown cheek an azure scar 
Bore *oken true of Bosworlh war." 



Raised the portcidlis' ponderous guard. 
The lofty palisade unsparr'd 
And let the drawbridge faU. 

V. 
Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
His helm hung at the saddlebow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight, and keen. 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek reveal' d* 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fii'e, 
Show'd spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
Yet lines of thought upon liis cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by liis casque worn bare. 
His thick mustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-tm'ued joints, and strength of limb 
Show'd him no carpet knight so trim, 
But in close fight a champion grim, 

In campa a leader sage.' 

VL 
Well was he arm'd from liead to heel, 
In mail and plate of Milan steel ;" 
But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 
Was all with binnisli'd gold embo.5s'd: 
Amid the plumage of the crest. 
A falcon hover'd on her nest. 
With wings outspread, and forward breast; 
E'en such a falcon, on his sliield, 
Soai''d sable m an azufe field : 
The golden legend bore aright, 
5W!)o cDccSts at iiu, to Deatl) is trffllit.' 
Blue was the charger's broider'd rein ; 
Blue ribbons deck'd his arching mane ; 
Tlie kuiglitly housiug's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, aud trapp'd with gold. 

vn. 

Behind liira rode two gallant sqmres, 
Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
They bm-n'd the gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame. 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, 

5 " Marmion is to Del^aine what Tom Jones is to Josejih 
Andrews: the varnish of higher breeding nowhere diniinishe* 
the prominence of the features ; and the minion of a king ia 
as light and sinewy a cavalier as the Borderer — rather lest 
ferocious — more wicked, not less fit for the hero of a ballad, 
and much more so for the hero of a regnlai poem."— Gborqi 
Ellis. 

e See Appendix. Note G. 

' I'.iid. Note H. 






*.■ 



■Vi 




CANTO I. MARMION. 68 


And liglitly bear the ring away ; 


The cannon from the ramparts glanced, 


^or less with comteous precepts stored, 


And thundering welcome gave. 


Could dance in hall, and carve at board. 


A blithe salute, in martial sort. 


And I'lamc love-ditties passing rare, 


The minstrels well might sound. 


And sing them to a lady fan-. 


For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, 




He scatter'd angels round. 


VIII. 


" Welcome to Norham, Marmion 1 


Four nien-at-arnis came at their backs, 


Stout heart, and open hand 1 


With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : 


Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 


They bore Lord JIai-niion's lance so strong,' 


Thou flower of EngUsh land 1" 


And led his sumpter-mules along. 




And ambling palfrey, when at need 


XL 


Him listed ease his battle-steed. 


Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck. 


The last .and trustiest of the four, 


With sUver scutcheon round their neck, 


On high his forky pennon bore ; 


Stood on the steps of stone. 


Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 


By wltich you reach the donjon gate, 


Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue, 


And there, with herald pomp and state. 


Wbere, blazon'd 8.able, as before. 


Tliey hail'd Lord Marmion :' 


The towermg falcon seem'd to soar. 


They hail'd liim Lord of Fontenaye, 


Last, twenty yeomen, two and two. 


Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 


In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 


Of Tamworth tower and town :' 


With falcons broider d on each breast. 


And he, then- courtesy to requite. 


Attended on their lord's behest. 


Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, 


Each, chosen for an archer good. 


All as he lighted down. 


Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 


" Now, largesse, largesse," Lord Marmion, 


Each one a six-foot bow could bend. 


Knight of the crest of gold ! 


And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 


A blazon'd shield, in battle won. 


Each held a boar-spear tough and strong 


Ne'er guarded heai-t so bold." 


And at their belts their quivers rung 




Their dusty palfreys, and array. 


XIL 


Show'd they had march'd a weary way. 


They marshall'd him to the Castle-haU, 




■Wliere the guests stood aU aside, 


IX. 


And loudly flouri.sh'd the trumpet-call. 


■'lis meet that I should tell you now. 


And the heralds loudly cried. 


How fahdy arm'd. and order'd how. 


— " Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion, 


The soldiers of the guard. 


With the crest and heUn of gold 1 


With musket, pike, aud morion. 


Full well we know the trophies won 


To welc(«ne noble Miu'mion, 


In the lists at Cottiswold : 


Stood in the Castle-yard ; 


There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 


Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 


'Giiinst Marmion's force to stand : 


The gminer held his linstock yare. 


To liim he lost his lady-love, 


For welcome-shot prepared : 


And to the King his land. 


Enter'd the train, and such a clang," 


Ourselves beheld the listed field. 


As then tlu-ough .all his turrets rang. 


A sight both sad and fair; 


Old Korh.-un never heard. 


We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,* 




And saw his saddle bare ; 


X. 


We saw the victor win the crest 


Thi guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 


He wears with worthy pride ; 


The trumpets flourish'd brave. 


And on the gibbet-tree, reversEd 


' MS.— ' Oxj bore Lord Marraiori's lance so strong. 


inconsiderable in themselves, have the effect of giving traUh 


7'wo led his sumpter-mnles along. 


and identity to the picture, and assist the mind in realizing 


The third his pall'rey, when at need." 


the scenes, in a degree which no general deKcription coold 


* MS. — '*-4nd when he enter'd, such a clang 


suggest ; nor could we so completely enter tlie Castle with 


As through the echoing turrets rang." 


Lord Marmion, were any circumstances of tlie description 




omitted." — British Critic. 


■ " Tlie most piflturesque of all poets. Homer, is frequently 




AlQDte, to the utmost degree, in the description of the dresses 


i See Appendix, Note L = Ibid, Note K 


•id accoutre-nents of his personages. These particulars, often 


« MS.—" Cleave his shield." 



90 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto t 


His foeman's scutcheon tied. 


XV. 


Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 


The Captain mark'd his alter'd look, 


Room, room, ye gentles gay, 


And gave a squire the sign ; 


For him who conquer'd in the light. 


A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 


Marmion of Fontenaye !" 


And crown'd it high in wine. 




"Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: 


XIII. 


But first I pray thee fau-,' 


Then stepp'd to meet that noble Lord 


Where hast thou left that page of thine, 


Sir Hugt the Heron bold. 


That used to serve thy cup of wine, 


Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 


Whose beauty was so rare ? 


And Captain of the Hold.' 


When last in Kaby towers we met, 


He Igd Lord Marmion to the deas. 


Tlie boy I closely eyed. 


Raised o'er the pavement high. 


And often mark'd his cheeks were wet, 


And placed him in the upper place — 


With te.ars he fain would liide : 


They feasted full and high: 


His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, 


The whiles a Northern harper'rude 


To burnish shield or sharpen brand,* 


Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud. 


Or saddle battle-steed ; 


"How the fierce ThirmalU, and Ridleys 


But meeter seemed for lady fair. 


all^ 


To fan her cheek, or curl her hair. 


Stout Willimondsmck, 


Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 


Aiid Hardriding Dick, 


The slender siUc to lead : 


And Hughie of Havidon, and Wmi o' the 


His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 


Wall, 


His bosom — when he sigh'd. 


Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonliaugh, 


The russet doublet's rugged fold 


And taken his life at the DeadmarHn'Shaiv^^ 


Could scarce repel its pride ! 


Scantily Lord Marmion's ear could brook 


Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 


The harper's barbarous lay ; 


To serve in lady's bower i 


Yet much he praised the pains he took, 


Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 


And well those pains did pay : 


A gentle paramour '" 


For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain. 




By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 


XVL 




Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ; 




He roll'd his kindling eye. 


XIV. 


With pain his rising wrath suppress'd. 


" Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says. 


Yet made a calm reply : 


" Of your fail- courtesy. 


" That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair. 


I pray you bide some little space 


He might not brook the nortliern air. 


In tills poor tower with me. 


More of his fate if thou wouldst leam. 


Here may you keep your arms from rust, 


I left him sick in Lindisfam :" 


May breathe your war-horse well ; 


Enough of liim. — But, Heron, say, 


Seldom has pass'd a week but giust 


Why does thy lovely lady gay 


Or feats of arms befell : 


Disdain to grace the hall to day ? 


The Scots can rein a mettled steed ; 


Or has that d.ame, so fair and sage. 


And love to couch a spear ; — 


Gone on some pious pilgrimage ?" — 


Saint George ! a stirring life they lead. 


He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 


That have such neighbors near 


Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame. 


Then stay with us a little space. 




Our udrthern wars to learn ; 


xvn. 


I pray you, for your lady's grace !" 


Unmark'd, at least imreck'd, the taunt, 


Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. 


Careless the Knight replied,' 


. See Appendix, Note i.. 3 Ibid. Note M. 


la come, I ween, of lineage high. 


MS. — " And let me pray thee fair.** 


And of thy lady*s kin. 


MS. — " To ruJ a sliield or sharp a brand.'* 


That youth, so like a paramour. 


> MS. — " Lord Marmion ill such jest could brook. 


Who wept for shame and pride. 


He roird his* kindling eye ; 


Was erst, in Wilton's lordly bower 


Fix'd on the Knight his dark haoght look. 


Sir R,ilph de Wilton's bride.' " 


And answer'd stem and high : 


6 See Note 2 B, canto ii. stanza 1. 


' That page thou didst so closely eye. 


■ MS. — " Wliisper'd strange things of Heron'fl dama. 


So lair of hand and skiu. 


8 MS.—" The Captain gayfepUed." 



PiNTo 1. MARMION. n 


" No bird, wl ose feathers gayly flaunt, 


Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 


Delights in cage to bide ; 


Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 


Norham is grim and grated close, 


Or stroOing pilgrim, at the least." f 


Heinm'd in by batllement and fosse, 




And many a darksome tower ; 


XXL 


And better loves my lady bright 


The Captain mused a Uttle space, 


To s:' ' Wiuerty and light, 


And pass'd his hand across his face. 


In lair Queen Margaret's bower 


— " Fain would I find the guide you want, 


We h aid om- greyhound in our hand, 


But Ul may spare a pursuivant, 


Our falcon on our glove ; 


The only men that safe can ride 


But where shall we find leash or banv. 


Mine err.-inds on the Scottish side : 


For dame that loves to rove ? 


And though a bishop built this fort, 


Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 


Few holy brethren here resort ; 


She'll stoop when she has tired her wing." — ' 


Even our good chaplam, as I ween. 




Since our last siege, we have not seen : 


XVIII. 


The mass he might not sing or say, 


" Nay, if with Royal James's bride 


Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 


The lovely Lady Heron bide. 


So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 


Behold me here a messenger, 


And pray'd for our success the while. 


Tour tender greetings prompt to bear ; 


Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 


For, to the Scottish court address'd, 


Is all too well in case to ride ; 


I journey at our King's behest. 


The priest of Shoreswood* — he could rein 


And pray you, of your grace, provide 


The wildest war-horse in your train ; 


For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 


But then, no spearman in the hall 


I have not ridden in Scotland since 


Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 


James back'd the cause of that mock prince. 


Friar John of Tillmouth were the man 


Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 


A bUthesome brother at the can. 


Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 


A welcome guest in hall and bower. 


Then did I march with Surrey's power, 


He knows each castle, town, and tower, 


■Wliat time we razed old Ayton tower." — " 


In wliich the wine and ale is good. 




'Twist Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 


XLX. 


But that good man, as ill befalls. 


" For such-hke need, my lord, I trow, ' 


Hath seldom left our castle walla, 


Norham can find you guides enow ; 


Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 


For here be some have prick'd as far. 


In evU hour, he cross'd the Tweed, 


On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 


To teach Dame AUson her creed. 


Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 


Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; 


And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 


And John, an enemy to stpfe. 


Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 


Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 


And given them light to set their hoods." — ' 


The jealous churl hath deeply swore. 




That, if again he venture o'er. 


XX. 


He shall shrieve penitent no more 


"Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried, 


Little he loves such risks, I know ; 


" Were I in warlike wise to ride. 


Yet, in your guard, perchance will ja" 


A better guard I would not lack. 




Than yoiu- stout forayers at my back ; 


XXIL 


B jt, as in form of peace I go, 


Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 


A Qiendly messenger, to know, 


Carved to his imcle and that lord. 


Why through all Scotland, near and far. 


And reverently took up the word. 


Their King is mastering troops for war, 


" Kind uncle, woe were we each one. 


The sight of plundering Border spears 


If harm should hap to brother John. 


Might justify suspicious fears. 


He is a man of mh-thful speech. 


And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 


Can many a game and gambol teach : 


Break oit in some miseemly broil : 


Full well at tables can he play. 


A herald were my fitting guide ; 


And sweep at bowls the stake away. 


' MS. — " She'll stoop a^ain when tired her wing.'* 


3 See Appen((i.T, Nolo O. 


♦ See Aj'^ctli.'C, J^te N. 


• Ibid. Ngte P. 



02 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i 


None am a lustier carol bawl, 


And warms itself against his nose,* 


The needfuUest among us all. 


Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — * 


WLen time hangs heavy in the hall, 




And snow comes tliick at Chi-istmas tide. 


XXV. 


And we can neither himt, nor ride 


" Gramercy !" quoth Lord Marmion, 


A foray on the Scottish side. . 


" Full loth were I, that Friar John, 


The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude, 


That venerable man, for me. 


May end in worse than loss of hood. 


Were placed in fear or jeopardy. 


Let Friar John, in safety, stiU 


If this same Pahner will me lead 


In chimney-corner snore his fill, 


From hence to Holy-Rood, 


Koast hissing crabs, or flagons swill : 


Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed. 


Last night, to Norham there came one, 


Instead of cockle-sheU, or bead. 


WiU better guide Lord Marmioa" — 


With angels fair and good. 


" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. 


I love such holy ramblers ; stiU 


Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say." — 


They know to charm a weary hill, 




With song, romance, or lay : 


XXHL 


Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 


" Here is a holy Palmer come. 


Some lyuig legend, at the least. 


Prom Salem first, and last from Rome; 


They bring to cheer the way." — 


One, tliat hath kiss'd the blessed tomb. 




And visited each holy shrine. 


XXVI. 


Li Ai'aby and Palestme ; 


" Ah ! noble sir," young Selby said. 


On hill« of Armenie hath been. 


And finger on his Up he laid. 


Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 


" Tliis man knows much, perchance e'en more 


By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 


Tlian he could learn by holy lore. 


Which parted at the prophet's rod ; 


Still to himself he's muttermg, 


In Sinai's wilderness he saw 


And slu-inks as at some unseen tiling. 


The Mount, where Israel heard the law 


Last night we Usten'd at his cell ; 


'Mid tlumder-dint, and flashuig levin, 


Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 


And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 


He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er 


He shows Saint James's cockle-sheU, 


No living mortal 'could be near. 


Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 


Sometunes I thought I heard it plain, 


And of that Grot where Ohves nod,' 


As other voices spoke again. 


Where, darling of each heart and eye. 


I cannot tell — I hke it not — 


From all the youth of Sicily, 


Friar John hatli told us it is wrote, 


Saint Rosalie^ retired to God.' 


No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 




Can rest awake, and pray so long. 


XSIV. 


Himself still sleeps before liis beads 


" To stout Saint George of Norwidi merry, 


Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds." — ' 


Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 




Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 


• XXVIL 


For his sins' pardon hath he pray'd. 


— " Lot pass," quoth Marmion ; " by my fay, 


He knows the passes of the North, 


This man shall guide me on my way, 


And seeks for shi-ines beyond the Forth ; 


Although the great arch-fiend and he 


Little he eats, and long will wake. 


Had sworn themselves <^ company. 


And drinks but of the stream or lake. 


So please you, gentle youth, to call 


This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 


This Palmer' to the Castle-Iiall." 


But, when our Jolui liath quaff 'd his ale. 


The summon'd Palmer came in place ; 


As Uttle as the wmd that blows. 


His sable cowl o'erhung Ills face ; 


1 MS.—" Anil of the olive's ihaded cell." 


we think, are of this description : and this commemoiatioA Jt 


- MS. — *' Retired to God St. Rosalie." 


Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who 


3 See Appendix, Note U. 


' Have drunU the monks of St. Bothan's ale,' &e. 


' MS.—" And with melheglin warm'd his nose. 




As little as," &c. 


The long account of Friar John, though not without merit 


8 " This poem has fanlts of too great magnitu.^e to be passed 


ofl'ends in the same sort, nor can we easily conceive, how inj 


without notice. There is a deb.asing lowness and vulgarity in 


one could venture, in a serious poem, to speak of 


tome passages, winch we tinnk must be oHensive to every 




reader of delicacy, and wliich are not, for the most part, re- 


And warms itstff ntrainst Jus nose.'' " — Jeffrey. 


deemed by any vigor or picturesque effect. The venison pasties. 


See Appendix, Noie R. ^ Ibid. Note S. 



PANTO 1. MARMION. 08 


In his black innntle was he clad, 


1 

From midnight to the dawn of day, 


With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 


Sung to the billows' sound ;° 


On his broad slioulders wrought 


Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed weU, 


The scallop shell his a\p did deck ; 


Wliose spring can plirensied dreams dit pel, 


The crucifix around his neck 


And the crazed brain restore :' 


Was fi-om Loretto brought ; 


Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 


His sandals were with travel tore. 


Could back to peace my bosom bring, 


Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 


Or bid it tluob no more 1" 


The faded palm-branch in his hand 




Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land.' 


XXX. 




And now the midnight draught of sleep 


XXVIII. 


Where wine and spices richly steep. 


When as the Palmer came in haU, 


In massive bowl of silver deep, 


Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tail, 


The page presents on knee. , 


Or had a statelier step witlial. 


Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest. 


Or look'd more high and keen ; 


The.Captaiu pledged Ms noble guest. 


For no salut.iijg did he wait. 


The cup went through among the rest, 


But strode across the hall of state, 


Who drain'd it meiTUy ; 


And fronted Marmion where he sate,' 


Alone the Palmer pass'd it by, m 
Though Selby press'd liim courteously. 


As he his peer had been. 


But his gaunt frame was worn with toU ; 


This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 


His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 


It hush'd the merry wassel roar,' 


And when he struggled at a smile. 


The minstrels ceased to sound. 


His eye look'd haggard wild : 


Soon in the castle naught was heard, 


Poor wretch ! tlie mother that him bare. 


But the slow footstep of the guard. 


If she had been in presence there, 


Pacing his sober roimd. 


In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair. 




She had not known her child. 


XXXL 


Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 


With early dawn Lord Marmion rose • 


Soon change the form that best we know — 


And first the chapel doors unclose ; 


For deadly fear can time outgo. 


Then, after morning rites were done 


And blanch at once the hair ; 


(A hasty mass from Friar John),'" 


Hard toil can roughen form and face,' 


And knight and squire had broke th^b 


And want can quench the eye's bright grace 


fast. 


Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 


On rich substantial repast. 


More deeply than despair. 


Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse ; 


Happy whom none of these befall,* 


Then came the sturup-cup in course : 


But this poor Palmer knew them all. 


Between the Baron and his host. 




No point of courtesy was lost : 


XXIX. 


High thanks were by Lcid Marmion paid. 


Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 


Solemn excuse the Captain made. 


The Palmer took on him tlie task. 


Till, fiUng from the gate, had pass'd 


So he would march with morning tide,' 


That noble train, then- Lord the last 


To Scottish court to be his guide. 


Then loudly rung the trimipet call; 


" But I have solemn vows to pay, 


Thunder'd the cannon from the waU, 


And may not linger by the way, 


And shook the Scottish shore ; 


To fair St. Andrews bound. 


Around the castle eddied slow. 


Within the ocean-cave to pray. 


Volumes of smoke as white as snow. 


Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, 


And hid its tiuTets hoar ; 


' " The fires presentment of the mysterious Palmer is aada- 


« See Appendix, Note T. ' Ibid, Note V 


kU." — Jeffrey. 


s MS. — "The cup pass'd round among the rerl. 


' MS.—" And near Lord Marmion took his seat." 


* MS. — " Soon died the merry wassel roar." 


• MS. — " Hard toil can a/ter form and face, 


''^ "In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the pieasum 


roaghen yoothfnl grace. 


of the great with the observances of religion, it was common, 


And want can< quench t, „ 

■?. J the eyes of grace." 


when a parly was bent for the cliase. to celebrate mvs, abridged 
and maimed of its rites, called a hunting-mass, the brevity of 


* MS. — " Happy whom none such woes befall." 


w4iich was designed to correspond with the im]>alience of Uw 


' MS. — " So he would ride with morning tide." 


aodieoce." — IVote to *'Tlie Abbott JVcuj Edit 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAMTO n 



Till they roll'd forth upon the air,' 
And rnet the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



iJIarmion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 



TO THE 

' REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
The scenes are desert now, and bare. 
Where i3ourish'd once a forest fair,' 
Wlieftthe.'ip waste glens with copse were lined. 
And peopled with the hart and hind. 
Ton Thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced him for three hundi-ed y^ars. 
While fell around his green compeers — 
Ton lonely Thorn, would he could teU 
The changes of his parent dell,' 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now, 
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 
Woidd he could tell how deep the shade 
A thousand mingled branches made ; 
How broad the shadows of the oak. 
How clung the rowan' to the rock. 
And through the foUage show'd his head. 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
Wliat pines on every mountain sprung, 
O'er every dell what birches hung. 
In every breeze what aspens shoolf, 
"^ What aiders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my sliade," raetliinks he'd say, 
" The mighty stag at noon-tide lay : 
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game 
(The neiglibormg dingle bears liis name). 
With lurchmg step ai'ound me prowl, 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set. 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 

1 MS. — " slow they roll'd t'ortb upon the air." 

3 See Appendix, Note V. 

8 "The second epistle opens again with 'chance and change;' 
but it cannot he denied tliat tlie mode in which it is introduced 
p new and poetical. The comp.irison of Ettrick Forest, now 
open and nalted, with the state in which it once was — covered 
with wood, the iavorite resort of the royal hunt, and the refuge 
of daring onttpws — leads the poet to imagine an ancient thorn 
gil\ed with tlie powers of reason, and relating the various 
■cenes which it has witnessed during a period of three hundred 
^ais. A melancholy train of fancy 18 naturally encouraged 
the idea," — Monthly Heview. 



While doe, and roe, and red-deer good. 
Have bounded by, through gay green-wood. 
Then oft, from Newark's^ riven tower, 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals muster'd round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound 
And I might see the youth intent. 
Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; 
And through the brake tlie rangers stalk, 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in greeu-wood trini. 
Lead in the leash the gazehovmds grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet's' bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain. 
As fast the gallant greyhoimds strain ; 
Wliistles the arrow from tlie bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking liills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry. 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." 

Of such proud hviutings, many tales 
Tet hnger in our lonely dales, 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Tarrow, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow ' 
But not more blithe than silvan court. 
Than we have been at htmibler sport ; 
Though small ovu' pomp, and mean cm- gamp, 
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true 1 
O'er holt or hill there never flew. 
From slip or leasli there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between eiich merry chase, 
Pass'd by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fan resource in store. 
In Classic and in Gotliic lore ; 
We mark'd each memorable scene. 
And held poetic talk between; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
But had its legend or its song. 
AU silent now — for now are still 
Thy bowers, imtenanted Bowhill !° 
No longer, from tliy raouutauis dun, 

* Mountain-ash. 

MS. — " How broad the ash his shadows flung, 
How to the rock the rowan clung." 

5 See Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

^ Slowliound. 

' The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who •field out Newark 
Ca.<ttle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found it 
the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In the Macfarlane MS., aroonf 
other causes of James the Fifth's charter to the burgh of Sel 
kirk, is mentioned, that the citizens assisted him to suppreM 
this dangerous outlaw. 

e A seat of the Duke of Buccleuch on the V arrow, in E^ 
trick Forest. See Notes to the Lay of tlie t.aat Minstrel 



CANTO I. MARMION. 9» 


The yeoman hears the -well-kno-wn gun, 


Condemn'd to stem the world's rude tide. 


And while his honest heart glows warm, 


You may not linger by the side ; 


At thought of his paternal farm, 


For Fate shall tlirust you from the shore, 


Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 


And Passion ply the sail and oar." 


And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills 1" 


Yet cherish the remembrance still, 


No fairy forms, m Yarrow's bowers. 


Of the lone mountam and the rill ; 


Ti-ip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 


For trust, dear boys, the tune will come, 


Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 


Wlien fiercer transport shall be dumb, 


By moonlight dance on Carterhangh ; 


And you wUl tliink right frequently, 


No youtliful Baron's left to grace 


But, well I hope, without a sigh, 


Tlie Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase, 


On the free hours that we have spent 


Aud ape, in manly step and tone, 


Together, on the brown hill's bent. 


The majesty of Oberon ;' 




And she is gone, whose lovely face 


Wlien, musing on companions gone, 


Is but her least and lowest grace ;' 


We doubly feel om-selves alone. 


Though if to Sylphld Queen 'twere given, 


Sometliiug, my friend, we yet may gain ; 


To show our eai'th the chai'ms of Heaven, 


There is a pleasure in this pam : 


She could not ghde along tlie air, 


It soothes the love of lonely rest, 


With form more light, or face more f.iir. 


Deep in each gentler heart impre.ss'd. 


No more the widow's deafen'd ear 


'Tis sUent amid worldly toils, 


Grows quick that lady's step to hear ; 


And stifled soon by mental broils , 


At noontide she expects her not, 


But, in a bosom thus prepared, 


Nor busies hei'to trini the cot; 


Its still small voice is often heard, 


Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 


Whispering a mingled sentiment, 


Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 


'Tvcfixt resignation and content. 


Yet blesses, ere she deals then- bread. 


Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 


The gentle hand by which they're fed. 


By lone St Mary's silent lake ;■" 




Thou know'st it well, — nor feu, nor 


From Yair, — ^which hUIs so closely bind, 


sedge, 


Scarce can the Tweed his passage find, 


Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 


Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 


Abrupt and sheer, the moimtams sink 


Till all his eddying currents boil, — 


At once upon the level brink ; 


Her long-descended lord' is gone, 


And just a trace of silver sand' 


And left us by the stream alone. 


Marks where the water meets the land. 


And much I miss those sportive boys,* 


Far ui the mirror, bright and blue, 


Companions of my mountain joys, 


Each liill's huge outline you may view ;' 


Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 


Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, 


■When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 


Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, 


Close to my side, with what delight 


Save where, of land, yon slender line 


They press'd to hear of Wallace wight, 


Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine 


When, pointing to his airy mound. 


Yet even this nakedness has power, 


I call'd his ramparte holy ground !' 


And aids the feeling of the hour : 


Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 


Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 


ind I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 


Where living thutg conceal'd might he ; 


P" spite tl ■ difference of oiu- years. 


Nor point, rething, hides a deU, 


Ketum agam the glow of thehs. 


Where swam, or woodman lone, might 


Ah, happy boys ! such feeUngs pure, 


dwell ; 


riiey will not, caimot, long endure ; 


There's nothing left to femys guess, 


Mr. Marriott was gove-rior to the young nobleman here 


& There is, on a hig^ monntaiuOQs ridge above the i'aim 9 


a.- ided to George Henry, Tjord Scott, son to Charles, Earl of 


Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench. 


D.ikeith (afterwards Dokj of Buccleuch and Queensberry), 
aD-t who died early ii 1808.~See Life of Scott, vol. iii. 


fl MS. — " And youtk shail ply the sail and oar.' 


PI.. 59-61. 


» See Appendix, Note W. 


3 The four next lines on Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, af- 


8 MS.- " At once upon the j *'/"" j brink ; 


terwards Duchess of Buccleuch, were not in the original MS. 


' silver ' 


» The late Alexander Pringle, Esq., of Whytbank— whose 


And just 1 line of pebbly sand." 


taaotiful seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two 


9 MS. — " Far traced upon the lake you view 


titles below A ihestiel, the then residence of the poet. 


The hilU' S '""S" I sides and sombre !>»• " 


« The sons ( ■ Mr. Pringle of Whytbank. 


' bare ( 



96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1, 



You see that all is loneliness : 
And silence aids — thougli the steep hills 
Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
In sujnmer tide, so soft they weep, 
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too ruae. 
So stilly is the solitude. 

Naught living meets the eye or ear, 
But well I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,' 
Yet still, beneath the haUow'd soil, 
The peasant rests him from Iiis toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid, 
Where erst liis simple fathers pray'd. 

If age had tamed the passions' strife,' 
And fate had cut my ties to life. 
Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell. 
And real" again the chaplain's cell. 
Like that same peaceful hermitiige. 
Where Milton long'd to spend his age.' 
'Twere sweet to mark the setting day, 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 
And, as it faint and feeble died 
On tlie broad lake, and mountain's side, 
To say, " Tims pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, ' 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ;" 
Tlien g.aze on Dryhope's ruined tower. 
And think on Yarrow s faded Flower : 
And when that mountaiii-soimd I heard. 
Which bids us be for storm prepared. 
The distant rustling of his wings, 
As up liis force the Tempest brings, 
'Twere sweet, ere yet lus terrors rave, 
To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; 
That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 
From company of holy dust ;' 
On which no sunbeam ever shines — 
(So superstition's creed divines) — 
Thence view the lake, with suUen roar. 
Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 
And mark the wild-swans mount the gale. 
Spread wide through mist their snowy sail," 
And ever stoop again to lave 
Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 
Then, when against the driving hail 
No longer might my plaid avail, 

1 See Appendix, Note X. 

8 " A few of the lines wiiich follow breathe as true a spirit 
ftf ]ieace and repose, as even the simple strains of oar venei^ 
ihli] Walton." — Monthly Review. 

3 " And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heaven doth show. 



Back to my lonely home retire. 

And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; 

There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 

Till the wild tale had all its sway,' 

And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 

I heard unearthly voices speak, 

And thought the Wizard Priest was come. 

To claim again his ancient home ! 

And bade my busy fancy range. 

To frame him fitting shape and strange, 

Till from the task my brow I clear'd,' 

And smiled to tliink that I had fear'd. 

But chief, 'twere sweet to tliink such life 
(Though but escape from fortune's strife), 
Something most matchless good and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour to musing given, 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease. 
Such peaceful solitudes displease: 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene, 
Like that which frowns round dark Locb 

«kene.' 
There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven, 
Dark mists infect the stmimer heaven ; 
Through the rude barriers of the lake. 
Away its hmrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl. 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders tlie viewless stream below, 
Diving, as if condemn'd to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cavi.. 
Who, prison'd by enchanter's spell. 
Shakes the dark rock witli groan and ycU. 
And well that Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene, 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 
To view the bottom of the den, 
Wliere deep, deep down, and far within. 
Toils with the rocks the roaring Unn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 

And every herb that sips the dew ; 

Till old experience do attain 

To something like prophetic strain." 

II PenitTOMm 
* See Appendix, Note Y. 

MS. — " Spread tkriiugh broad mist their snowy sail." 
MS. — " Till /nncv wild had all iier sw^iy." 
' MS. — " Tfii from me tasE my brain 1 ciea^vl.' 
° See Appendix, Note Z 



CANTO II. 



MABMION. 



»7 



White as the enowy charger's tail, 
Drives down the pass of Moflfatdale. . 

Marriott, thy haap, on Isis strung, 
To many a Border tlieme has rung :' 
Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 



iH a r mi n . 



OASTO SECOND. 



JCfte Consent. 



The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 

Round N"orliam Castle roU'd, 
When all the loud artillery spoke, 
With liglitniiig-tiash and thunder-stroke, 

As Marinion left the Hold. 
It ciurl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze. 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 

It freshly blew, and strong, 
Where, from liigh 'U^litby's cloister'd pile,' 
Bound to St. Cutlibert's Holy Isle,' 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stoop'd her side. 
And bounded o'er tlie swelling tide, 

As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laugh'd to see 
Their gallant ship eo lustily 

Fmrow the gi'een sea-foam. 
Much joy'd they in their honor'd freigl^ 
For, on the deck, in chair of st^te. 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, 
With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 

n. 

'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 

Their first flight from the cage. 
How timid, and how curious too, , 

For all to then; was strange and new. 
And all the common sights they view. 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail 

With many a benedif Jte ; 
One at the rippling su?ge f,Tew pale. 

And would for terror pray ; 
Then shriek'd, because the se/i-dog, nigh. 
His round black head, and sparkling eye. 



» See variona ballads by Mr. Marriott, in the 4th vol. of the 
Border Minstrelsy. 
' See ArpB!idi.i, Note 2 A. > Ibid, Note 2 B. 



Rear'd o'er the foaming spray ; 
And one would still adjust her veil, 
Disorder'd by the summer gale. 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy ; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair turn'd arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there, 
Save two, who Ul might pleasure share,— 
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 

HL 

The Abbess was of noble blood. 
But early took the veil and hood. 
Ere upon Ufe she cast a look. 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fiiir too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For ner a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the infl,uence of her eye. 
Love, to her eai-, was but a name. 
Combined with vanity and shame ; 
Her hopes, lier fears, her joys, were aU 
Bounded within the cloister wall : 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach. 
Was of monastic rule the breach j 
And her ambition's liigliest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower,* 
To raise the convent's eastern tower , 
For this, with carving rare and Quaint, 
She deck'd the chapel of the samt. 
And gave the rehc-shrine of cost 
With ivory and gems emboss'd. 
The poor her Convent's bounty blest. 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 

IV. 
Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reform'd on Benedictine school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare ; 
Vigils, and penitence austere, 
Had early quench'd the light of ycuth. 
But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
Though vain of her rehgious sway. 
She loved to see her maids obey. 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And t)ie nuns loved their Abbess well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Sumrnon'd to Lindisfarne, she came. 
There, with Saint Cutlibert's Abbot old, 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict, 



* MS. — '' Picas she that gave her ample down 

'Tinas she, with carving rare and qoaittt. 
Who deck'd the chapel of the saint *' 



»b 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OA.NTO U 



On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 

V. 
Naught say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair ; 
As yet a mvice unprofess'd, 
Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 
She was betroth'd to one now dead, 
Or worse, who had dishonor'd fled. 
Her kinsman bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land : 
Herself, almost heart-broken now, ' 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, ^ 

And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and wither'd bloom. 

VI. 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seem'd to mark the waves below ; 
Nay, seem'd, so fix'd her look and eye, 
To count them as they gUded by. 
She saw them not— 'twas seeming all — 
Far other scenes her thoughts recall, — • 
A sun-scorch'd desert, waste and bare. 
Nor waves, nor breezes murmm^'d there ; 
There saw she, where some cai'eless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand. 
To hide it till the jackals come, 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. 

See what a woful look was given, 
Ac she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 

VII. 

Lovely, and gentle, and distress'd — 

These charms might tame the fiercest breast ; 

Harpers have sung, and poets told, 

Th.at he, in fury uncontroU'd, 

The shaggy monarch of the wood. 

Before a virgin, fair and gooc^ 

Hath pacified his savage mood. ■" 

But passions in the human frame. 

Oft put the hon's rage to shame ; 

And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 

With sordid avarice in league, 

Had practised with their bowl and knife. 

Against tlie mourner's harmless life. 

This crime was charged 'gainst those who liy 

Prison'd in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIIL 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, 
And catcli the nuns' deUghted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay, 
And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They mark'd, amid her trees, the hall 



Of lofty Seaton-I>:,iaval ; 

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 

Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 

They pass'd the tower of Widderington,' 

Mother of many a valiant son ; 

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 

To the good Saint who own'd the cell ; 

Then did the Alne attention claim, 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 

And next, they cross'd themselves, to hear 

The whitening breakers sound so near, 

Wliere, boiling through the rocks, they roar, 

On Dunstanborough's cavern'd shore ; 

Thy tower, proud Bamborough, mai'k'd th«i 

there, 
King Ida's castle, huge and square. 
From its tall rock look grinjy down, 
And on the swelUng ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore away 
And reach'd the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain. 
And giriUed m the Saint's domain : 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
Varies J'rom continent to isle ; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 
The pilgrims to the shrine find way , 
Twice every day, the waves efface. 
Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace. 
As to the port tlie galley i^ew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The Castle with its battled walls. 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A sokun, huge, and dark-red pile 
PlacecRn the margin of the isle. 

X. 

In Saxon strength that Abbey, froT\ii'(L 
With massive arches broad .and round. 

That rose alternate, row and row. 

On ponderous columns, short and low. 
Built ere the art WUs known. 

By pointed aisle and shafted staUc, 

'Hie arcades of an alley'd walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had pour'd his impious rage in vain ; 
And needfid was such strength to these. 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they, 
Wliich could twelve hundred yea'> withatano 
Winds, waves, and northtrfl pij'ates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pde, 
Rebuilded in a later style. 

See tne notes on Cltevti r/inse.— Percy's Auigitu 



anto ii. MARMION. 98 


Show'd where the spoiler's hand had been ; 


And monks cry, " Fye upon your name 1 


Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 


In wrath, for loss of silvan game. 


Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, 


Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — 


And moulder'd in liis niche the saint, 


" Tliis, on Ascension-day, each ye.ar. 


And 1 ounded, with consuming power. 


While laboring on our harbor-pier, 


The pointed angles of eacli tower ; 


Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 


Yet stUl entire the Abbey stood, 


They told, how in their convent-coU 


Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 


A Saxon princess once did dwell. 




The lovely Edelfled ;' 


XI. 


And how, of thousand snakes, each one 


Soon .03 they near'd his turrets strong. 


Was clianged into a coil of stone, 


The maidens riiised Saint Hilda's song. 


When holy Hilda pray'd ; 


And witli the sea-wave aud the wind. 


Themselves, witliin tlieir holy bound. 


Tlieir voices, sweetly shi-ill, combined. 


Then- stony folds had often foimd. 


And made harmonious close ; 


They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 


Then, answering from the sandy shore, 


As over Wliitby's towers they sail,' 


Half-drowu'd amid the breakers' roar, 


And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. 


According chorus rose : 


They do their homage to the saint 


Down to the haven of the Isle, 




The monks and nuns in order file, 


XIV. 


From Cutlibert's cloisters grim ; 


Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail. 


Banner, and cross, and rehcs there. 


To vie with these in holy tale ; 


To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; 


His body's restmg-place, of old. 


hnd, as they caught the sounds on ah-. 


How oft their patron changed, they told ;* 


They echoed back the hymn. 


How, when the ruile Dane burn'd their pil«, 


The islanders, in joyous mood. 


The monks fled forth fron^Holy Isle ; 


Rush'd emulously through the flood 


O'er northern momitain, marsh, and moor. 


To l.:Je tlie bark to land ; 


From sea to sea, fi)g^i shore to shore, 


Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 


Seven years. S;iint Cuthbert's corpse they hort 


signing the cross, tlie Abbess stood. 


They rested them m fair Melroscf; 


And bless'd them with her liand. 


But though, alive, he loved it well. 




Not there his reUcs might repose ; 


xn. 


Fijr, wondrous tale to tell ! 


1 luppose we now the welcome said, ^^ 
Suppose the Convent banquet made : ^^ 


In his stone-coflin forth he rides, 


A ponderous bark for river tides. 


All through the holy dome. 


Yet light as gossamer it gUdes, 


Through cloister, aisle, and gallery. 


Downwai-d to Tilmouth cell. 


Wherever vestal maid might pry. 


Nor long was his abiding there. 


Nor risk to meet mihallow'd eye, 


For southward dkl the saint repau- ; 


The stranger sisters roam : 


Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 


Till fell the evening damp with dew. 


His holy corpse, ere WarcUlaw 


And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew. 


Hail'd liim with joy and fear ; 


For there, even sunmier night is chilL 


And, after many wanderings past. 


Then, having stray'd and gazed their fill. 


He chose his ^ordly seat at last. 


They closed around the fire ; 


Where his cathedral, huge and va.st. 


And all, in tiu-n, essay'd to paint 


Looks down upon the Wear : 


Tlie rival merits'of their saint, 


There, deep in Durham's Gothic shs-le. 


A theme that ne'er can tire 


His relics are in secret laid ; 


A holy maid ; for, be it known. 


But none may know the place. 


That their saint's honor is their own. , 


Save of his holiest servants three. 




Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 


xm. 


Who shai'e that wondrous grace. 


Then Whitby's nuns exultmg told, 




How to their house thi-ee Barons bold 


XV. 


Must menial service do ;' 


Who may his miracles dechai-e ! 


While horns blow out a note of shame. 


Even Scotliuid's daimtless king, and heir 


Bf Appendij, Note 2 C. ' Ibid. Note 2 D. 


9 See Ap|.eDdii. Note 2 E Ibid. Note 8 F 



100 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANIO n, 



(Although with them they led 


^ome vague tru iition go. 


Oalwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 


Few only, save the Abbot, knew 


And LodonV knights, all sheathed in mail. 


Wliere the place lay ; and stiU more few 


And the bold men of Teviotdale), 


Were those, who had from him the clew 


Before liis standard fled." 


To that dread vault to go. 


Twas he, to vindicate his reign, 


Victim and executioner 


Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 


Were blindfold when transported there. 


And turn'd the Conqueror back again,' 


In low dark rotmds the arches himg. 


When, Tvith liis Norman bowyer band. 


From the rude rock the side- walls sprung; 


He came to waste Northimiberland. 


The grave-stones rudely sculptured o'er, 




Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 


XVI. 


Were all the pavement of the floor ; 


But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 


The mildew-drops fell one by one. 


If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 


With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 


Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 


A cresset," m an hon chain,' 


The sea-bom beads that bear his name :' 


Which served to hght this di-ear domain. 


Such tales had Wliitby's fishers told. 


With damp and darkness seem'd to strive, 


j\jid said they might his shape behold, ■- 


As if it scarce might keep ahve ; 


And hear his anvil soimd ; 


And yet it dimly served to show 


A deaden'd clang, — a huge dim form. 


The awful conclave met below. 


Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm* 




And night were closing round. 


XIX. 


But this, as tale of idle fame. 


There, met to doom in secrecy. 


The nuns of Lmdisfame disclain. 


Were placed the heads of convents three ; 




All servants of Saint Benedict, 


XVII. 


The statutes of whose order strict 


While round the fire such legends go. 


On u-on table lay ;' 


Far different was the scaip of woe. 


In long black dress, on seats of stone. 


Where, in a secret aisle beneath, 


Behind were these three judges shown 


Council was held of life and death. 


By the pale cresset's ray : 


It was more dark ;md lone that vault, 


The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there, 


Than the worst dujigeon cell : 


Sat for a space with visage bare. 


Old Colwulf built it, for his fault, ^ 


Until to hide her bosom's swell. 


In penitence to dwell. 


And tear-drops that for pity fell. 


When he, for cowl and beads, laid down 


She closely drew her veil : 


The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 


Yon sErouded figure, as I guess. 


Tliis den, which, chilling every sense 


By her proud mien and flowing dress. 


Of feehng, hearing, sight. 


Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress," 


Was caU'd the Vault of Penitence, 


And she with awe looks pale : 


Kxcludiug air and hght, 


And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 


Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 


Has long been quench'd by age's night, 


A place of bm-ial for such dead. 


Upon whose wrinkled brow alone. 


As, having died in mortal sin, 


Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown. 


Might not be Laid the church within. 


Whose look is hard and stem, — 


'Twas now a place of punishment ; 


Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style , 


Whence if so loud a shriek were sent. 


For sanctity caU'd, tlu-ough the isle. 


As reach'd the upper air. 


The Saint of Lindisfaine. • 


llie hearers bleSs'd themselves, and said. 




Tlie spu-its of the sinfiil dead 


XX. 


Bemoan'd their torments there. 


Before them stood a guilty pan-. 




But though an equal fate they share, 


XVIII. 


Yet one alone deserves our care. 


But though, in the monastic pile, 


Her sex a page's dress beMed ; 


Did of this penitential aisle 


The clo.ik and doublet loosely tied. 


1 aeeAppendix,Note2G. ' Ibid. Nole2H. s Ibid.NotoSI. 


' MS. — " Suspended by an iron chain, 


• MS. — " Seen ovfy when the gathering storm." 


A cresset ehow'd this ) * ^'' J domain." 


See Appendix, Note 2 K. 


( drear 1 


' Aitique chandelier. 


6 MS. — " On stony table lay." '* See Appendix, Note 3 L 



3ANTO n MARMION. 101 


Obsc'ired her charms, but could not hide. 


Such tools the Tempter ever need* 


Her cap down o'er her lace she drew ; 


To do the savagest of deeds'; 


And, on her doublet breast, ■ 


For them no vision'd terrors daunt, 


S)ie tried to liide the badge of blue, 


Their nights no fancied spectres haunt, 


Lord Marniion's falcon crest. 


One fear with them, of all most base, , 


But, at tlie Prioress' command, 


The fear of death, — alone finds place. 


A Monk undid the silken band, 


This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 


That tied her tresses fair. 


And shamed not loud to mo.an anil howL 


And raised the bomiet from her head, 


His body on the floor to dash. 


And down her sleniler form they spread. 


And crouch, like hotmd beneath the lash ; 


In riuijlets rich and rare. 


While his m.ute partner, standing near. 


Const:uice de Beverley they know, 


Waited her doom without a tear 


Sister profess'd of Fontevraud, 




Whom tlie church number'd with the dead, 


XXIII. 


P^or broken vows, and convent fled. 


Yet well the luckless wretch might shrie]^ 




Well might her paleness terror speak ! 


XXL 


For there were seen in that dark wall. 


When thus her face was given to vi&w 


Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; 


(Although so pallid was her hue. 


Wlio enters at such grisly door. 


It did a gliastly contrast bear 


Shall ne'er, I ween, And exit more. 


To those bright ringlets gUstermg fair). 


In each a slender meal was laid. 


Her look composed, and steady eye. 


Of roots, of water, and of bread : 


Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 


By each, in Benedictine draes. 


And there she stood so calm and pale, 


Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 


I'hat, but her breatliiug did not fiiil. 


Who, holding high a blazing torch. 


And motion slight of eye and head, 


Show'd the grim entrance of the porch : 


And of her bosom, warranted 


Reflectmg back the smoky beam. 


That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. 


Tlie dark-red walls and arches gleam. 


You might have thought a form of wax. 


Hewn stones and cement were display'd. 


Wrought to the very hfe, was there ; 


And building tools in order laid 


So still she was, so pale, so fair.' 






XXIV. 


XXII. 


Tliese executioners were chose, 


tier comrade was a sordid soul. 


As men who were with mankind foes, 


Such as does mm-der for a meed ; 


And with despite and envy fii-ed. 


Who, but of fear, knows no control. 


Into the cloister had retu-ed ; 


Because his conscience, sear'd and foul. 


Or who, in desperate doubt of graw, 


Feels not the miport of his deed ; 


Strove, by deep penance, to efface 


One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires' 


Of some foul crime the stain ; 


Beyond his own more brute desires. 


For, as the vassals of her will. 


1 "The pictare of Constance before iierjnilges, though more 


Not once had tnm'd to either side- 


labored than that of the voyage of the Lady Abbess, is not. 


Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 


U> our taste, so pleasing ; though it has beauty of a Itind fully 


Or shade the glance o'er which they row, 


as popalar." — Jeffrey. 


But round their orbs of deepest blue 


" 1 sent for ' Marmion,* because it occurred to me there 


The circling white dilated grew — 


might ^ a resemblance between part of ' Parisina,' and a sim- 


.\nd there with glassy gaze she stood 


ilar scene in the second canto of ' Marmion.' I fear there ia. 


As ice were in her curdled blood ; 


♦hough I ne\-er thought of it before, and could hardly wish to 


But every uow and then a tear 


imitate that which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. 


So large and slowly gather'd slid 


Giflbrd whether I ought to say a.iy thing upon it. I had com- 


From the long dark fringe of that tair lid. 


pleted the story on the passage Crom Gibbon, which indeed 


It was a thing to see, not hear ! 


leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind ; 


And those who saw, it did surprise. 


jat it comes upon me not very comfortably." — Lord Byron 


Snch drops could fall from human eyea. 


t Mr. Murray. Feb. 3, 1816.— Compare : 


To speak she thought — the imperfect aote 




Was choked within her swelling throat. 


"... Parisina's fatal charms 


Yet seem'd in that low hollow groan 


Again attracted every eye — 


Her whole heart gushing in the tone." 


Would she thus hear him doon'd to die? 


Byron's IVorlts, vol. k. p. 171. 


She stood, f said, all pale and still, 


« In some recent editions this word had been erroaoou 


The living cause of Hugo's ill ; 


printed "inj;n>es." The MS. has the correct line, 


Uiw eyes tmmoved. hot full and wido, 


" One whose brnte-feeling ne'er aspires '* 



102 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


Such men the Church selected still. 


XXVIL 


As either joy'd in doing ill, 


" I spe^ not to implore yoin- grace,* 


Or thought more grace to gain. 


Well know I for one minute's space 


If, in her cause, they wrestled down 


Successless might I sue : 


Feelings their nature strove to own. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to s;am ; 


By straige device were they brought 


For if a death of lingermg pain, 


there. 


To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 


They knew not how, nor knew not where 


Vain are yotu- masses too. — 




I listen'd to a traitor's tale. 


XXV. 


I left the convent and the veil ; 


AjuI now that blind old Abbot rose. 


For three long years I bow'd my pride. 


To apeak the Chapter's doom. 


A horse-boy m his train to ride ; 


On those the wall was to enclose. 


And well my foUy's meed he gave, 


Alive, within the tomb ;' 


Who forfeited, to be his slave. 


But stopp'd, because that woful Maid, 


All here, and all beyond the grave. — 


Gathering her powers, to speak essay'd. 


He saw young Clara's face more fair, 


Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain ; 


He knew her of broad lands the heir, 


Her accents might no utterance gain ; 


Forgot his vows, liis faith foreswore. 


Naught but imperfect murmurs slip 


And Constance was beloved no more. — 


From her convidsed and quivering Up ; 


'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 


'Twixt each attempt aU was so still. 


But did my fate and wish agree, 


You seem'd to hear a dist;mt riU — 


Ne'er had been read, in story old. 


'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 


Of maiden true betray'd for gold. 


For though this vault of sm and fear 


That loved, or was avenged, like me I 


Was to the sounding surge so near. 




A tempest there you scarce could hear, 


XXVIII. 


So massive were the walls. 


" The King approved his favorite's aim ; 




In vain a rival barr'd his claun. 


XXVI. 


Whose fate with Clare's was plight. 


At length, an etfort sent apart , 


For he attaints that rival's fame 


The blood that curdled to her heart, 


With treason's charge^and on they came, 


And Ught came to her eye, 


In mortal lists to fight. 


And color dawn'd upon her cheek, 


Their oaths are said, 


A hectic aud a flutter'd streak,^ 


Their prayers are pray'd. 


Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 


Their limces in the rest are laid 


By Autmmi's stormy sky ; 


They meet in mortal shock ; 


And when her sUeiice broke at lengtli. 


And, hark ! the throng, with thundering cry, 


Still as she spoke she gather'd strength. 


Shout ' Marmion, Marmion ! to the sky, 


And arm'd herself to bear.' 


De Wilton to the block !' 


It was a fearful sight to see 


Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide* 


Such high resolve and constancy, 


When in the lists two champions ride, 


In form so soft and fair.* 


Say, was Heaven's justice here? 


» See Appendix, Note 2 M. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 


• MS. — " A feeble and a flntter'd streak, 


For if my penance be in vain, 


Like that with which the mornings break 


Your prayers I cannot want. 


In Aulumn's sober siiy." 


Full well I knew the church's doom, 


• " Mr. S. lias imiioioiisly combined tiie horrors of the pun- 


What time I left a convent's gloom, " 


thmect witii a very beantifoi picture of the offender, so as to 


To fly with him I loved ; 


wi^H.-n thj interesl which the situation itself must necessarily 


And well my folly's meed he gave — 


xcite ; ana the struggle of Constance to speak, before the 


I forfeited, to be a slave, 


fetal sentence, is lltiely painted." — Monthly Review. 


All here, anil all beyond the grave. 


* MS. — " And mann'd herself to bear. 


And faithless hath he proved ; 


It was a fearful thing to see 


He saw another's face more fair, 


Such high resolve and constancy, 


He saw her of broad lands the heir. 


In form so soft and fair ; 


And Constance loved no more — 


L^!ce Summer's dew her accents fell, 


Loved her no more, who, once Heaven's brids 


But dreadful was her tale to tell.** 


Now a scora'd menial by his side. 


* ins — " I speak not now to sue for gr^ce, 


Had wander'd Eoropeo'er." 


For well I know one minute's space 


• MS. — " Say, ye who preach the heavens decide 


Your mercy sw.rce would giant i 


Wlien in the lists the warriors ride * 



tANTO n. MARMION. 108 


WTien, loj al in his love and faith, 


Some traveller then shall find my bones 


Wilton found overthrow or death. 


Whitening amid disjointed stones, 


Beneath a traitor's epear ? 


And, ignorant of priests' cruelty," 


How false the charge, how true he fell. 


Marvel such relices here should be." 


This guUty packet best can tell."— 




Then drew a packet from her breast, 


XXXII. 


Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest 


Fix'd was her look, and stem her air . 




Back from her shoulders stream'd her hair 


XXIX, 


The locks that wont her brow to shade, 


" Still was fake Marmion's bridal staid ; 


Stared up erectly from her head ;' 


To Whitby's convent fled the maid, 


Her figure seem'd to rise more liigh , 


The hated match to shun. 


Her voice, despair's wild energy 


' Ho ! shifts she thus V Kinj Henry cried. 


Had given a tone of prophecy. 


' Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride. 


Appall'd the astonisli'd conclave sate ; 


If she were sworn a nun.' 


With stupid eyes, the men of fate 


One way remain'd — the King's command 


Gazed on the light inspired form, 


Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 


And Usten'd for the avenging storm; 


I linger'd here, and rescue plann'd 


The judges felt the victim's dread ; 


For Clara and for me : 


No hand was mov.ed, no word was said. 


This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 


Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 


He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 


Raising his sightless balls to heaven :— 


And, by his drugs, my rival fair 


" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 


A saint in heaven should be. 


Sinful brother, part in peace !"' 


But ill the dastard kept his oath. 


From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 


Whose cowardice has undone us both. 


Of execution too, and tomb, 




Paced forth the judges three ; 


XXX. 


Sorrow it were, and shame, to teU 


■' And now my tongue the secret tells, 


The butcher-work that there befell. 


Not that remorse my bosom swells. 


Wlien they had glided from the cell 


But to assure my soul that none 


Of sin and misery. 


Shall ever wed with Marmion.' 




Had fortune my last hope betray'd. 


xxxni. 


This packet, to the King convey'd. 


An hundred winding steps convey 


Had giren hhu to the headsman's stroke, 


That conclave to the upper day ;' 


Although my heart that instant broke. — 


But, ere they breathed the fresher air. 


Now, men of deatli, work forth your wiU, 


They heard the shriekings of despair 


For I can suffer, and be still ; 


And many a stifled groan : 


And come he slow, or come he fast. 


With speed their upward way they take 


It is but Death who comes at last. 


(Such speed as age and fear can make). 




And cross'd themselves for terror's sake, 


XXXI. 


As hurrying, tottering on : 


" Yet dread me, from my living tomb, 


Even m the vesper's heavenly tone,' 


Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 


They seem'd to hear a dying groan. 


If Marmion's late remorse should wake 


And bade the passing knell to toll 


FuH soon such vengeance wUl he take. 


For welfare of a parting soul. 


That you shall wish the fiery Dane 


Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung. 


Had ratlii'! been your guest again. 


Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 


Belund, a c arker hour ascends ! 


To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd, 


The altars quake, the crosier bends, 


His beads the wakeful hermit told. 


Tlie ire of a despotic King 


The Bamborough peasant raised his head. 


Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 


But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 


Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 


So far was heard the mighty knell. 


Burst open to the sea-wmds' sweep ; 


The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 


t The MS. adds—" His schemes rcveal'd, his honor gone." 


» MB.^" From that dark penance vault to dar." 


MS. — " And, willess of priests' cruelty." 


• MS.—" That night amid the vesper's swell. 


• MS.—" Stared np ! '^^"'•'S { from her head." 


They thoQght they heard Conslantia's yeU. 


' uncQrlxng > 


And bade the miglity bell to toll. 


• See Note 3 M on Stanza xiv. ante, p. 103 


For welfare of a passing sool." 



104 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO m 



Spread his broad nostrils to the wind, 
Listed before, aside, behind. 
Then couch'd him down beside the hind. 
And quaied among the mountain fern. 
To hear that soimd bo dull and stern.' 



m a r m i n . 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 



WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESa.» 

Ashestiel^ Ettrich Forest. 
Like April morning clouds, that pass. 
With varying shadow, o'er the gi'ass, 
And imitate, on field and furrow. 
Life's checker'd scene of joy and sorrow ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now wmding slow its silver train. 
And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day, 
Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
And ever swells again as fast. 
When the ear deems its murmur past ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
FUts, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar. 
Weaving its maze irregular; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autunm trees ; 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale. 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale 1 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, teU 
I love the hcense all too well. 
In sounds now lowly, and now strong, 
To raise the desultory song ? — ' 
Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, 
Some transient fit of lofty rhyine 

1 " The sound of the knell that was rung for the parting soul 
»f this victim of seduction, is described witli great force and 
lolemnity." — Jbffrey. 

" The whole of this trial and doom pre.sents a high-wrought 
■cene of horror, which, at the close, rises almost to too great a 
Ditch."— '•'cols Mag.. March, 1808. 

^ Willia:n Erskine, Esq., advocate. Sheriff-depute of the 
IJrkneys, became a Judge of the Court of Session by the title 
of Lord Kinnedder, and died at Edinburgh in August, 1822. 
He had been from early youth the most intimate of the Poet's 
frienii, and his chief confidaat and adviser as to all literary 
«a'.te»> See a notice of hts lite and character by the late Mr. 1 



To thy kind judgment seem'd excuse 
For many an error of the muse, 
Oft hast thou said, " If, still misspent, 
Thine hours to poetry are lent,* 
Go, and to tame thy wandering course. 
Quaff from the fotmtain at the source ; 
Approach those masters, o'er whose tomh 
Immortal laurels ever bloom :' 
Instructive of the feebler bard. 
Still from the grave their voice is henrd ; 
From them, and from the paths they show'd, 
Choose honor'd guide and practised road ; 
Nor ramble on through brake and maze, 
With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later time* 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme J 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valor bleeds for liberty ? — 
Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
When, with um-ivall'd light sublime, — 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, aud the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes,^ 
The star of Brandenbm'gh arose 1 
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
Forever quench'd in Jena's stream. 
Lamented Chief! — it was not given 
To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth. 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented Cliief ! — not thine the power, 
To save in that prestmaptuous hour. 
When Prussia hunied to the field, 
And snatch'd the spear, but left the shield 1 
Valor and skill 'twas thine to try, 
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
ni had it seem'il thy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to share. 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven. 
And birtlnights to usurpers given ; 
Thy land's, thy cliildren's wrongs to feel, 
And witness woes thou couldst not heal ! 
On thee relenting Heaven bestows 

Hay Donaldson, to which Sir Walter Scott contribat« KM 
ral paragraphs. — Er. 

3 MS. — " Wi*' sound now lowly, and now higher, 

Irregular to wake the lyre." 

4 MS. — " Thine hours to thriftless Thyme are lent." 

5 MS. — " Dost thou not deem our later day 

Yields topic meet for classic lay ' 
Hast thou no elegiac tone 
To join that universal moan, 
Wiiich mingled with the battle's yell. 
Where venera'de Brunswick fell ? — 
What I not a verse, a tear, a sigh. 
Wlien valor \ leeds for liberty ?" 



CANTO III. 



MARMION. 



J 01 



For honor'd life an honor'd close ;' 

And \rUeu revolves, in time's 8ui*e change, 

I'hfi hour of Germany's revenge, 

W h.;n, breathing fury for her sake, 

Slime new Arminius shidl awiike, 

Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 

To whet hie sword on Bednswiok's tomb.' 

" Or of tlie Red-Cross hero' teach, 
Dauntless m dungeon as on breach: 
Alike to hun the sea, the shore. 
The briTud, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to him the wai' that calls 
Jts votaries to the shatter'd walls. 
Which the giim Turk, besmear'd with blood. 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake. 
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warp'd wave their death-gahae play'd ; 
Or that, where Vengeance and Affi-ight 
HowVd round the father of the fight, 
Who snatch'd, on Alexandria's sand. 
The conqueror's wreith, with dymg hand.' 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that wnmg 
From the wild harp, which silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an huudred years roll'd o'er ; 
When she, tlie bold Enchantress,' came, 
With feiu-less hand and heart on flame 1 
J-'rom the pale willow snatch'd the treasure, 
And swept it with a kindred measure. 
Till Avon swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 

1 MS. — " For honor'd life an honor'd close — 
The boon which falling heroes crave, 
A Soulier's death, a warrior's grave. 
' Or if, with more exulting swell, 

Of conquering chiefs thou lov'st to tell. 
Give to the harji an unheard strain. 
And sing the triumplis of the main — 
Of him the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless on Acre's bloody breach. 
And 5cori;er of tyrannic power, 
As d. intless in the Temple's tower: 
Alike to him, the sea, the shore, 
The brand, the bridle, or the o.ir. 
The general's eye. the pilot's art. 
The soldier's arm, the sailor's heart. 
Or if to touch such chord be thine," &;. 
s •' Scott seems to have communicated fragments of the poem 
lery freely during the whole of its progress. As early as the 
!2d February, imT. I fin.l Mrs. Hayman acknowledging, in 
*he name of the Princess of Wales, the receipt oi a copy of the 
Introduction to Canto HI., in which occurs the tribute to her 
coyal highness's heroic father, mortally wounded the year 
before at Jena — a tribute so gratefnl to her feelings that she 
-CBPlf shortfy after Bent the poet an elegant silver vase as a 
14 



Awakening at the inspired strain, 
Deem'd their own Shakspeare hved again." 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging. 
With praises not to me belonging. 
In task more meet for mightiest poweis. 
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless houra. 
But say, my Ersldne, hast thou weigh'd 
That secret power by all obey'd. 
Which wai'ps not less the passive mind. 
Its source conccal'd or undefined ; 
Wliether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infimt wakes on earth, 
One with our feeUngs and our powers, 
Aud rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether fitlier term'd the sway 
Of habit, form'd in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
And drags us on by viewless chain, 
Wliile taste and reason plead in vain.* 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 
He seeks not eager to inliale 
The freshness of the mountain gale. 
Content to reai- his wliiten'd wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
The wliite saU gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weatherbeaten liind, 
Wliose sluggish herds before him wind, 
Whose tatter'd plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clime* and kindred speak ; 
Thi'ough England's laughing meads he goes, 
And England's wealth around liim flow" > 
Ask, if it would content him well. 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell, 

memorial of her thankfulness. And about the same time thi 
Marchioness of Abercom expresses the delight with which both 
she and her lord had read the generous verses on Pitt and Fol 
in another of those epistles." — Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 9 
s Sir Sidney Smith. 
* Sir Ralph Abercromby. 
6 Joanna Baillie. 

II " As man. perhaps, the moment of his t)teath, 
Receives the lurking principle of death ; 
The young disease, that must subdue at length. 
Grows with his growtii, and strengthens with his strength 
So. cast and mingled with his very frame. 
The Mind's disease, its Rcl.iNo Passion, came; 
Each vital humor which should feed the whole 
Soon flows to this, in body and in soul 
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head. 
As the mind opens, and its functions spread, 
Imagination plies her dangerous art. 
And ponis it all upon the pepcant part. 

" Nature its mother. Habit is its nurse ; 
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it woree ; 
Reason itself hot gives it edge and power; 
As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour," &o. 
Popk'8 Essay on Man. — Pj> 



106 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ni 



Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between? 
No 1 not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's bountUess range : 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis gray, and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charm'd me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day. 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour.' 
Though no broad river swept along. 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
Tliough sigh'd no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 
Yet was poetic impulse given, 
By the green hiU and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of lovehest green ; . 

And well tlie lonely infant knew 
Recesses where tlie wall-flower grew,' 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruin'd wall. 
I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all its round sm-vey'd ; 
And still I thought that shatter'd tower' 
The mightiest work of human power : ' 
And marvell'd as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind, 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse, 
Their southern rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
And, home returning, fiU'd the hall 
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.* 
Methought that still with trump and clang. 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
Methought grim features, seam'd with scars 
Glared through the window's rusty bars, 

M3. — " The lonely hill, the rocky tower. 

That caught attention's wakening hour. 
MS. — " Recesses where the woodbine grew." 
1 Smailholm Tower, in Berwickshire, the scene of the 
lothor's infancy, is situated about two miles from Dryburgh 
Ibbey. 
* The two next couplets are not in the M3. 
MS. — " While still with mimic hosts of shells, 
Again my sport the combat tells — 
Onward the Scottish Lion bore. 
The scatter'd Southron 6ed before." 



And ever, by the winter hearth. 

Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 

Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms, 

Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms : 

Of patriot battles, "'on of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold • 

Of later fields of feud and fight, 

When, pouring from their Highlana jeight, 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 

Had swept the scai-let ranks away. 

While stretch'd at length upon the floor.* 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 

The mimic ranks of war display'd ; 

And onward stiU the Scottish Lion bore, 

And stiU the scatter'd Southron fled before.* 

\ 

StUl, with vain fondness, could I trace. 
Anew, each kind familiar face. 
That brighten'd at our evening fire 1 
From the thatch'd mansion's gray-hair'd Sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and good. 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
Show'd what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discorduig neighbors sought, 
Content with equity unboughfc ;' 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familial' guest. 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint ;' 
Alas ! whose speecli too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child ; 
But half a plague, and half a jest, 
Was still endm'ed, beloved, cai-ess'd. 

For me, thus murtiu-ed, dost thou ask 
The tlassic poet's well-conn'd task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nay — On tlie wild hill 
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; 
Cherish the tuUp, prime the vine. 
But freely let the woodbine twine. 
And leave imtrimm'd tlie eglantine : 
Nay, my friend, nay — Since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigor to my lays ; 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 

8 See notes on The Eve of St. John. 

' Robert Scott of Sandyknows, the grarHlfather of the Poel 
6 Upon revising the Poem, it seems proper to mention that 
the lines, 

" Whose doom discording neighbors sought, 
Content with equity nnbought ;" 
have been uncotvsciously borrowed from a passage In Drj'den' 
beautiful epistle to John Driden of Chesterton. ^1808. JVoU 
to Second Edit. 

9 MS. — " The student, gentleman, and saint.*' 

The reverend gentleman alluded to' was Mr. John MirtlD 



CANTO III. 



MARMION. 



101 



My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line ; 
Still kind, a« is thy wont, attend, 
And in the minstrel spare tlie friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale. 
Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale I 



unarm ton.- 



CANTO THIED. 



BJje JBostel, or Knn. 

I. 

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
The moimtain path the Palmer show'd, 
By glen and streamlet winded stiU, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill, 
rhev might not choose the lowland road. 
For the Merse forayers were abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and tlairst of prey. 
Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tail cliif, the deer look'd down ; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe. 
Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
And when the stony path began, 
Bv wliich the naked peak they wan, 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been pass'd before 
They gain'd the height of Lammermoor ;" 
Thence winding down the northern way. 
Before them, at the close of day. 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.' 

No simmions calls them to the tower, 

To spend the hospitable hour. 

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 

His cautious dame, in bower alone, 

Dreaded her castle to imclose, 

So late, to unknown fi'iends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a porch, wh'ose fi-ont was graced 
With bush and flagon trimly placed. 
Lord Marmion drew his rein : 



mister of Mertoon. in which parish Smailbolm Tower is sit- 
kated. 

X MS. — " They might not choose the easier road, 
For many a forayer was abroad." 

3 See Notes to " The Biide of Lammermoor." Waverley 
Ifovels.-vol). ziii. and xiv 



The village inn seem'd large, though rude * 
Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
Might well reUeve his train. 
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 
With jingling spurs the com-t-yard rung : 
They bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call, 
And various clamor fills the hall ; 
Weighing the labor with the cost. 
Toils everywhere the bustling host. 

IIL 

Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea-foVl dried, and solanda store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savory hatmch of deer. 
Tlie chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, around it, and beside, 

Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate. 
And view'd around the blazing hearth. 
His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
Whom with brown ale, in joUy tide. 
From ancient vessels ranged aside. 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV. 
Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
And oft Lord Marmion deign'd to aid. 
And mingle in the mirth they made ; 
For though, with men of high degree. 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
Tliey love a captain to obey, 
Boisterous as March, yet tresh as May ; 
With open hand, and brow as free, 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower : — 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 



3 The village of Gifford lies about four miles from Hadding^ 
ton : close to it is Yester House, the seat of the Marquis of 
Tweeddale. and a little farther up the sueam, which descend! 
from the hills of Lammermoor, are the remains of the old oa» 
tie of the family. 

4 See Appendix, Note 2 N 



r- 



108 



SCOTT'8 POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III, 



V. 


Now must I venture, as I may. 


Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 


To sing his favorite roimdelay." 


Right opposite the Pahner stood ; 




His thin dark visage seen but half, 


IX. 


Half liidden by liis hood. 


A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 


Still fix'd on Marmion was his look, 


The air he chose was wild and sad ; 


Which he, who Ul such gaze could brookj 


Such have I heard, m Scottish land, 


Strove by a frown to quell ; 


Rise fi'om the busy harvest band. 


But not for that, though more than once 


When falls beibre the mouutameer. 


Full met then- stern encountering glance, 


On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 


The Palmer's visage fell. 


Now one slirill voice the notes prolong, 




Now a wild cliorus swells the song : 


VI. 


Oft have I listen'd, and stood still. 


By fits less frequent from the crowd 


As it c:mie soften'd up the hill, 


Was he.ard the burst of laughter loud ; 


And deem'd it the lament of men 


For still, as squhe and arche'r stared 


Who laiiguish'd for tlieir n.ative glen ; 


On that dark face and matted beard, 


And thought how sad would be such sound 


Their glee and game declined. 


On Susquehanna's swampy ground, . 


All gazed at length in silence di'ear. 


Kentucky's wood-eucumber'd brake. 


Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 


Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 


Some yeoman, wondering in liis fear. 


Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain. 


Thus whisper'd forth Ills mind : — 


Recall'd feir Scotland's liiUs again 1 


" Sahit Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 


X. 


How pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 


Wliene'er the fli-ebraud's fickle light 


■S iifl. 


Glances beneath his cowl I 


Where shall tlie lover rest. 



Full on our Lord lie sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 
Endure that sullen scowL" 

VII. 

But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Wliidi thus had queU'd their hearts, who 

saw 
The ever-varying fire-light show 
That figure stern and face of woe. 

Now CiUl'd upon a squii'e : — 
" Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, 
To speed the lingering night away * 

We slumber by the fire." — 

VIIL 

" So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd. 
" Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
HI m.ay we hope to jjlease yom- ear, 
Accustom'd Constant's strains to hear. 
Tht harp fuU deftly c;ui he strike, 
Ai*i wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valentme, no thrush 
Sings liveUer from a spring-tide bush. 
No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavish'd on rocks, and billows stem. 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 



>1IS- 



' Full met their eyes^ eDcountering glanoe." 



Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 

Pai-ted forever ? 
Where through groves deep and high, 

Soimds the far billow. 
Where early violets die. 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Mcu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillov. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool stream.s are laving ; 
There, wliUe tlie tempests sway, 

Scarce are bouglis waving ; 
There, thy rest sh.alt thou take, 

Parted forever. 
Never agam to wake. 

Never, never ! 

CHOEUS. 

Elm loro, Ac. Never, never 

XL 
Where shall the traitor rest. 

He the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast. 

Ruin and leave her ? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by tlie flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 



OANTO in. MARMION. ' 109 


CHOEUS. 


XIT. 


Eleu loro, Ac. There shall he be lying. 


Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 




Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 


Her wing eliall the eagle flap 


Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 


O'er the false-hearted ; 


Even from liis King, a haughty look ;' 


His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 


Whose accent of command contrcU'd, , ' 


Ere life be parted. 


In camps, the boldest of the bold — 


Shame and dishonor sit 


Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now, 


By his grave ever ; 


FaU'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow ; 


Blessmg shall hallow it, — 


For either in the tone. 


Never, never 1 


Or something in the Palmer's look, 




So full upon his conscience strook. 


CHOEUS. 


That answer he found none. 


Eleu loro, &c. Never, never 1 


^ Thus oft it haps, that when within 




They shrink at sense of secret sm. 


xn. 


A feather daunts the brave ; 


It ceased, the melancholy sound ; 


A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 


And silence sunk on all ai'oond. 


And proudest princes veil their eyes 


The air was sad ; but sadder still 


Before their meanest slave. 


It fell on Marmion's ear, 




And plaiii'd as if disgrace and ill. 


XV. 


And shameful death, were near. 


Well might he falter !— By his aid 


He drew his mantle past his face. 


Was Constance Beverley hetray'd, 


Between it and the b.and. 


Not that he augur'd of the doom, 


.•Vnd rested with his head a space. 


Which on the living closed the tomb ; 


Reclininp: on his hand. 


But, tired to hear the desperate maid 


His thoughts I .scan not ; I'Ut I ween. 


Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 


That could their import have been seen, 


And wroth, because in wild despair. 


The meanest groom in all the hall. 


She practised on the life of Clare ; 


That e'er tied courser to a stall. 


Its fugitive the rhurch he gave, 


Would scarce have wish'd to be their 


Though not a victim, but a slave ; 


prey. 


And deem'd restraint in convent strauj, 


For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 


Would hide her wrongs, and her revenw 




Hunself, proud Henry's favorite peer 


xm. 


Held K Ornish thunders idle fear, 


High minds, of native pride and force, 


Secure liis pardon he might hold, 


Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse ! 


For some sUght mulct of penance-gold. 


Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have. 


Tims judging, he gave secret way. 


Thou ai-t the torturer of the brave ! 


When the stern priests surprised their pro, 


Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 


His train but deem'd the favorite page 


Theu- minds to bear the wounda they feel, 


Was left behind, to spare liis age ; 


Even wliile they writhe beneath the smart 


Or other if they deem'd, none dared 


Of civil conflict in the heart. 


To mutter wliat he thought and heard : 


For soon Lord Marmion raised his head. 


. Woe to the vassal who durst pry 


And, smiUng, to Fitz-Eustace said — 


Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 


' la it not strange, that, as ye sung. 




Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung, 


XVI. 


Such as in nunneries they toll 


His conscience slept — he deem'd her w«U, 


For some departing sister's soul ? 


And safe secured in distant ceU ; 


Say, what may this portend ?" — 


But, waken'd by her favorite lay, 


Then first the Palmer silence broke 


And that strange Palmer's boding say, 


(Tlie livelong day he had not spoke), 


Tliat fell so ominous and dre.ar. 


" The death of a dear friend."' 


Full on the object of liis fear. 


See Appendi.x, Note 2 0. 


Even from his King, a Bcornfal look*" 


rfp — *' Marmion, whose pride i ,, . . 
,,,, . .. ' J could never brook, 
Wiioa" hsighty soDi I 


■ MS. — " But tired to Iiear tlie/uriows maid." 


* MS. — *' Incensed, because in wild despaif." 



no SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. ' canto m 


To aid remorse's venom'd throes, 


Full often learn the art to know 


Dark tales of couvent-vcngeauce rose ; 


Of future weal, or future woe. 


And Constance, late betray'd and scom'd, 


By word, or sign, or star ; 


All loTely on his soul return'd ; 


Yet might a knight his fortune hear, 


LoTely as when, at treacherous call. 


If, knight-like, he despises fear. 


She left her convent's peaceful -wall. 


Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 


Crimson'd with shame, with ten-or mute, 


Aright our hamlet legend told." — 


Dreailiug alike escape, pursuit. 


These broken words the menials move 


Till love, victorious o'er alarms, 


(For marvels still the vulgar love), 


Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 


And, Marmiou giving Ucense cold. 




His tale the host thus gladly told : — 


XVIL 




".4Jas!" he thought, "how changed that mien! 


XLS. 


How changed these timid looks have been,' 


(Tfie J^ost's aialc. 


Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 


" A Clerk could tell what years have flown 


Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes 1 


Since Alexander iill'd our thrbne 


No more of virgin te-iTor speaks 


(Third monarch of that warlike name). 


The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 


And eke the time when here he came 


Fierce, and unfeniinine, are there, 


To seek Sh Hugo, then our lord : 


Phrensy for joy, for grief despair ; 


A braver never drew a sword ; 


And I the cause — for whom were given 


A wiser never, at the hour 


Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven I — ■ 


Of midnight, spoke the word of power 


Would," thought he, as.the picture grows. 


The same, whom ancient records call 


, " I on its stalk had left the rose ! 


The founder of the Goblin-Hall.' 


• Oh, why should man's success remove _; 


I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 


,■ The very charms that wake his love !— ^ 


Gave you that cavern to survey. 


Her convent's peaceful soUtude 


Of lofty roof, and ample size. 


Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 


Beneath the castle deep it hes : 


And, pent within the narrow cell, 


To hew the living rock profoimd. 


How will her spirit chafe and swell I 


The floor to pave, the arch to round, 


How brook the stern monastic laws 1 


Tliere never toil'd a mortal arm. 


The penance how — and I the cause ! — 


It all was wrought by word and charm 


Vigil and scour ^e — perchance even worse !" — 


And I have heard my grandsire say. 


1 , .And twice he rose to cry, " To horse I" — 


That the wild clamor and afli-.ay 


. And twice liis Sovereign's mandate came, 


Of those dread artisans of hell. 


1 Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 


Who labor'd under Hugo's speU, 


And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 


Sounded a^ loud as ocean's war. 


She should be safe, though not at large 1 


Among the caverns of Dunbar. 


They dm-st not, for their island, slired 




One golden ringlet from her head." 


XX. 




" The King Lord Gifford's castle sought. 


XVIIL 


Deep laboring witli uncertain thought ; 


Wliile thus in Marmion's bosom strove 


Even then he mustor'd all his host. 


Repentance and reviving love. 


To meet upon the western coast : 


Like wliirlwind.s, whose contenduig sway 


For Norse .Tnd Danish galleys plied 


Tyc seen Loch Vennachar obey. 


Their oars witliin the frith of Clyde. 


Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, 


There floated Hacn's baimer trim,' 


And, talkative, took up the word : 


Above Norwcyan warriors grim,' 


" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 


Savage of heart, and large of hmb , 


From Scotland's simpis land away,' 


Thi-eatenhig both contment and isle, 


To visit realms afar. 


Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, arid Kyle. 


The MS. reads :— 


How will lier ardent spirit swell. 


" Since fiercer passions wild and nigh, 


And chafe within the narrow cell !" 


Have fliish'd her cheek with deeper dye, 


a MS. — " From this pltiin simple land away.' 


And years of guilt, and of disguise, 


3 See Appendix, Note 2 P. 


Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes, 


t See A|ipendix, Note 2 Q,. 


And I the cause — for whom were given 


6 MS.—" There llo.'itcd Haco's banner grim 


Her peacf! on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 


O'er fierce of heart and larfie of limk 



CAIITO III. 



MARMION. 



Ill 



Lord Giflbrd, deep beneath the ground, 

Heard Alexjinder's bugle sound, 

And tarried not his garb to change, 

But m his wizard habit strange,' 

Uaine fortli, — a quiunt and fearful sight ; 

His macile lined with fox-skins white; 

Hie high and wi'inkled forehead bore 

A pointed cap, such as of yore 

Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore:. 

Uis shoes were mai'k'd with cross and spell, 

Upon his breast a pentacle ;^ 

His zone, of virgin parchment thui. 

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 

Bore many a planetary sign. 

Combust, and retrograde, and trine ;' 

And in his hand he held prep;u-ed, 

A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI. 
" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had mark'd strange hues upon his face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim, 
His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 
In his unwonted wild attire ; 
Unwonted, for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld the sun.— 
• I know,' he s.iid — his voice was hoarse. 
And broken seem'd its hollow force, — 
■ I know the cause, although untold, 
Wliy the King seeks his vassal's hold : , 

Vainly from, me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His cour.Tge may do more th.in art. 

XXII. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud, 
Wlio ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar ; 
But still their sullen aid witlihold, 
Save wheu by mightier force controU'd. 
Such lat? I summon'd to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call. 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I doem'd a refuge from the spell. 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
Tlie haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou — who Uttle know'st thy might. 

See Appenilix, Note 2 R t Ibiil. Note 2 S. 

MS. — " Bare many a character and sign. 

Of planets retrop"ade and trine." 
See Appendix, Note 2 T. 
MS — *' Witli nntaught valor raayst compel 

»Vhat is denied to magic spell," 



As born upon that blessed night' 

When yawning graves, and dying groan, 

Proclaim'd hell's empire overthrown, — 

With mitaught valor shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell.' — ' 

'Gramercy,' quoth out Monarch free, 

' Place him but front to front with mo. 

And, by this good and honor'd brand. 

The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand, 

Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide. 

The demon shall a buffet bide.' — " 

His bearing bold the wizard view'd. 

And thus, well pleased, his speech renew'd :— ■ 

' There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark ; 

Forth, pacuig hence, at midnight dark, 

The rampart seek, whose circling crowtf 

Crests the ascent of yonder down : 

A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 

There halt, and there thy bugle wind. 

And trust tliine elfin foe to see. 

In guise of thy worst enemy : 

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 

Upon him ! and Saiot George to speed 1 

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 

Whate'er these airy sprites can show ■ - 

If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 

I am no warrant for thy life.' 

XXIII. 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 

Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 

To that old camp's deserted round :' 

Sir Knight, you well might mark the moimd, 

Left hand the town, — the Pictish race, 

The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 

The moor around is brown aud bare. 

Tile space within is green and fair. 

The spot om' vill.age children know. 

For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ; 

But woe betide the wandering wight, 

Tliat treads its circle in the night ! 

The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 

Gives ample space for full career ; 

Opposed to the four points of heaven. 

By four deep gaps are entrance given. 

The southernmost our Monarch past,' 

Halted, and blew a galliint blast ; 

And on the north, witliin the ring, 

Appear'd the form of England's King, 

Who then, a thousant. le.agues afiu', 

In Palestine waged holy war : 

Yet arms like England's (fid he wield, 

'■ MS.—-' Bicker and bnffet he shall bide." 

., «»a ..a , ^ that ) ,, t camp which i „ „ „ .. 
' MS.— " Seek ^ J old ■; ', ^ ^ J as a erouu 

( yon \ f trench that * 

^ MS, — " Alone, and arm'd. rode forth the KinL* 

To that encampment's hatinted roand " 

» MS, — " The soullicrn ga'.e on Monarch past " 



112 



SCOTT'S' POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III 



Alike the leopards in the shield, 


The Elfin Warrior doth wield. 


Alike his Syrian courser^ frame, 


Upon the brown hill's breast ;' 


The rider's length of limb the same : 


,And many a knight hath proved his chance 


Long afterwards did Scotland know. 


In the charm'd ring to bre.tk a lance. 


Fell Edward' was her deadliest foe. 


But all have fbully sped ; 




Save two, as legends tell, and they 


XXIV. 


Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert /Taj. — 


" The vision made our Monarch start. 


Gentles, my tale is said." 


Bm soon he mann'd his noble heai-t, 




And in the lirst career they ran, 


XXVL 


The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; 


The quaighs' were deep, the liquoi (t<ong. 


Yet did a splinter of liis lance 


And tin the tale the yeoman-throng 


Through Alexander's visor glance. 


Had made a comment sage and loi^. 


And razed the skin — a puny wound. 


But Marniion gave a sign : 


The King, light leaping to the ground. 


And, with tlieir lord, the squu-es retire , 


With naked blade his phantom foe 


The rest, around the hostel fire. 


Compell'd the future war to show. 


Their drowsy limbs recline ; 


Of Largs he saw the glorious plain. 


For pillow, underneath each head, 


Where stUl gigantic bones remain, 


The quiver and the targe were laid. 


Memorial of the Danish war ; 


Deep slimibering on the hostel floor,' 


Himself he saw, amid the field. 


Oppress'd with toil and ale, they snore : 


On high his brandish'd war-axe wield, 


The dying flame, m fitful change. 


And strike proud Haco from his car, 


Threw on the group its shadows strange. 


While all around the shadowy ICings 




Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings. 


XXVIL 


'Tis said, that, in that awful night, 


Apart, and nestling in the hay 


Remoter visions met liis sight. 


Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 


Foreshowing future conquests far,' 


Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 


When our sons' sons wage northern war ; 


The foUlings of his mantle green : 


A royal city, tower and spire, 


Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream. 


Redden'd the midnight sky with fire. 


• Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 


And shouting crews her navy bore. 


Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove. 


Ti'iumphaiit to the victor shore.' 


Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 


Such signs may learned clerks explain. 


A cautious tread his slumber broke. 


They pass the wit of simple swain. 


And, close beside him, when he woke. 




In moonbeam half, and half m gloom, 


XXV. 


Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; 


'" The joyful King turn'd home again. 


But, ere Iiis dagger Eustace drew. 


Headed liis host, and quell'd the Dane ; 


His master Mari;nion's voice he knew.' 


But yearly, when return'd the night 




Of his strange combat with the sprite. 


XXVIIL 


His wound must bleed aud smart ; 


— " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, I caimot rest ; 


Lord Gilford then would gibmg say, 


Yon churl's wUd legend haunts my breast, 


' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 


And graver thoughts have chafed my mood 


The penance of your start.' 


The air must cool my feverish blood ; 


Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 


And fain would I ride forth, to see 


Kinn- Alexander fills his grave. 


The scene of elfin chivalry. 


Om- Lady give him rest 1 


Arise, and saddle me my steed ;* 


Vet still the knijhtly apear and shield 


And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 


« Edwajd I., snraamed LoDgshanks. 


< See Appendix, Note 2 U. 


t MS.—-' To be fulfill'd in times afar, 


6 A wooden cup, composed of staves hooped together. 


Wlien our sons' eons wage northera war ; 


MS. — " Deep slumbering on the floor of clay. 


A royal city's towers and spires 


Oppress'd with toil and ale. they lay , 


Redden'd the midniglu sity witb fires, 


The dying flame, in fitful change. 


And shouting crews lier n.avy bore, 


Threw on them lights and shadows strange. 


Triumpliant, from liie vanquish'd shore." 


' MS. — " But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 


• For an account of the expedition lo Copenhagen in 1801, 


/( spoke — Lord Marmion's voice he knew ' 


^ Sontliry's Life of Nelson, chap. vii. 


9 MS.—" Come down and saddle me ray steed." 



CA5TO IV. 



MARMIOIS. 



119 



'fhou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 
I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid, 
And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd, 
While, whispering, thus the Baron said : — 

XXIX. 

• Didst never, good my youth, hear tell, 

That on the hour' when I was bom, 
S.aint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weai'y wight forlorn ? 
The flattering chaplains all agree, 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to show, 
Tliat I could meet tliis Elfin Foe !' 
EUthe woulu I battle, for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite : — 
Vidn thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 
An empty race, by fount or sea. 
To dashing waters dance and sing," 
Or round the gi'een oak wheel their ring." 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode. 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace lollow'd him abroad, 
And mark'd liim pace the village road. 

And Usten'd to his horse's tramp. 
Till, by the lessening sound. 

He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord Marmion sought the roimd. 
Wonder it seem'd, in the squire's eyes. 
That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the church believed,— 

Should, stu-r'd by idle tale. 
Ride forth in sUence of the night, 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Array'd in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know. 
That passions, in contending flow, 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee. 
We welcome fond credulity. 

Guide confident, though blind. 

XXXI. 
Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited till he heara. 
At distance, prick'd to utmost speed, 

1 MS. — " I woDld, to prove the omen right, 

Tliat I could meet this Elfin Knight I" 
» MS. — *' Dance to the wild waves' marmoring.'* 
Tadc used hy ol 1 poeta for went 
15 



The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come town-ward rusliing on ; 
First, dead, as if on tiuf it trode, 
Tlien, clattering, on the village road,- • 
In other pace than forth he yode,' 

Return'd Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle, 
And, in liia haste, wellnigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw, 
And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
But yet the mooiJight did betray, 
The falcon-crest was soil'd with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
By stams upon the charger's knee, 
And liis left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musuig on these wondrous signs, 
At length to rest the sqtiire reclines, 
Broken and short ; for stiU, between. 
Would dreams of teiTor intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



iHarmion. 



DJTRODUCTION TO CAJiTO FOURTH. 



JAMES SKENE, ESO.« 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
An ancient minstrel sagely said, 
" Wliere is the life wliich late we led ?" 
That Motley clown in Arden wood, 
Whom humorous Jacques with envy view'd. 
Not even that clown could amplify. 
On this trite text, so long as I. 
Eleven years we now may tell, 
Since we have known each other well ; f 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First drew the voluntary brand ;' 
And sure, through many a vaxied scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have flown. 
To join the mass of ages gone ; 
And though deep mark'd, Uke all below, 
With checker'd shades of joy and woe ; • 
Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, 
Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed. 
While here, at home, my narrower ken 

• James Skene, Esq., of Rnbislaw, Aberdeenshire, was ^;<I^• 
net in the Royal Edinburgh Light Horse Volonteen , anil 8a 
Walter r'cott was duartermaster of the same corps. 

6 MS. — " Unsheatii'd the voluntary brand " 



114 . SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caoto iv. 


Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 


Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, 


Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 


The blast may smk in mellowing rain ; 


Fevrr'd the progress of these years, 


TiU, dark above,*and white below,* 


Yet uow, days, weeks, and months, but seem 


Decided drives the flaky snow. 


The recollection of a dream, 


And forth the hardy swain must go. 


tio still we glide down to the aea 


Long, with dejected look and whine. 


Of fathomless eternity. 


To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 




Wliistling and cheering them to aid. 


Even now it scarcely seems a day, 


Arotmd his b.ack he wreathes the plaid : 


Sij:e first I tmied this idle lay ; 


His flock he gathers, and he guides. 


A task so often thrown aside, 


To open downs, and mountain-sides, 


When leisure graver cares denied. 


Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 


Tliat now, November's dreary gale. 


Least deeply Hes the di'ift below. 


Whose voice inspired my opening taJe, 


The blast, that whistles o'er the fells,"* 


That same November gale once more 


Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 


Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 


Oft he looks back, while streaming far. 


Their ves'd boughs streaming to the sky, 


His cottage wmdow seems a star, — • 


Once more our naked buches sigh. 


Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 


And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 


Turns patient to the blast again. 


Have donn'd their wintry shrouds again : 


And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 


And mountain dark, and flooded mead,' 


Drives tlu-ough the gloom his lagginjj 


Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 


sheep. ^ 


Earlier than wont along the sky. 


K fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 


Miy'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 


Benumbing cfeath is in the gale : 


The shepherd, who m sunmier sun, 


His path-s, his landmarks, all unknown. 


Had something of om- envy won, 


Close to the hut, no more his own. 


As thou with pencil, I with pen. 


Close to the aid he sought in vain. 


The features traced of hiU and glen ; — ' 


The morn may find the stiff'en'd swain :* 


He who, outstretch'd the livelong day, 


The widow sees, at dawning pale. 


At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 


His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 


View'd the light clouds with vacant look, 


And, close beside him, in the snow. 


Or slumber'd o'er his tjitter'd book. 


Poor Yarrow, partner of then- woe. 


Or idly busied him to guide 


Couches upon liis master's breast,' 


His angle o'er the lossen'd tide ; — 


And Ucks his cheek to break his rest. 


At midnight now, the snowy plain 




Finds sterner labor for the swain. 


Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 




His healthy fare, lus rural cot. 


When red hath set the beamless sun,' 


His summer couch by greenwood tree^ 


Thro'jgli heavy vapors dark and dun ; 


His rustic kirn's" loud revelry. 


Wlien the tired plouglunan, dry and w.-irm. 


His native hill-notes, tuned on high. 


Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 


To Marion of the blithesome eye :"' 


Hurling the hail, and sleeted r.ain. 


His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed 


Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 


And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 


The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 




To shelter in the brake and rocks. 


Changes not so with us, my Skene, 


Are warnings which the shepherd ask 


Of human life the varymg scene ! 


To dismal and to dangerous task. 


Our youthful summer oft we see" 


. MS. — '■ And noon-tide mist, and flooded mead.*' 


But soon he loses it, — and then 


> Various illustrations of the Poetry and Novels of Sir 


Turns patient to his task again." 


UTalter Scfltt, fron" designs by Mr. Skene, have sir.ce baea 


1 MS. — " The morn shall tind the stiiTen'd swair 


nlilished. 


His widow sees, at morning pale, 


' MS. — " Wh<jn red hath set the evening son. 


His children rise, and raise their wail." 


And loud winds speak the storm begun.'* 


Compare the celebrated description ol a man perisMng in ti» 
mow, in Thomson's ff'iiiter. — See Appendix, Note 2 V 


( M9. — "Till thickly drives the flaky enow. 


9 MS. — " Conches npon his frozen breast.'** 


And forth the hardy swain most go, 


9 The Scottish Harvest-home. 


While, with dejected look and whine," &c. 


" MS. — " His native wild-notes' meiodr, 


• MS. — ' Tlie frozen blast that sweeps the fells.* 


To Marion's blithely blinlting eye." 


MS — " His cottage window beams a star,— 


" MS — " Our youthful summer oft we see 



JANTO IV. MARMION. in 


Dance by on wings of game and glee, 


To bring my tribute to his grave : — 


Wliile the dark storm reserves its rago, 


'Tis little— but 'tis all I have. 


Against the wmter of our age : 




A.S he, the ancient Cliief of Troy, 


To thee, perchtmce, this rambling f train 


His manliood spout in peace and joy ; 


Recalls our summer walks jigain ; 


But Urecian fires, and louJ alarms, 


When, doing naught, — ana, to speak tnii 


Call'd ancient Priam forth to arms.' 


Not anxious to find aught to do, — 


Then happy those, since each must drain 


The wUd tmboimded lulls we ranged, 


Hii ebare of pleasure, share of pain, — 


WhUe oft our tiilk its topic changed, 


Tlien happj' those, beloved of Heaven, 


And, desultory as oin- way. 


To whom the mingled cup is given • 


Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. 


Whose lenient sorrows find rehef. 


Even when it flagg'd, as oft wUl chance. 


Whose joys are chasten'd by their grief. 


No effort made to break its trance. 


Anil such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 


We could right pleasantly pmsue 


When thou of late, weit doom'd to twine, — 


Ovu" sports in social sOence too ■' 


Just when thy bridal horn- was by, — ■ 


Thou gravely laboring to portray 


The cypress with the myrtle tie. 


The bUghted oak's fantastic spray ; 


Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled,^ 


I spelling o'er, with much deUght, 


And bless'd the union of his child. 


The legend of that antique knight, 


Wheil love must change its joyous cheer, 


Tirante by name, yclep'd the Wliite. 


And wipe atfections filial tear. 


At eitlier's feet a trusty squire. 


Nor did the actions next his end,' 


Pandour and Camp,' with eyes of fii-e. 


Speak more the father than the friend : 


Jealous, each other's motions view'd. 


Scarce had lamented Forbes' paid 


And scarce suppress'd their uncient feud." 


The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ; 


The laverock wliistled from the cloud ; 


The tale of friendsliip scarce was told. 


The stream was lively, but not loud ; 


Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 


From the wliite thorn tlie May-flower shed 


Far may we search before we find 


Its dewy fragrance round otu' head : 


A heart so manly and so kii^d ! 


Not Ariel lived more merrily 


But not around his honor'd urn. 


Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 


Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 




The thousjmd eyes his care had dried. 


And bUthesome nights, too, have been oura^ 


Pour at liis name a bitter tide ; 


When Winter stript the siumner's bowers. 


And ii-equent fidls the gi-ateful dew. 


Careless we heard, what now I hear," 


^For benefits the world ne'er knew. 


Tlie wild blast siglung deep and (kear, 


If mortal charity dare claim 


When fires were briglit, and lamps beaffl'a 


The Almighty's attributed name. 


gay. 


Inscribe above his mouldering clay. 


And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 


" The widow's sliield, the orphan's stay." 


And he was held a laggard soul. 


Nor, thougli it wake thy sorrow, deem 


Who shunn'd to quaft' the sparkling bowl. 


My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 


Then he, wliose absence we deplore,'" 


For sacred was the pen that wrote. 


Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 


" Tliy fatlier's friend forget thou not :" 


The longer miss'd, bewail'd the more ; 


And grateftd title may I plead,' 


And thou, and I, and deardoved R ," 


For many a kindly word and deed, 


Aud one whose name I may not say," — 


Dance by od wing3 of mirth and glee. 


» MS.—" irken tight we heard what now I hear." 


While the dark storm reserves its rage, 


10 Colin Mackenzie. Esq.. of Portmore. one of the Prirc'pa 


To crash the winter of our age." 


Clerks of Session at Edinburgh, and through life an intimaU 


> MS. — " Call'd forth his feeble age to arras." 


friend of Sir Walter Scott, died on lOlh September. 1830. — Ed. 


> MS. — '* f^carce on thy bride her sire had smiled. 


1" Sir William Rae of St. Catharine's, Bart., subsequently 


• MS. — " But even the actions next his end. 


Lord Advocate of Scotland, was a distinguished member <A 


gpoke the fond sire and faithful friend.' 


the volunteer corps to which .'^ir Walter Scott belonged ; and 


• Se5 Appendix, Note 2 W. 


he, the Poet, Mr. Skene. Xi. Mackenzie, and a few othe> 


8 MS. — " And nearer title may I plead." 


friends, had formed themselves into a little semi-military cloL, 


* MS. — " Our thoughts in social silence too." 


the meetings of which were held at their family suppcMable« 


' Camp was a favorite dog of the Poet's, a bull-terrier of ex- 


in rotation. — Ed. 


kaordinary sagacity. He is introduced in Raeburn's portrait 


n The gentleman whose name the Poet " might not eaj,'' 


>f Sir Walter Scott, bow at Dalkeith Palace. — Ed. 


was the late Sir William Forbes, of Pitsligo. Bart., son of ihl 


• MS — " Till o(\ orr voice suppress'd the fend." 


author of the Life of Beattie, and brother-in-law of Mr. Skeaa 



116 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv 


For not Mimosa's tender tree 


Of the good steed he loves so well ?" 


Shrinks sooner from tlie touch than he, — 


Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 


In men-j- chorus -n-ell combined. 


The charger panting on his straw ;' 


With Laughter dro-wn'd the wliistling wind. 


Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — 


Mirth was witliin ; and Care without 


" MTiat else but evil could betide. 


Might gnaw her n:uls to hear our shout. 


With that cursed Palmer for om* guide ? 


Not but amid the buxom scene 


Better we had through mire and bush 


Some grave discourse might intervene— 


Been lantern-led by Friar Rush.'" 


Of til • good horse that bore him best, 




His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 


IL 


For, like mad Tom's," our chiefest care, 


Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guess'd. 


Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 


Nor wholly vinderstood. 


Such nights we're had ; and, though the game' 


His conn-ades' clamorous plaints suppresa'd 


Of manhood be more sober tame. 


He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 


And though the field-day, or the drill. 


Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 


S^em less important now — -yet still 


And fotmd deep plunged in gloomy thought 


Sucb may we hope to share again. 


And did his tale disphiy 


The sprightly thought inspu-es my strain I 


Simply as if he knew of naught 


And mark, how, like a horseman true. 


To cause such disarray. 


Lord Marmion's march I thu8 renew. 


Lord Marmion gave attention cold. 




Nor marvell'd at the wonders told, — 




Pass'd them as accidents of course. 


in a r m i n . 


And bade his clarions soimd to horse. 


in. 

Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 


CANTO FOUKTB. 




Had reckon'd with theu- Scottish host ; 






And, as the charge he cast .•md paid, 


ffije ffiam)). 


" 111 thou deserv'st thy hire," he said ; 


I. 


" Dost see, thou Idiave, my horse's plight \ 


Edstace, I said, did blithely mark 


Fairies have ridden liim all the night. 


The first notes of the merry lark. 


And left him in a foam 1 


The lark sang shi-ill, the cock he crew. 


I trust that soon a conjurmg band. 


And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 


With English cross, and blazing brand,' 


i And with their light and lively call. 


Shall th-ive the devils from tliis land, 


Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 


To their infernal home : 


Whistling they came, and free of heart, 


For in this haunted den, I trow, 


But soon their mood was changed ; 


AU night they trample to and fro." — 


Complaint i^as heard on every part, 


The laughing ho.st look'd on the liire,— 


Of sometliing disarranged. 


" Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 


Some clamor'd loud for armor lost ; 


And if thou comcst among the rest, 


Some brawl'd and wrangled with the host ; 


With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 


"By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear," 


Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 


That some false Scot has stolen my spear !"— 


And short the pang to undergo." 


Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire 


Here .stay'd their talk, — for Marmion 


Found liis steed wet with sweat and mire ; 


Gave now the signal to set on. 


Although the rated horse-boy aware, 


The Palmer showing forth the way. 


Last sight he drcss'd him sleek and fair. 


They journey'd all the morning day.'' 


While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 




Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 


IV. 


" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 


The green-sward way was smooth and good. 


Bevis lies dying in liis stall : 


Through Hiunbie's and thi'ough Saltoan'a wood 


To Marmion who the plight dare tell. 


A forest glade, \\ ! ich, varying stiU, 


iirongh life an intimate, and latterly a generoas frienti of Sir 


• MS. — ■' By Becket's bones," cried one, " I sweaz. ' 


IValter Scott— died 24th October, 1838.- Ed. 


* MS.—" The good horse panting on the straw." 


1 See Kinff L.ear. 


5 See Appendi.\, Note 2 X. 


2 MS. — " Snch nights we've bad ; and though our game 


MS. — " With bloody cross and fiery brand." 


. , Advance of years may something tame." 


' MS.—" They journey'd till the middle dar. 



BANTO IV. MARMION. in 


Here gave a view of dale and hill, 


In painted tabards, proudly showing 


There narrower closed, till over head 


Gules, Argent, Or, and Aztire glowing, 


A vaulted screen the branches made. 


Attendant on a King-at-arms, 


•* A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 


Whose hand the armorial truncheon held. 


" Such as where errant-liJiighta might sei? 


That feudal strife had often ouell'dL 


Adventures of liigh chivalry ; 


When wildest its alarms. 


Might meet some damsel flying fast, 




With liau- unbound, and looks aghast ; 


VIL 


And smooth and level course were here, 


He was a man of middle age ; 


In her defence to break a spear. 


In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 


Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 


As on King's errand come , 


And oft, in such, the story tells, 


But in the glances of his eye. 


Tlie damsel kind, from danger freed. 


A penetrating, keen, and sly i 


Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 


Expression foimd its home ; 


He spoke to cheer Lord Maimion's mind : 


The flash of that sathic rage, i 


Perchance to show his lore design'd ; 


Which, bursting on the early stage. 


For Eustace much had pored 


Branded the vices of the age. 


Upon a huge romantic tome,' 


And broke the keys of Rome.* 


In the hall window of liis home, 


On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 


Imprinted at the antique dome 


His cap of maintenance was graced 


Of Caxton, or De Worde.^ - 


With the proud heron-plume 


'JTierefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain. 


From liis steed's shoulder, loin, and breagt. 


For llarmion answer'd naught again. 


Silk housings swept the grotmd, 




With Scotland's arms, device, and crest. 


V. 


Embroider'd romid and round. 


Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 


The double tressure might you see. 


In notes prolong'd by wood and hill, 


First by Achaius borne. 


Were heard to echo fiu" ; 


The thistle and the flem--de-lis, ' 


Each ready archer grasp'd his bow. 


And gallant unicorn.' 


But by the flourish soon they know, 


So bright the King's armorial coat. 


They breathed no point of war. 


That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 


Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 


In hving colors, blazon'd brave. 


Lord Marmion'a order speeds the band, 


The Lion, which his title gave. 


Some opener gi'ound to gain ; 


A train, which well beseom'd his state. 


And scarce a furlong had they rode, 


But all unarm'd, around him wait. 


When thmner trees, receding, show'd 


Still is thy name in high accoimt. 


A httle woodland plain. 


And stiU thy verse has charms, 


Just in that advantageous glade. 


Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 


The halting troop a Une had made. 


Lord Lion King-at-arms !' 


As forth liom the opposing shade 




Issued a gallant train. 


vm. 




Down from his horse did Marmion spring, 


VI. 


Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 


First came the trumpets, at whose clang 


For well the stately Baron taiew 


So late the forest echoes rang ; 


To him such courtesy was due, 


On prancing steeds they forward press'd, 


Whom royal James himself had crown'd, 


With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 


And on his temples placed the roimd 


Each at his trump a banner wore. 


Of Scotland's ancient diadem ; 


Which Scotland's royal scutcheon' bore : 


And wet his brow with haUow'd wine, 


Heralds and pursuivants, by name 


And on his finger given to shine 


Bute, lilay, Marclimount, Rothsay, came, 


The emblematic gem. 


1 MS. — *' Upon a Hack and ponderous to'me." 


^'scarlet tabards;" and in line 12th, "blazoned tjancheOB 


■ William CaaLlpn, the earliest English printer, was born il 


« MS.—" The flash of that satiric rage. 


Rent, A. D. 1412. and died in 1491. Wynkcn de Worde wa.. 


Which, bursting from the early stage. 


kii next Biccessor in the production of those 


Lash'd the coarse vices of the age," &c. 


" Rare volumes, dark with tarnish'd gold," 


MS. — " Silver unicorn." This, and the seven prec«dlB| 


►hich are now the delight of bibliomaniacs. 


lines, are interpolated in the blank page of the MS 


• "^he MS. faia " Scotland's ■ ral Lion" here ; in line 9th, 


«Bee Append!!, Note 2 Y. 



118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IT 



Their lautuil greetings duly made, 

The Lion thus liis message said : — 

" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore' 

Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 

And strictly hath forbid resort 

From England to his royal court ; 

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name, 

And honors much his warlike fame, 

My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack 

Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 

And, by his order, I, y.iur guide. 

Must lodging fit and fair provide. 

Till finds King James meet time to see 

The flower of EngUsh chivalry." 

IX. 
Though inly chafed at this delay. 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
The Palmer, liis mysterious guide. 
Beholding thus liis place supphed. 

Sought to take leave in vain : 
Strict was the Lion-King's command, 
That none, who rode in Marmion's band, 

.Should sever from the train ; 
•* England has here enow of spies 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes :" 
To Marclimount thus, apart, he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right hand path they now decline. 
And trace ag:iin9t the stream the Tyne. 



At length up that wild dale they wind. 

Where Crichtoun Castle'^ crowns the bank ; 
For there the Lion's care assign'd 

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 
That Castle rises on the steep 

Of the green vale of Tyne : 
And far beneath, where slow they creep, 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
Where alders moist, and willows weep, 

You hear her streams repine.' 
The towers in different ages rose ; 
Tlieir various arcliitecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose,' 
Wlaen deadhest hatred fired its foes. 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 

XL 

Chrichtoun ! though now thy miry court 
But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 

* MS. — " The Lion-King hia message said : — 

' My liege hath deep and deadly swore,' " &c. 

a See Appendix, Note 2 Z ; and, for a foller description of 
Crichton Castle, see Sir Walter Scott's Miscellaneoas Prose 
Works, vol. vii. p. 157. 

3 MS. — " Her lazy streams repine.'* 



Thy tiu'rets rude, and totter'd Keep, 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced, witliin thy fort. 

Of mouldering shields the mystic season 

Scutcheons of honor, or pretence, 
Quarter'd in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet had time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair ; 
Nor yet the stony cord imbraced, 
Whose twisted knots, with rosea laced. 

Adorn thy ruin'd stair. 
Still rises unimpair'd below. 
The coiu-t-yard's graceful portico; 
Above its cornice, row and row 

Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form. 

Though there but houseless cattle go, 
To shield them from the storm. 

And, shuddering, still may we explore, 
Where oft whilom were captives pen^ 

The darkness of thy Massy More ;° 
Or, from thy grass-grown battlement. 
May trace, in undulating line. 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

XIL 
Another aspect Chrichtotm show'd. 
As through its portal Marmion roae , 
But yet 'twas melancholy otate 
Received him at the outer gate ; 
For none were in the Castle then. 
But women, boys, or aged men. 
With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing diwia, 
To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 
Her son, a stripling twelve years old, 
Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold ; 
For each man that could draw a sword 
Had march'd that morning with their lord. 
Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 
On Flodden, by liis sovereign's side.'' 
Long may his Lady look in vain ! 
.She ne'er shall see his gallant train,' 
Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-DeaH 
'Twas a brave race, before the name 
Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. 

XIII. 
And here two days did Marmion rest, 

With every rite that honor claims, 
Attended as the King's own guest ; — 

Such the command of Royal James, 

* M8. — " Bnt the huge mass conld well oppose." 
6 MS. — " Of many a mouldering shield the sense." 
6 The pit, or prison vault.^i^ee Appendix, Note 2 ^ 
' See Appendix, Note 3 A. 

B MS '* Well might his gentle Lady monm, 

Doom'd ne'er to see her Lord's return. 



6ANT0 IV. 



MARMION. 



11» 



Wlio ma^a^aii'<i then liis land's array, 

Upon the Borough moor that lay. 

Perchance he i\ouM not foeman's eye 

Upon his gathering host should pry, 

Till full prepared was every band 

To march against the En^iisJi land 

Here "while they dwelt, did Lbidesay's wit 

3ft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 

Ajad, in his turn, he knew to piize 

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise '— 

frain'd in the lore of Rome and Greece, 

ijid policies of war and peace.^ 

XIV. 
II chanced, as fejl the second night, 

That on the battlements they walk'd. 
And, by the slowly-fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald-bard'* 
Said, Marmion might his toil have spareu. 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war f 
And, closer question'd, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have cmoll'd : — 

XV. 

" Of all the palaces so fair,* 

Built for the royal dwelling. 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

• MS. — " Nor less the Herald Monarch knew 

The Baron's powers to value true — 
Hence confidence between them grew.* 

a MS — " Then fell from Lindesay, unware. 

That Marmion might ( i • i l ,, 

Marmion might well ) ^ 

s tiee Appendix, Note 3 B 

4 " In some places, Mr. Scott's love of variety has betray 
him into strange imitatioite, This is evidently formed on the 
ichool of Sternhold and Hopkins, — 

' Of all the palaces so fair,' " &c. 

Jbffrgt. 

* In Scotland there are about twenty palaces, castles, and 
remains, or sites of such, 

" Where Scotia's kings of other years" 
had their royal home. 

" Linlithgow, distinguished by the combined strength and 
beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a 
royai residence. David, who bought the title of saint by hb 
liberality to the Church, refers several of his charters to his 
town of Linlithgow ; and in that of Holyrood expressly be- 
atows on the new monastery all the skins of the rams, ewes, 
and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linlitcu, which shall 
die during the year. . . . The convenience aiforded for the 
iport of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the 
lend&l ages, was probably one cause of the atta<;bment of the 



Linhthgow is excelling ;' 
And iu its park in jovial Jime, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 

How bhtlie the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild-buck-bells" from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake, 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year : 
Too well liis cause of grief you know 
June saw his father's overthrow.*' 
Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
Tlie princely boy against his King 1 
Still in liis conscience burns the sting. 
In oiEces as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent * 

XVL 
" When last this rutliful month was 

come. 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

Tlie King, as wont, was praying ; 
While, for his royal father's soul, 
The chanters sung, the bells did toll. 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again* 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the Momuxh knelt, 
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt. 

And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
Around him in their stalls of state, 
The Thistle's Knight Companions sate, 

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake. 
The sport of hunting was also followed with success in tlie 
neighborhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that 
the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhoond bitch 
lied to a tree. . . . The situation of Linlithgow Palace is 
eminently beautifnl. It stands on a promontory of som» 
elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. 
The form is that of a square court, composed of buildings ol 
four stories high, with lowers at the angles. The fronts within 
the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and the 
size of the rooms, as well as the width and character af the 
staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banqnet-room 
is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty-three feel 
high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardrobe oi 
dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the walls, so 
as to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of th« 
mcst enviable boudoirs we have ever seen." — Sir Walth 
Scott's Miscellaneous Prose fVorks, vol. vii. p. 383. &t 

9 See Appendix; Note 3 C. 

7 See Appendix, Note 3 U. 

8 MS. — " In oflSces as strict as Lent, 

And penances his Jnnes are spent." 

3 MS. — " tor now ihe year brought round again 

The very day thai he 

The day that the third James ( 

In Kathanne'fl aisle the Monarch kneels. 

And folded hands i , , _ , 

. , , , , , > show what ae feal* 

And bands sore clasped \ 



/ was slain— 



120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO r? 



Their banners o'er them beaming. 


XVIII. 


I too was there, and, sooth to tell. 


While Lindesay told his marvel strange, 


Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell, 


The twUight was so pale. 


Was watching where the sunbeanis fell. 


He mark'd not Marmion's color change, 


Through the stain'd casement gleaming ; 


While listening to the tale ; 


But, while I mark'd what next befell. 


But, after a suspended pause, 


It seem'd as I were dreaming. 


The Baron spoke ; — " Of Nature's laws 


Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, 


So strong I held the force, 


In azure gown, with cincture white ; 


That never superhmnan cause 


His forehead bald, liis head was bare, 


Could e'er control their course, 


Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 


And, thiree days since, liad judged yoar am:i 


Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 


Was but to make your guest your game ; 


I pledge to you my knightly word. 


But I have seen, since past the Tweed,^ 


That, when I saw his placid grace. 


What much has changed my skeptic creed, 


His simple majesty of face. 


And made me credit aught." — He staid, 


His solemn bearmg, and his pace 


And seem'd to wish his words imsaid : 


So stately gUding'on, — 


But, by that strong emotion press'd. 


Seem'd to me ne'er did Uinner paint 


Which prompts us to unload our breast, 


So just an image of the Saint, 


Even when discovery's pain. 


Wlio propp'd the Virgin in her faint, — 


To Lmdesay did at length unfold 


The loved Apostle John 1 


The talc his village host had told. 




At GifJbrd, to his train. 


XVIL 


Naught of the Palmer says he there, 


" He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, 


And naught of Constance, or of Clare ; 


And stood with rustic plamness there, 


The thoughts which broke liis sleep, he Beemi 


And little reverence made ; 


To mention but as feverish dreams. 


Nor head uor body, bow'd nor bent. 




But on the desk his arm he leant. 


XIX. 



And words like those he said, 
In a low voice, but never tone' 
So thrUl'd through vein, and nerve, and 

bone ; — 
' My mother sent me from afar. 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on tlune array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,' 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly wam'd, beware : 
God keep thee as he may !' 
The wondering Monarch seem'd to ses^ 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised liis head to speak, 
The monitor was gone. 
The Marshal and myself had cast 
To stop l iim as he outward pass'd ; 
But, hghter than the wlurlwmd's blast. 

He vanish'd from oiu- eyes. 

Like sunbeam on the biUow cast. 

That glances but, and dies." 



MS.- 



'* In a low voice — bet every tone 
Thrill'd through the hstener's vein and bone.' 



MS. — ** And if to war then needs wilt fare 
Of wanton wiles and woman's } 



MS.- 



. 

' But events, since I cross'd the Tweed, 
Have anderrained my skeptic creed ' 



** In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couch'd my head : 

Fantastic thoughta return'd ; 
And, by theii* wild doniiiiiou led, 

My heart witliin me burn'd.* 
So sore was the delii'ioua goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 
Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I pass'd through, 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my ear, — 
Tet was the blast so low and drear,* 
, So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my own. 

XX. 

" Thus judging, for a little space 
I hsten'd, ere I left the place ; 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think they served me true, 

* MS. — " In vain/* said he, " to rest I laid 

My burning limbs, and throbbing head-* 
Fantastic thouglita return'd ; 

/led. 
And, by their wild dominion ■^ sway'd, 
' spi'd, 
My heart within me bumM," 

5 MS. — '* And yet it was so slow and drew," 




Ittit V. ' Xf 



CANTO IV. ^ MARMION. 121 


Whsp suddun in the ring I view, 


Dead or alive, good cause had he 


In form distinct of sliape and hue, 


To be my mortal enemy." 


A mounted champion rise. — 




I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day," 


XXII. 


In single fight, and miif'd aifi-ay, 


Marvell'd Sir David of the Motmt ; 


And ever, I myself may say, 


Then, leam'd in story, 'gan recount 


Have borne me as a knight ; 


Such chance had happ'd of old. 


But when this unexpected foe 


Wlien once, near Norham, there did fight 


Seem'd starting from the gidf below, — 


A spectre fell of fiendish might. 


I care not though the truth I show, — 


In likeness of a Scottish knight. 


I tremble 1 with affright ; 


With Brian Bulmer bold, 


And as I plrred in rest my spear. 


And train'd him nigh to disallow 


Uy hand so shook with very fear, 


The aid of his baptismal vow. 


I scarce could couch it right. 


" And such a phantom too, 'tis said, 




With Highland broadsword, targe, and i)laid 


XXI 


And fingers, red with gore, 


" Wby n' <• 1 my tongue the issue tell ? 


Is seen in Rotliiemurcus glade, 


We ra»-. our course, — my charger fell ; — 


Dr where the sable pine-trees shade 


What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? — 


Dark Toraantoul, and Auchnaslaid, 


I roll'd upon the plain. 


Dromouchty, or Glenmore.* 


High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 


And yet, whate'er such legends say, 


rhe spectre shook his naked brand, — ' 


Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 


Yet did the worst remain : 


On mountain, moor, or plain. 


\Iy dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 


Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,* 


^fot opemng hell itself could blast 


True son of chivalry should hold, 


Then: sight like what I saw ! 


Those midnight terrors vain ; 


Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 


For seldom have such spu-its power 


A face coiJd never be mistook 1 


To harm, save in the evil hour, 


I knew the stern vindictive look, 


Wbeu guilt we meditate within,' 


And held my breath for awe. 


Or harbor unrepented sm." — 


I saw the face of one who, fled' 


Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside, 


To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 


And twice to cleai- his voice he tried, 


I well beheve the last ; 


Then press'd Su- David's hand, — 


For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 


But naught, at length, in answer said ; 


A hmnan warrior, with a glare 


And here their farther converse staid. 


So grimly and so ghast. 


Each ordering that liis band 


Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade : 


Should bowne them with the rising day, 


But when to good Saint George I pray'd 


To Scotland's camp to take their way. — 


(The first time e'er I ask'd his aid), 


Such was the King's command. 


He plunged it in the sheath ; 




And, on liis courser mounting light, 


xxni. 


He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 


Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 


The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night 


And I could trace each step they trode : 


Sunk down upon the heath. — 


HUI, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, 


'Twere long to tell what cause I have 


Lies ou the path to me unknown. 


To know hia face, that met me there, 


Much might it boast of storied lore ; 


Call'd by liis hatred from the grave. 


But, passmg such digression o'er. 


To cumber upper air: 


Suffice it that the route was laid 


MS — ' Tve been, Lord-Lion, many a day, 


I knew the face of one who, fled 


In combat single, or m&16e." 


To foreign climes, or Jong since dead— 


> MS. — '■ Tile spectre shook his nalced brand, - 


I well may judge the last." 


Yet doth tlie worst remain : 


• 


My reeling eyes I npward cast, — 

But opening hell conld never blast 

Their sight, like what I saw.'* 


* See the traditions oonceming Bnlmer, and the ipeoln 
called Lhamdearg, or Bloody-hand, in a note on canto UL 
Appendix, Note 2 U. 


'MS. — I knew the face of one long dead. 


s MS. — " Of spotless faith, and bosom bold." 


Or who to foreign climes hath fled . . . 


« MS. — " When mortals meditate within 


16 


Fresh guilt or unrepented sia." 



122 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iV 


Across the furzy liilla of Braid. 


From west to east, from north to south, 


They pass'd the glen and scanty rill, 


Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 


And dimb'd the opposing bank, until 


Marmion might hear the mingled hiun 


They gain'd the top of Bkckford Hill. 


Of myriads up the moimtain come : 




The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, 


XXIV. 


Where chiefs review'd their vassal rnnk, 


Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast. 


And charger's shrilling neigh ; 


Among the broom, and thorn, and whin. 


And see the shifting lines advance, 


A truant boy, I sought the nest. 


While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance, 


Or listed, as I lay at rest. 


The sun's reflected ray. 


While rose, on breezes thin, 




The murmur of the city crowd, 


xxvn. 


And, from liis steeple jangling loud, 


Thin curling in the morning air, 


Saint Giles's mingling din. 


The wreaths of failing smoke declare 


Now, from the summit to the plain, 


To embers now the brands decay'd. 


Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 


Where the night-watch their fires had made 


And o'er the landscape as I look, 


They ^aw, slow rolling on the plain. 


Naught do I see unchanged remain. 


Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 


Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 


And dire artillery's clumsy car. 


To me they make a heavy moan. 


By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 


Of early friendships past and gone. 


And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,* 




And culverins wliich France had given. 


XXV. 


ni-omen'd gift ! the guns remain 


' But different far the change has been,' 


The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 


Since Marmion, from the crown 




Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 


XXVIIL 


Upon the bent so brown : 


Nor mark'd they less, where in the air 


Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 


A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 


Spread all the Borough-moor below," 


Various in shape, device, and hue. 


Upland, and dale, and down : — 


Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 


A thousand did I say ? I ween,' 


Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square, 


Thousands on thousands there were seen, 


Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandiol,' there 


That checker'd all the he^th between 


O'er the pavilions flew.*' 


The streamlet and the town; 


Highest and midmost, was descried 


In crossing ranks extending far. 


The royal banner floating wide ; 


Formmg a camp irregular ;* 


The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight," 


Oft giving way, where stUl there stood 


Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone, 


Some reUcs of the old oak wood. 


Which still in memory is shown, 


That darkly huge did intervene, 


Yet bent beneath the standard's weight 


And tamed the glaring white with green 


Whene'er the western wind tmroU'd, 


In these extended lines there lay 


With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, 


A martial kingdom's vast array. 


And gave to view the dazzling field. 




Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. 


XXVL . 


The ruddy Uon ramp'd in gold.' 


For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 




To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 


XXIX. 


And from the southern Redswire edge. 


Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,—" 


To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 


He view'd it with a chief's deUght, — 


' MS.^" But, oh I far different change haa been 


9 Each of these fendal ensigns intimated the different rank k 


Since Marmion, from the crown 


those entitled to display them. 


Of Blackford-hill, upon the scene 


' See Appendii, Note 3 F. 


Of Scotland's war look'd d' wn." 


e MS. — " The standard staff, a mountain plus, 


1 See Appendii, Note 3 E. 


Pitch'd in a huge memorial stone, 


• MS. — " A thousand said the verse? I ween. 


That still in monument is shown.' 


Thousands on Ihonsands there were seen, 


9 See Appendix, Note 3 G. 


That whiten'd all the heath between." 


'» MS.—" Lord Marmion's large dark eye flash'd light. 




It kindled with a chief's delight, 


* Here ends the stanza in the MS. 


Forglow'd with martial joy his heart. 


* Seven colverins so called, cast by one Borthwick. 


As upon battle^day." 



CANTO IV. MARMION. 123 


Until within him burn'd his heart, 


As if to give his rapture vent, 


And hglitning from his eye did part, 


The spiu- he to his charger lent. 


As on the battle-day ; 


And raised his bridle hand. 


feaeh glance did falcon never dart, - 


And, making denii-volte in ail, 


When stooping on his prey. 


Cried, " Where's the coward that would not aar« 


' On ! weU, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, 


To fight for such a land 1" 


Thy King from warfare to dissuade 


The Liudesay smiled his joy to see ;" 


Were bu' a Viiiu essay : 


Nor Marmiou's frown repress'd his glee. 


For, by Siiint George, were that host mine, 




Ifot power iuftrual nor divine. 


XXXL 


Should once to peace my soul incline, 


Thus while they look'd a flourish proud. 


Till I had dinim'd their armor's shine 


Where mingled trump and clarion loud, 


In glorious battle-fray !" 


And fife, and kettle-drum. 


Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood: 


And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 


" Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 


And war-pipe with discordant cry, 


That kings would think withal. 


And cymbal clattering to the sky, 


When peace and wealth theu- land has bless'd, 


Making wild music bold and high. 


Tb better to sit still at rest,' 


Did up the motmtain come ; 


Than rise, perchance to faU." 


The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 




Merrily toU'd the hour of prune, 


XXX. 


And thus the Lindesay spoke :* 


Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd. 


" Thus clamor still the war-notes when 


For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd. 


The king to mass his way has ta'en. 


When sated with the martial show 


Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,' 


That peopled all the plain below. 


Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 


The wandering eye could o'er it go. 


To you they speak of martial fame ;' 


And mark the distant city glow 


But me remind of peaceful game, 


With gloomy splendor red ; 


When bUther was their cheer, 


For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow. 


Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 


That round her sable turrets flow, 


In signal none his steed should spare, 


The morning beams were shed, 


But strive which foremost might repair 


And tinged them with a lustre proud. 


To the downfall of the deer. 


Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 




Such dusky grandeiu- clothed the height, 


XXXIL 


Where the huge Castle holds its state, 


" Nor less," he said,-^-" when looking forth. 


And all the steep slope down. 


I view yon Empress of the North 


Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 


Sit on her hilly throne ; 


Piled deep and massy, close and high. 


Her palace's imperial bowers, , 


Mine own romantic town I^ 


Her castle, proof to hostile powers. 


But northward far, with purer blaze. 


Her stately halls and holy towers — '' 


On OchQ mountains fell the rays. 


Nor less," he said, " I moan. 


And -w each heathy top they kiss'd. 


To think what woe mischance may bring. 


It gleaii. _! <i xiurple amethyst. 


And how these merry beUs may rmg 


Yonder the sno?es of Fife you saw ; 


The death-dhge of our gallant king ; 


Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law : 


Or with the larum call 


And broad between them roU'd, 


The burghers forth to watch and ward. 


The g iUant Frith the eye might note. 


'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 


WL.^L*e islands on its bosom float. 


Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall. — 


Like emeralds chased in gold. 


But not for my presaging thought. 


Fitz-Eustace' heart felt'dosely pent; 


Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought I* 


• MS. — " 'Tia better sitting still at real. 


9 MS. — " The Lion smiled his joy to see.' 


Than rising but to fall ; 


« MS.—" And thus the Lion spolte." 


"nd while these words they did eithajig-e. 


6 MS.- Or to our Lady's of Sienne." 


They reach' d the camp's extremest range." 


« MS.— To you they speak of martial fame, 


The Poei appears to have struck his pen through the two 


To me of mood more mild and tamo - 


loea in italics, on conceiving the magnigcent picture which t«- 


Blither would be their cheer." 


slaces them in the text. 


' MS. — " Her stately fanes anti holy towen." 


• US — " Dnn-Edin's towers and town." 


8 MS. — " Dream of a conquest cheaply bought * * 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Canto v 



Lord Mannion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the field, 
He breaks the champion's spear and shiela,— 

But thou thyself shalt say, 
When joins yon host in deadly stowre. 
That Euglimd's dames must weep in bower, 

Her monks the death-mass sing ;' 
For never saw'st tliou such a power 

Led on by such a King." — 
A-';d now, down winding to the plain, 
The barriers of the camp they gain, 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Miiutrel, till ho fling 
His hand o'er every Border string. 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing, 
Of Scotland's ancient Court •'nd King, 

In the succeeding lay. 



iH arm ion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.' 



GEORGE ELLIS, ESa.5 

Edmburgh. 
When dark December glooms the day, 
And takes om- autumn joys away ; 
When short and scant the sunbeam throws. 
Upon the weary waste of snows, 
A cold and profitless regard, 
Like patron on a needy bard ; 
When silvan occupation's done, 
And o'er the chimney rests the gun, 
And hang, in idle trophy, near. 
The game-pouch, fisliing-rod, and spear ; 
When wiry terrier, rough and gi'im, 
And greyhound, with liis length of limb. 
And pointer, now employ'd no more, 
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 
When in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed ; 
Wlieu from our snow-encircled home. 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
Since path is none, save that to bring 

J MS. — " Their monks dead masses sing.'* 
'*Tliese InTroductory Epistles, tliongh exeellent in tliem- 
lelves, are in fact only interruptions to tlje fable, and accord- 
ingly, nine readers out of ten Itave perused tliffln separately, 
either before, or after the poem. In short, the personal ap- 
pearance of the Minstrel, who, though the Last, is the most 
chamvng of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the 
Idea of an atitlior shorn of liis picturesque beard, and writing 
letters to his intimate friends." — George Ellis. 

3 This acconipUshed gentleman, tlie well-known coadjutor 
of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere in the " Antijacobin," and edi- 
or of " Specimens of Ancient Englisii Romances," &c., died 



The needful water from the spring ; 

When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er. 

Beguiles the dreary horn' no more, 

And darkling politician, cross'd, 

Inveighs iigainst the lingering post, 

And .answering housewife sore complains 

Of carriers' snow-impeded wtxins ; 

Wlien such the country cheer, I come, 

Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 

For converse, and for books, to cliange 

The Forest's melancholy rtmge. 

And welcome, with renow'd delight, 

The busy diiy and sociid night. 

Not here need my desponding rliyme 
Lament the rav.age3 of time. 
As erst by New.ark's riven towers. 
And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,' 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its stegpy limits pent. 
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky flood. 
Guarded and garrison'd she stood. 
Denying entrance or resort. 
Save at each tall emb,attled port : 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long. 
Since, early closed, and opening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate. 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlisldy supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-gii-t was thy brow, 
Dim-Edin ! 0, how alter'd now, 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport, 
And liber.al, unconfined and fr'ee. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,' 
For tliy dark cloud, with umber'd lower, 
That hung o'er cliflf, and lake, and tower. 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the Championess of old. 
In Spenser's magic tale em-oU'd, 
She for the cli.armcd spear renown'd 



10th April, 1815, aged 70 years ; being succeeded in his € 
by his brother Charles Ellis, Esq., created, in 1827, Lord t'eo 
ford.— Ed. 
* See Introduction to canto ii. 
6'See Appendix, Note 3 H. 

3 Since writing this line, I find I have inadvertently borrow 
ed it almost verbatim, though with somewhat a different meaa 
ing, from a chorus in " Ciractacus ;" 

" Britain heard the descant bold. 

She flung her white arms o'er tne sea, 
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold 
The freight of harmony." 



CAHTO V. 



MARMION. 



12k 



Which forced each knight to Idss the ground,— 

Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 

Wliat time elie was Maibecco'a guest,' 

She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 

When from the corslet's grasp reUeved, 

Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 

Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 

15rst hidden by the avcntayle ; 

And down her shoulders graceful roH'd 

Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 

They who whilom, in midnight fight, 

Had marvell'd at her matchless might, 

No less her maiden charms approved, 

But looking Uked, and hldiig loved.' 

The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 

And charm Malbecco's cares a while ; 

And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 

Forgot his Colmnbella's claims, 

And passion, erst unknown, could gain 

The breast of blunt Su' Satyrane ; 

Nor durst hght Paridel advance. 

Bold as he was, a looser glance. 

She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart. 

Incomparable Britomarte ! 

So thou, fair city I disarrayed 
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid. 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and seciu-ity are flown ; 
Still, as of yore. Queen of the North I 
Still canst thou send thy cMiiren forth. 
Ne'er readier a', alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall. 
Than now. m danger, shall be tliine. 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Tliy thousands, train'd to martial toil. 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Kenown'd for hospitable deed. 
That virtue much with heaven may plead. 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deign'd to share ; 
That claun may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for The Good Town, 

> g«e "The Fairy aneen," iiook Hi. canto ix. 

• '* For everj' one her IJted and every one her loved." 

PpENSKR, as above, 

• Se^ Apf»ndi.x, Note 3 '. 

• In 'anuar/, 1706, the exiled Connt d'Artois, nflerwarda 
i«baf<es X. o( France, took aphis residence in Holyrood, where 



Destined in every ago to be 

Refuge of inj lu-ed- royalty ; 

Since first, when conquering York arose, 

To Heiuy meek she gave repose,' 

Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe. 

Great Boiu-bon's rehcs, sad she saw.' 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they riM, 
How gladly J avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change. 
For Fiction's fair romantic range. 
Or for tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim, 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see^ 
Creation of my fantasy, 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,' 
And make of mists invading men. 
"Wlio loves not more the night of Jime 
Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonUght than the fog of frost ? 
And can we say, which cheats the most ? 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain, 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear,' 
Famed Beauclerc c.all'd, for that he loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem. 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
I Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung ? — 
! born, Time's ravage to repair, 

id make the dying Muse thy care , 
V 'i, when his scythe her hoary foe 
Wii loising for the final blow, 
The weapon from his hand could wring, 
And break liis glass, and shear liis wing. 
And bid, reviving in his strain. 
The gentle poet hve again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
Ah impedantic mora! gay. 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life approved 
Example honor'd, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A le.sson of thy magic art. 
To win at once the head' and heart, — 

he remained until Augost, 1799. When again driven from IIM 
country by tlie Revolution of July, 1830. tlie same unforttmaW 
Prince, with all the immediate members of Iiis family, sought 
refuge once more in the ancient palace of the Stuarts, and r0 
roained there until 18th September, 1833. 

^ MS. — " Than gaze out on the foggy fen " 

' See Appendix, Note 3 K. 



126 . SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cast'o y 


At once to charm, instruct and mend, 


Upon the Southern band to stare. 


My guide, my pattern, and my friend !' 


And envy with their wonder rose, 




To see such well-appointed foes ; 


Such minstrel lesson to bestow 


Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,' 


Be long thy pleasing task, — but, 1 


So huge, that many simply thought, 


No more by thy example teach. 


But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ; 


— What few can practise, all can preach, — 


And little deem'd theu- force to feel. 


With CTen patience to endure 


Through links of mail and plates of steel. 


Lingering disease, and painful cure, 


Wlien rattling upon Flodden vale, 


And boast affliction's pangs subdued 


The clotli-yard arrows flew like haiL' 


By mild and manly fortitude. 




Enough, the lesson has been given : 


II. 


Forbid the repetition, Heaven I 


Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 




Glance every line and squadron through; 


Come listen, then 1 for thou hast known. 


And much he marveU'd one sm.all land 


And loved the Minstrel's v.arying tone. 


Could marshal forth such various band : 


Wbo, like his Border sires of old, 


For men-at-arms were here. 


"Waked a wild measure rude and bold, 


Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 


Tin Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 


Like iron towers for strength and weight, 


With wonder heard the northern strain.' 


On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 


Come listen ! bold in thy applause, 


With battle-axe and spear. 


The B.ard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 


Young knights and squires, a lighter train, 


1 And, as the ancient ai-t could stain 


Practised their chargers on the plain,' 


Achievements on the storied pane. 


By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 


Irregularly traced and plann'd. 


Each warlike feat to show, 


But yet so glowing and so grand, — 


To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 


So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 


And high curvett, that not in vain 


Field, feast, and combat to renew, 


The sword sway might descend amain 


And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, . 


On foeman's casque below.' 


And all the pomp of chivalry. 


He saw the hardy burghers there 


• 


March arm'd, on foot, with feces bare,' 
For visor they wore none. 






Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 


iH a r m 1 n . 


But burnish'd were then- corslets bright, 




Their brigantines, and gorgets light. 
Like very silver shone. 




CANTO FIFTH. 


Long pikes they liad for standing fight, 
Two-handed swords they wore.. 


• 


Srse Court. 


And many wielded mace of weight,' 


The train has left the liills of Braid ; 


And bucklers bright they bore. 


III. 


Tlie barrier guard' have open made 


On foot the yeoman too, but dresa'd 


(So Lindesay bade) tlie palisade, 


In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 


That closed the tented gi-ound ; 


With iron quilted well ; 


Their men the w.arders backward drew. 


Each at liis back (a slender store) 


And carried pikes as they rode through, 


His forty days' provision bore, 


Info its ample bound.^ 


As feudal statutes tell. 


Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. 


His arms were halbert, axe, or spear," 


1 ■ Come then, my friend, my genioa, come along. 


And RJarmion with his train rode through. 


Oh master of the poet and the song 1" 


Across its ample bound." 


Pope to Bolingbroke. 


* MS. — " So long their shafts, so large their bows." 


» At Sunning-hill, Sir. Ellis's seat, near Windsor, part of the 


6 See Appcndi.T, Note 3 L. 


lis; two cantos of Mairaion were written. 


MS. — " There urffcd their chargers on the plain.' 


» MS. — " The baiTier gnard the Lion knew. 


' See Appendix, Note 3 M. e Ibid. Note 3 M 


Advanced their pikes, and soon withdrew 


» MS.—" And malls did many S •""'''' j of raighL 


The slender palisades and few 


( bear i 


TJiat closed the te- 'ed ground ; 


"> See AnDeudix. Note 3 O 



OANTO V 



ARMION. 



A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife, :md briind. 
Sobtr fc; seeni'd, and sad of cheer, 
As loih to leave his cottage dear, 
And march to foreign strand ; 
Of musing, "who would guide his steer. 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 

More di-eadful far his ire 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came. 
Their valor like Mght straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 

IV. 

Not so the Borderer : — bred to war, 
He knew the battle's din af'xr. 

And joy'd to hear it swell 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe. Ids ear could please 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The hght-arm'd pricker plied his trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead. 
Burghers to guard then townships bleed. 

But war's the Borderer's game. 
Their gain, then glory, their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way, 
Scarce caring who might win the day, 

Their booty was secur<;. 
Thf «p. '(S Lord Marniion's train pass'd by, 
Look'u on at first with careless eye. 
Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to 

know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the Lord array'd 
In splendid arms and rich brocade, 
Each Borderer to liis kinsman said, — 

"Hist, Ringan! seest thou there ! 
Ctiist guess which road they'll homeward 

nde ?— 
O ! widd we but on Border side. 
By Eusedsie gl-n, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide, 
Might chance to lose his glistering hide ;' 
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied. 

Could make a kirtle rare." 



MS. — " Hisl, Ringan ! seest thou there f 

Canst gness wliat homeward road they take — 
By Ensedaie glen, or Yetholm laket 
O '. coqM Hi* bat by bosh or brake 
Beset a ptize ro fair t 



V. 

Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race, 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the Cliiefs their tribes array'd. 
And wUd and garish semblance made, 
Tlie chocker'd trews, and belted plaid, 
And v;irying notes the war-pipes bray'd. 

To every varying clan ; 
Wild tlnough their red or sable hair 
Look'd out their eyes with savage stare,' 

On Marmion as he pass'd ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 

And harden'd to the blast; 
Of taller race, the cliiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's imdress'd hide 
Then hauy buskins well suppUed ; 
Tlie graceful bonnet deck'd their head : 
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid 
A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targi they wore. 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow. 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry. 
As with his guide rode M-armion by. 
Loud were their clamoring tongues, as when 
The clangmg sea-fowl leaves the fen, 
And, with their cries discordant mix'd. 
Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. 

VI. 

Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd, 
And reach'd the City gate at last. 
Where all around, a wakeful guard, 
Arra'd biu-ghers kept their watch and ward- 
Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
When lay cncamp'd, in £eld so near. 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they go. 
All was alive with martial show : 
At every turn, with dinning clang, 
Tlie armorer's anvil dash'd and rang : 
Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 
Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
Of jarring grmdstone was applied. 



The fangless Lion, too. his gnido, 
Might chance to lose his glittering hide.*' 

* 

3 MS.^" Wild from tlieir red and swarthy bait - 

Look'd tliroa^h tlieir eves with savaee itatf 



128 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO ■» 



Page, groom, and sqiiire, with hurrying pace. 


And flinty is her heart, can view- 


Through street, and lane, and market-place. 


To battle march a lover true- 


Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 


Can hear, perchance, his last adieu. 


WMle burgherg, with important face, 


Nor own her share of pain. 


Described each new-come lord. 




Uiscuss'd his lineage, told his name, 


VIIL 


TTi't following,' and his warlike fame. 


- Through this mix'd crowd of glee and gB 


The Lion led to lodging meet, 


The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 


Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street ; 


WhUe, revel ent, all made room. 


There must the Baron rest. 


An easy task it was, I trow. 


Till past the hour of vesper tide. 


King James's manly form to know ; 


And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 


Although, his courtesy to show. 


Such was the King's behejt. 


He doff 'd, to Marmion bending low, 


Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 


His broider'd cap and plmne. 


A banquet rich, and costly ■wines. 


For royal was liis g.arb and mien, 


To Marmion and his traui ;' 


His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 


And when the appointed hour succeeds, 


Trinun'd with the fur of martin wild ; 


The Baron dons his peaceful weeds. 


His vest of cliangefitl satin sheen. 


And following Lindesay as he leads, 


The dazzled eye beguiled ; 


The palace-liaUs they gain. 


His gorgeous collar hung adown, 




Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,* 


vn. 


The thistle brave, of old renown : 


old Holy-Rood rung merrily. 


His trusty blade, Toledo right,* 


That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee : 


Descended from a baldric bright ; 


King James within her princely bower. 


Wliite were his buskins, on the heel 


Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power. 


His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 


Summon'd to spend the parting hour ; 


His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 


For he had charged, that liis array 


Was button'd with a ruby rare : 


Should southward march by break of day. 


And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 


Well loved that splendid monarch aye 


A prince of such a noble mien. 


The banquet and the song, 




By day the tourney, and by night 


DC. 


The merry dance, traced fast and Kght, 


The Monarch's form was middle size , 


The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 


For feat of strength, or exercise, 


The'revel loud and long. 


Shaped in proportion fair ; 


This feast outshone his banquets past ; 


And hazel was his eagle eye, 


It was his blithest — and liis last. 


And auburn of the darkest dye 


The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay. 


His short cm'l'd* beard and hair. 


Cast on the Court a dimcmg ray ; 


Light was liis footstep in the dance. 


Here to the harp did minstrels sing; 


And firm his stirrup in the Usts ; 


There laches touch'd a softer strmg ; 


And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 


With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest. 


Th.at seldom lady's heart resists. 


The licensed fool retailjd Iiis jest ; 


Lightly from fair to fair he flew, , 


His magic tricks the juggler pUed ; 


And loved to plead, lament, and sue ;— 


At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 


Suit lightly won, and sliort-Uved pain. 


WliUe some, in close recess apart. 


. For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 


Courted the ladies of their heart, 


I said he joy'd in banquet bower; 


Nor courted them in vain ; 


But, 'mid liis nurth, 'twas often strange, 


For often, in the parting hour. 


How suddenly his cheer would change, 


Victorious Love asserts his power 


His look o'ercast and lower. 


O'er coldness and disdain ; 


If in a sudden turn, he felt ' 


» FoUoTDing — Fenclal retainera. — This word, ny the way. 


« MS.—" His tru >-7 blade, Toledo right, * , 


jaa been, since the Author of Marmion used it, and thought it 


Descen led from a baldric bright. 


»Iled for explanation, completely adopted into English, and 


And dangled at his knee ; 


IBpecially into Parliamentary parlance. — Ed. 


White were bis buskios ; from their hid 


« See Appendis, Note 3 P. 


His spurs inlaid ) „ , , 

His fretted spurs ("f SO''* «")"«'' 


MS.— * Bearing the badge of Scotland's crown." 


We e jingliDg merrilv." 



CANTO y. 



MARMION. 



129 



Tlie pressure of his iron belt, 
That bound his breast m penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain.' 
Kven so 'twas strange how, evermore. 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er, 
Forward he rush'd, with double glee, 
Into the stream of revelry : 
Thus, dim-seen object of aflright 
Startles the coiu-ser in liis flight, 
And half he halts, half springs aside ; 
But feels the quickening spur applied. 
And, straining on the tighten'd rein. 
Scours doubly swift o'ei* liill and plain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway ;' 

To Scotland's Coui-t she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
Who Cessford's gallant heai't had gored. 
And with the King to make accord, 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay King allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent liim a turquois ring ami glove, 
And charged luni, as her knight and love. 

For her to break a lance ; 
And strike three strokes with Scotti>ili brand,' 
And march three miles on Southron hind. 
And bid the baimers of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen h"" drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 
And' thus admitted Enghsh fr.ir 
ilis inmost counsel", still to shar i ; 
And thus, for both, he ma.Ity plann'd 
The ruin of himself anri land ! 

And yet, the sooth to tell. 
Nor England 3 fair, nor France's Queen,' 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and .sheen, 

From Margaret's eye that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, vrho, in Lithgow's 

bower, 
AU lonely sat, and wept t'je weary hour. 

XI 

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile^ 

And weeps the wrsary day. 
The war agaijst Ler native soil, 

> See Appendli, Note 3 a. 

• Ibid. Note 3 R. = Ibiii. Note 3 S. 
< MS. — " Nor France's Qacen, nor England's fair. 

Were worth one pearl-drop, passing mv. 
From Margaret's eyes that fell." 

• The MS. has only— 

" For. all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimpled hood and gorget's pride ; 
17 



Her Monarch's risk in battle broil j— 
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while. 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flow ; 
And as she touch'd and tuned them all, 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view ; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied." 
And first she pitch'd her voice to sing, 
Tlien glanced her dark eye on the King, 
And then around the silent ring ; 
And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say 
Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, 
She could not, would not, durst not play " 
At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, air she rung, 
Wliile thus the wily lady sung : — 

XII. 

LOCHINVAR.' 

JlaTJB JQecon's Sona. 
O, yoimg Lochuivar is come out of the we.sl. 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best 
And save iiifl good broadsword he weapons had 

none. 
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvai. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone. 
He Bwam the Eske river where ford there was 

none ; 
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fan' Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, auj 

all; 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on liia swntd 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word). 
" come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochuivar ?" — 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;— 

And on the righted harp with glee, 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, air she rang. 
While thus her voice attendant sang." 

6 The ballad of Lochinvar is in a very slight degree fonndeo 
on a ballad called " Katharine Janfarie," which may be roaod 
in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. iii. 



180 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTO D 



Ijove swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide—' 
And now am I come, with Hiis lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That woidd gladly be bride to the yoimg Locliin- 



The bride kiss'd the goblet, the kniglit took it up, 
He quaff 'd off the wine, and he threw down the 

cup. 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to 

sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear m her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure 1" said yoimg Lochin- 

var. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

Wliile her mother did fret, and her father did 
fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
plume ; 

And the bride-maideus whisper'd, " 'Twere better 
by far, 

To have match'd our lair cousin with young Loch- 
invar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her cai-, 
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger 

stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung I 
" She is won I we are gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur ; 
They'll have fleet 3tee«ls that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvai'. 

There was mounting 'mong Grjeraes of the Neth- 

erby clan ; 
Forsters, Fcnwicks, and llusgraves, they rode and 

they ran : 
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
Hut the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
Bo daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
Hue ye e'er heard of gallant like young Locliin- 

vai ■ 

XIII 
Tlie Monarch o'er the siren nung 
And beal the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressiag closer, and more near, 

1 See the novel of Redgauntlet, for a detailed pictore of E^orae 
if Itie extraordinary [ihenomena of theaprinij-iKieB in the Sol- 
r\y Frith. 

' MS.— And whet his blood and heart were hiifh 



He whisper'd praises in her ear. 

In loui applause the coin-tiers vie J; . 

And ladies wink'd, and spoke asid*». 

The witching dame to Marmion thr«w 
A glance, where seem'd to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due. 

And of Iter royal conquest too. 
A real or feign'd disdain : 
FamiUai' was the look, and told, 
Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The King observed their meeting eyes, 
With something like displeased surprise 
For monarchs ill can Vivals brook, 
Even in a word, or sniUe, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad 
Wliich Marmion's high commission show'd ; 
" Oiu- Borders sdck'd by many a raid, 
Om* peaceful liege-men robb'd," he said : 
" On day of truce otn Warden slain. 
Stout Barton kill'd, his vassals ta'en— 
Unworthy were we here to reign. 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; 
Om- full defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Our herald has to Hemy borne." 

XIV. 
He paused, and led where Douglas stood. 
And with stern eye the pageant vieVd : 
I mean th.at Douglas, sixth of yore. 
Who coronet of Angus bore, 
And, when liis blood and heart were hign,' 
Did the third James in camp defy. 
And .all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary flat : 
Princes swid favorites long^'ew tame, 
And trombled at the homely name 

Of Arcliibald Bell-the-Cat ;' 
The same wlio left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers, 
Wliere liothwell's turrets brave the air, 
And Bolhwell bank is blooming fair, 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His armor for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff his brand, 
Yet often would flash forth the fire. 
That cfluld, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstatid ; 
And even tliat day, at council board. 

Unapt to sootlie his sovereign's mood, 

Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal lord ' 

King James's minions led to dis. 

On J.ander's dreary flat." 
3 Bdl-the-Cat, sec AppendLx, Note ? T. 
* See Appendix, Note 311. 



1 



! 



3Ainro V. 



MARMION. 



13i 



XV 

His giaiit-form, like ruin'd tower, 
Tliougli fiiU'n its muscles' brawny vaunt, 
Huge-bonoil, and taU, and grim, and gaunt, 

Seeni'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks and beard in silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Near iJduglas when the Monarch stood, 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
" Lord Mariaic, since these letters say 
That in tha North you needs must stay, 

Wliile slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, 
To say — Return to Lindisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. — 
rhen rest you in TantaUon Hold ;' 
i'our host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A cliief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade,' 
Theu' blazon o'er his towers display 'd ; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, 
More than to face liis country's foes. 

And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen, 

But e'en this morn to me was given' 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
6hall safe return to cloister shades, 
And, while they at TantaUon stay, 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say.'' 
And, with the slaughter'd favorite's name, 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
\ cloud of ire remorse, and shame. 

XVI. 
In answer naught could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swell'd-wellnigh to break 
He turn'd aside, syid down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch sudden tdtik. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul,' 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as dotli his spirit Uve, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold, 
In speech more free, in war more bolil. 
More tender and more true :' 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." 
And, while the King liis hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain, 

8ee App> ndii. Note 3 V. 
' See Appendix, Note 3 VV. 
• MS. — " But yester raom was hither driven." 
■ 1 ^e oext two lines are not in the original MS. 



To seize the moment Marmion tried, 
And whisper'd to the King aside : 
" Oh 1 let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed I 
A child wiU weep a bramble's smart, 
A miiid to see her sparrow part," 
A stripling for a womiui's heart : 
But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high, 
When Douglas wets his manly eye 1" 

XVIL 
Displeased was James, that stranger view'd 
And tamper'd with his changing mood. 
" Laugh those that can, weep those that may, ' 
Tims did the fiery Monarch say, 
" Southward I march by break of day ; 
And if witliin TantaUon strong, 
The good Lord Mai'mion tarries long. 
Perchance our meeting next may faU 
At Tamworth, in liis castle-hall." — 
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 
And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt : 
" Much lionor'd were my humble home. 
If in its halls King James should come ; 
But Nottuigham has archers good. 
And York.shire men are stern of mood ; 
Northumbrian prickers wUd and rude. 
On Derby Hills tlie paths are steep; 
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
And many a banner wiU be torn, 
And many a knight to earth be borne, 
And many a sheaf of arrows spent. 
Ere Scotland's King .shall cross the Trent : 
Yet pause, brave Prince, wliile yet you may 1"- 
The Monarch lightly turfi'd away. 
And to his nobles loud did caU, — 
" Lords, to the dance, — a haU ! a haU !'" 
Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 
And led Dame Heron gallantly; 
And minstrels, at the royal order. 
Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 

XVIIL 
Leave we these revels now, to tell 
Wliat to Saint Hilda's maids bofeU, 
Whose galley, as they sail'd again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Kdin did they bide, 
TiU James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by liis command. 
Were gently summon'd to prepare 

6 " O, Dowglas ! Dowalas I 
Tendir and trew." 

The UotUate. 
MS. — " A maid to see her tove rffpart." 
' The ancient cry to make room lor a dance or taffsaii 



132 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto » 


To journey under Marmion's care, 


There on their brows the mo n- beam 


As escort lionnrM, safe, and fair, 


broke. 


Again to English land. 


Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, 


The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, 


And on the casements play'd. 


Nor knew which saint she should implore ; 


And other Hght was none to see, 


For, when she thouf;ht of Constance, sore 


Save torches gliding far. 


She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 


Before some chieftain of degree. 


And judge what Clara must have felt I 


Who left the royal revelry, 


Thi; sword, that hung in Marmion's belt. 


To bowne him for the war. — 


Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 


A solenm scene the Abbess chose ; 


iruMittingly, King James had given. 


A solemn hom-, her secret to disclose. 


As guard to Wliitby's shades. 




Tlie man most dreaded under Heaven 


XXI. 


By these defenceless maids : 


" 0, holy Palmer 1" she began, — 


Yet what petition could avail. 


" For sure he must be sainted man. 


Or who would listen to the tale 


Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 


Of woman, prisoner, and mm. 


Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 


'Mid bustle of a war begun ? 


For his dear Church's sake, my tale 


They deem'd it hopeless to avoid 


Attend, nor deem of light avail. 


The convoy of their dangerous guide. 


Though I must speak of worldly love, — 




How vain to those who wed above ! — 


XIX. 


De WUton and Lord Marmion woo'd' 


Their lodging, so the Iving assign'd. 


Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 


To Marmion's, as their guardian, join'd ; 


(Idle it were of Wliitby's dame. 


And thus it feU, th.at, passing nigh, 


To say of that s.ame blood I came) ; 


The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 


And once, when jealous rage w.is high. 


Who wam'd liiin by a scroll. 


Lord Marmion said despiteously. 


She had a secret to reveal. 


Wilton was traitor in his heart, 


That much conccm'd the Church's weal, 


And had made league With Martin Swart, 


And health of smner's soul ; 


Wlien he came here on Simnel's part ; 


And, with deep charge of secrecy. 


And only cowardice did restrain 


She named a place to meet. 


His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 


Witliin an open balcony. 


And down he threw his glove : — the thing 


That hung from dizzy pitch, and high. 


Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 


Above the stately street : 


■JVliere frankly did De Wilton own. 


To wliich, as common to each home. 


That Swart in Gueldres'lie had known ; 


At night they might in secret come. 


And that between them then there went 




Some scroll of courteous compliment. 


XX. 


For tills he to his castle sen^ ; 


At night, in secret, there they came. 


But when his messenger return'd. 


The Palmer and the holy Dame. 


Judge how De Wilton's fuiy bm-n'd ! 


The moon among the clouds rose high. 


For in his packet there was laid ■ 


Arfd aU the city hum was by. 


Letters that claim'd disloyal aid. 


Upon the street, where l.ate before 


And proved King Henry's cause betray'd, 


Did din of war and w.arriors roar. 


His fame, thus blighted, m the field ' 


You might have heard a pebble fall, 


He strove to clear, by spe.ar and shield ; — 


A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 


To clear his fame, m viiin he strove. 


An owlet Sap his boding wing 


For wondrous are His wiiys above ! 


On Giles's steeple tall. 


Perchance some form was unobserved ; 


The antique buildings,' climbing high. 


Perdiance in pr.iyer, or faith, he swerved ;• 


Wliose Gotliic frontlets sought the sky. 


Else how could guiltless champion quail. 


Were here wj-apt deep in shade ; 


Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 


1 " There are passages in which the flatness and tedionsness 


ing off. We select it from the Abbess's explanation to Dl 


:i*lhe narrative is relieved by no sort of beauty nor elegance of 


Wilton ;— 'De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd,' &c. (hai 


iiction, and which form an extraordinary contrast with the 


twenty-two following lines)." — Jeffrey, 


arore animated and finished jwrlions of the poem. We shall 


J See Api>endii, Note 3 X. 


v>t atflict onr reader? witli nore than one specimen of this fall- 


» Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



Murov. , MARMION. ISt 


XXIL 


Traced quaint and vai-ying character. 


" His squire, w ho now De Wiltou saw 


Perdiance you may a marvel deem. 


As recreiuit doom'd to suffer law, 


That Marmion's paramour 


Repentant, owu'd in vain, 


(For sudi vile thing she was) should scheme 


That, wliile he had the scrolls in care, 


Her lover's nuptial hour ; 


A. stranger maiden, passing fan-. 


But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 


Had drenoh'il him with a beverage rare : 


As privy to liis honor's stain. 


His words no faith could gain. 


niiraitable power : 


With Clare alone he credence won. 


For tills she secretly retain'd 


Who, rat'Acr than wed Mai'niion, 


Each proof that might the plot revea) 


Hid to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 


Instructions with his hand and seal 


To give our house her livmgs fiur ' 


And thus Saint Hilda deign'd. 


And die a vestal vot'ress there. 


Tlirough sumer's perfidy impure, 


The impulse from the earth was given, 


Her house's glory to secure. 


But bent her to the paths of heavea 


And Clare's immortal weal. 


A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 




Ne'er shelter'd her in Whitby's shade. 


XXIV. 


No. not since Saxon Edelfled ; 


" 'Twere long, and needless, here to teU. 


Onlj' one trace of earthly strain, 


How to my hand these papers fell ; 


Tliat for her lover's loss 


With me they must not stay. 


She cherishes a sorrow vain. 


Sauit Hilda keep her Abbess true I 


And murmurs at the cross. — 


Who knows what outVage he might do. 


And then her heritage ; — it goes 


While jom-neying by the way 1 — 


Along the banks of Tame ; 


0, blessed Saint, if e'er again 


Deep fields of grain the reaper mows 


I ventiurous leave thy calm domain. 


In meadows rich the heifer lows. 


To travel or by land or main. 


The falconer and huntsman knows 


Deep penance may I pay 1 — 


Its woodlimds for the game. 


Now, s,nintly Palmer, mark my prayer* 


Shame were it to Siiint Hilda dear, 


I give tliis packet to thy care. 


And I, her hurnble vot'ress here. 


For thee to stop they wiU not dare ; 


Should do a deadly sin. 


And ! with cautious speed. 


Her temple spoil'd before mine eyes, 


To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 


If this false JIarniion such a prize 


That he may show them to the king : 


By my consent should win ; 


And, for thy well-earn'd meed. 


Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 


Thou holy man, at 'Whitby's shrine 


That Clare shall from our house be torn ; 


A weekly mass shall still be thine, 


And grievous cause have I to fear. 


Wliile priests c^ smg and read. — 


Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 


What ail'st thou '—Speak !"— For as he took 




Tlie charge, a strong emotion shook 


XXIII. 


His frame ; and, ere reply, 


" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd 


They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 


To evil power, I claim thine aid. 


Like distant clarion feebly blown. 


By every step that thou hast trod 


That on the breeze did die ; 


To holy shrine and grotto dim. 


And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear, 


By every martyr's tortured limb. 


" Saint Withold, save us ! — What is here 1 


By angel, saint, and seraphim. 


Look at yon City Cross 1 


And by the Church of God ! 


See on its battled tower appear 


For mark:— When Wilton was betray'd. 


Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear. 


And with his squu-e forged letters laid. 


And blazon'd banners toss !" — 


She was, alas ! that suiful maid. 




By whom the deed was done, — 


XXV. 


! shame and horror to be said 1 — ' 


Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone,' 


She was a perjured nun 1 


Rose on a turret octagon ; 


No clerk m aU the land, like her, 


(But now is razed that monument 


' >IS. - " Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillarM stone. 


On its destrorei's drowsy > head I— 


Rose on a tuiret hezagon ; 


Upon its base destroyer's ' 


(Dn8^. onto dast, \erd unto lead. 


The Minstrel's malison is said.'^ 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ciNTe y 



■WTience royal edict rang, 


Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 




And voice of Scotland's law was sent 


De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 




In glorious trumpet-clang. 


The self-same thundering voice did say. — * 




! be his tomb as lead to lead, 


But then another spoke : 




Upon its duU destroyer's head ! — 


" Thy fatal summons I deny. 




A minstrel's malison' is said,') — 


And thine infernal Lord defy, 




Then on its battlements they saw 


Appealing me to Him on high, 




A vision, passing Nature's law, 


Who burst the sinner's yoke." 




Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 


At that dread accent, with a scream, 




Figures that seem'd to rise and die. 


Parted the pageant like a dream, 




Gibber and sign, advance and fly. 


The summoner was gone. 




While naught confirm'd could ear or eye 


Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 




Discern of sound or mien. 


And fast, and fast, her beads did teU ; 




Yet darkly did it seem, as there 


Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 




Heralds and Pursuivants prepare. 


And found her there alone. 




With tnmipct sound and blazon fair. 


She mark'd not, at the scene aghast. 




A summons to proclaim ; 


What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd. 




But indistinct the pageant proud. 






As fancy forms of midnight cloud. 


xxvn. 


• 


When flings the moon upon her shroud 


Shift we the scene. — The camp doth mova, 




A wavering tinge of flame ; 


Dun-Edin's streets are empty now. 




It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud. 


Save when, for weal of those they love, 




From midmost of the spectre crowd. 


To pray the prayer, and vow the vow. 




This awful summons came ; — ® 


The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
The gray-hair'd sire, with pious care, 




XXVL 


To chapels and to shiines repair — 




• Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer. 


Where is the Palmer now ? and where 




Wbose names I now shall call. 


The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 




Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ; 


Bold Douglas ! to TantaUon fair 




Subjects of him who sent me here, 


They jom-ney in thy charge : 




At his tribunal to appear, 


Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, 




I summon one and all : 


The Palmer still was with the band ; 




I cite you by each deadly sm, 


Angus, like Lindesay, did command, 




That e'er hath soil'd your hearts within : 


That nuns should roam at large. 




I cite you by each brutal lust. 


But in that Palmer's alter'd mien 




That e'er defiled your eartlily dust, — 


A wondrous change might now be «eea 




By wrath, by pride, by fear,* 


Freely he spoke of war. 




By each o'ermastering passion's tone. 


Of marvels wrought by single hand, 




By the dark grave, and dying groan ! 


When lifted for a native land ; 




Wben forty days are pass'd and gone," 


And stiU look'd liigh, as if he plann'if 




I cite you, at your Monarch's thi-one. 


Some desperate deed afar. 




To answer and appear." 


His courser would he feed and stroka 




Then thunder'd forth •roll of names : 


And, tucking up his sable frocke. 




The fii'st was thine, mihappy James ! 


Would first his mettle bold provoke^ 




Then all thy nobles came ; 


Then sooth or quell his pride. 




Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 


Old Hubert said, that never one 




Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 


He saw, except Lord Marmion, 




Why sliould I tell theh- separate style ; 


A steed so fairly ride. 




Each cliief of birth and lame. 






Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 


xxvm. 




Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile. 


Some half-hour's march behind, there cam% 




Was cited there by name ; 


By Eustace govern'd fair, 




And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 


A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 




c 1. «. Cane. 


» MS. — *' Ere twenty days are pasa'd and gone, 




See Appendix, Note 3 Z. > Ibid. Note 4 A. 


Before the mighty Monarch's throne, 
I cite yon to appear." 




♦ MS.—" Bv wrath, by fraod, by fear." 


8 MS. — *' In thnndering tone the voice did Wf." 





>»ANTO T. 



MARMION. 



ISB 



With all her mins and Clare. 


Commanding, tliat, beneath his care, 


No audience had Lord Marmioii sought ; 


Without delay, you shall repair 


Ever he fear'd to aggravate 


To your good kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare/ 


Claia de Clare's suspicious hate ; 




And safer 'twas, he thought, 


XXX. 


To Tait tUl, from tlie nuus removed, 


Tlie startled Abbess loud exclaim'd ; 


TLo influence of kinsmen loved, 


But she, at whom the blow was aim'd, 


And suit by Henry's self approved, 


Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 


Her slow consent had wrought. 


She deem'd she heard her death-doom read 


His was no flickering flame, that dies 


" Cheer thee, my child !" the Abbess said, 


Unless when fann'd by looks and sighs. 


" They dare not tear thee from my hand, • 


And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 


To ride alone with armed band." — 


He long'd to stretch his wide command 


" Nay, holy mother, nay," 


O'er luckless Clara's ample Land : 


Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 


Besides, when Wilton with liim vied, 


Will be in Lady Angus' care. 


Although the pang of humbled pride 


In Scotland while we stay ; 


The place of jealousy supphed, 


And, when we move, an easy ride 


Yet conquest by that meanness won 


Will bruig us to the English side, 


He almost loath'd to think upon, 


Female atteudimce to provide 


Led liim, at times, to hate the cause. 


Befitting Gloster's heir : 


Which made liim burst through honor's lawa 


Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord. 


If e'er he lov'd, 'twas her alone. 


By sUghtest look, or act, or word, 


Who died within that vault of stone. 


To harass Lady Clare. 




Her faithful guardian he will be, 


XXIX. 


Nor sue ^r slightest courtesy 


And now, when close at hand they saw 


That e'en to stranger falls. 


North Berwick's town, and lofty Law,' 


Till he shall place her, safe and free, 


Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while. 


Within her kinsman's halls." 


Before a venerable pile,' 


He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace ; 


Wliose turrets view'd, afar, 


His faith was painted on his face. 


The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,' 


And Clare's worst fear reUeved. 


The ocean's peace or wai-. 


Tlie Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd 


At toUing of a bell, forth came 


On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 


The convent's venerable Dame, 


Entreated, threaten'd, grieved ; 


And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 


To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd. 


With her, a loved and honor'd guest, 


Agiiinst Lord Mai-mion inveigh'd, 


Till Douglas should a bark prepare 


And caU'd the Prioress to aid, 


To waft lier back to Wliitby fair. 


To ciu-se with candle, boll, and book. 


Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 


Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 


Aud thank'd the Scottish Prioress- 


_" Tlie Douglas, and the King," she said, 


And tedious were to tell, I ween. 


" In theu- commands will be obey'd ; 


The courteous speech tliat pasa'd between. 


Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 


O'erjoy'd the nims their palfreys leave ; 


The maiden in Tantallen hall." 


But when fair Clai-a did mtend, 




Like them, from horseback to descend. 


XXXL 


F'z-Eustace said, — " I grieve. 


The Abbess, seemg strife was vain, 


f ;ur iady, grieve e'en from my heart. 


Assumed her wonted state again, — 


SucL gentle company to part; — 


For much of state she had, — 


Think net discourtesy. 


Composed her veU, and raised her head. 


But lords' conunands must he obey'd ; 


And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said. 


And Marmion and the Douglas said. 


" Thy master, bold and bad, 


That you must wend with me. 


The records of liis house turn o'er. 


Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 


And, when he shall there written see. 


■Which to the Scottish Earl he show'd. 


That one of his own ancnstry 


MS.— " North Berwick's town, and conic Law." 






waj founded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 1216. 


The convent allnded to is a foandation of Cisteitian nuu. 


> MS.—" The lofty Basa, the Lamb's ficeea ula " 



136 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V 



Drove the monks forth of Coventry,' 
Bid him liis fate explore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 

His charger hurl'd him to the dust. 

And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marniion and me ; 

He is a Chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse : 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin, 

And Jael thus, and Deborali" 

Here hasty Blount broke in : 
"Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band: 
St. Anton fire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 

To heai' the Lady preach ! 
By this good light ! if thus we stay. 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay, 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, d'on thy cap, and mount thy horse ; 
The Dame must patience take perf<»ce."— 

XXXIL 

" Submit we then to force," said Clare, 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let him take living, land, and life ; 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the King's decree. 
That I must find no sanctuary, 
In that inviolable dome,^ 
Where even a homicide might come. 

And safely rest his head, 
Tliougl; at itstipen portals stood. 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood 

The kinsmen of the dead ; 
Yet one asylimi is my own 

Against the dreadedjiour ; 
A low, a silent, and a lone. 

Where kings have little power. 
fine victim is before me there. — 



- JSeti Appendix, Note 4 B. 

• TtiIs line, necessary to the rhijme, is now for the first time 
I'storeil from tlie iMS. It must have been omitted by an over^ 
nght in the original printing. — Ed. 

8 For the origin of Marmion's visit to Tantallon Uastte, in 
the Poem, see Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 17. 

* " During the regency (subsequent to the death of James 
V.) the Dowager Queen Regent, Mary of Guise, became desi- 
rous of patting a French garrison into Tantallon, as she had 
nto Dunbar and Inchkeitli, in order the better to bridle the 
fords and barons, who inclined to the reformed faith, and to 
lecure by citadels the sea-coast of the Frith of Forth. For 
4us purpose, the Regent, to use the phrase of the time, ' dealed 



Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember yotu- mihappy Clare 1" 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one : 
Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
Roimd patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple ntm. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 
And scarce rude Bloiuit the sight could bide 

Then took the sqtiire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed. 
And, by each com'teous word and deeil, 

To cheer her strove in vain. 

XXXIIL 

But scant three miles the band had rodo. 

When o'er a height they pass'd, 
And, sudden, close before tlieni show'd 

His towers, Tantallon vast -^ 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three .sides the ocean flows, 
The fourth did battled walls enclose. 

And double mound and fosse.* 
By narrow drawbridgej outworks strong, 
Through studded gates, an entrance long, 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately squaro : 
Around were lodgings, fit and fair, 

And towers of various form. 
Which on the court projected far. 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high. 
Or pimiacle that sought tlie sky, 
Whence oft the Wai'der could descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should 1 declare. 
Or say they met reception fair ! 

Or why the tidings say, 
Wliich, varyuig, to Tantallon came, 
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame. 

With ever-varying day 'I 



with' the (then) Earl of Angus for bis consent to the propose* 
measure. He occnjiied himself, while she was speaking, II 
feeding a falcon which sat upon his wrist, and only replied bj 
addressing the bird, but leaving the (iueen to make the apph 
cation, ' The devil is in this greedy gled — she will never be 
fou.' But when the tineen, without ajipearing to notice thii 
hint, continued to press her obnoxious request, Angus replied, 
in the true spirit of a feudal noble. ' Yes. Madani, the castle il 
yours ; God forbid else. But by the might oi God, Madam 1 
such was his usual oath, ' I most be your Captain and Keepei 
for you, and I will keep it as well as any you can placa 
there.'" — Sir Walter Scott's Miscellanea ts Pro$( 
fVorliSj vol. vii. p. 436. 




■^ ■ 



■ *^^ 



;anto VI. 



MARMION. 



131 



And, fiijt they heard King J.inies had won 

Etall, imd Work, ami F.ird ; and then. 

That Norham Castle strong was ta'eu 
At that sore marvell'd Marraion; 
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whisper'd news tliere came, 
That, while liis host inactive lay, 
And melted by degrees away. 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Herons wily dame. 
Such acts to Chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there, and see ; 
Mine is a t.ale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post, 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gather'd in the Southern hand. 
And march'd into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, lik^ cliarger in the stall, 
That heivrs, without, the trumpet-call, 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid. 

When such a field is near I 
Needs must I see this battle-day : 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away ! 
Tlie Douglas, too, I wot not why, 
Hath bated of his courtesy ; 
No longer in his halls I'll stay." 
Then bade his band they should array 
for march against the dawning day. 



iHarinion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTR 



TO 

RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 

Mertoun-House,^ Ohrisimas. 
Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chiU ; 
But let it whistle as it will. 
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has dcem'd the new-bom year 
The fittest time for festal cheer": 



Mertoun-Hoaee, the seat of Hagh Scott, Esq., of Harden, 
■ beaotifall]- sitaated on t'le Twe< i, about two miles below 
Ojvbnrgh Albey. 
18 



Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain •' 

High on the beach his galleys drew, 

And feasted all his pirate crew ; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall. 

Where shields and axes deck'd the wall ; 

They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; 

Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 

The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone : 

Or listen'd all, in grim deUght, 

While Scalds yell'il out the joys of fight. 

Then forth, in phrensy, would they hie, 

Wliile wildly-loose their red locks fly, 

And dancing round the blazing pile, 

Tliey make such barbarous mirth the while, 

As best might to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's haU 

And well our Christian su'es of old 

Loved when the year its course had roU'd, 

And brought blithe Christmas back again, 

With all liis hospitable train. 

Domestic and religious rite 

Gave honor to the holy night ; 

On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 

On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 

That only night in all the year. 

Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.* 

The damsel doim'd her kirtle sheen ; 

The hall was dress'd with holy green ; 

Forth to the wood did merry-men go, 

To gather in the misletoe. 

Then open'd wide the Baron's haU 

To vassal, tenant, serf, and aU; 

Power laid his rod of rule aside, 

And Ceremony doff' d his pride. 

The heir, with roses in his shoes, 

That night might village partner choose ; 

The Lord, underogating, share 

The vulgar game of " post and pair." 

AU hail'd, with uncoutroU'd delight. 

And general voice, the happy night, 

That to the cottage, as the crown. 

Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn. 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 

' See Appeodii, Note 4 C. 
> Ibid. Note 4 D 



138 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO \te 



Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high, 
Crested with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green garb'd ranger tell. 
How, when, and where, the monster fell ; ■ 
What dogs before his death he tore, 
And all the baiting of the boar.' 
The wassel round, in good brown bowls, 
Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
Thsre the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, 
At such high tide, her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roar'd, with blithesome din ; 
If unmelodious was the song, 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
Wlio lists may in their munmiing see 
Traces of ancient mystery ■' 
White shu-ts supplied the masquerade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
But, ! what maskers, richly dight. 
Can boast of bosoms half so hght 1 
England was merry England, when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale ; 
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
Tile poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger, in our northern clime, 
Pome remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, witliiu our valleys here. 
We hold the Idndred title deai'. 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, om- proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.' 
And thus, my Clu'istmas still I hold 
Wliere my great-graudsne came of old, 
With amber beard, and flaxen liair,' 
And reverend apostolic air — 
Tlie feast and holy-tide to share, 
And miy sobriety with wine. 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 
Small thought was liis, in after time 

1 MS. — " And all the hunting of the boar. 

Then round the merry wassel-bowl, 
Garnish'd with ribbons, blithe did trowl, 
And the large sirloin ste,im'd on high, 
Plum-porridge, hare, and savory pie." 

* See Appendix, Note 4 E. 

3 •' Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to vin- 
iicate onr family predilections. 
» See Appendix, Note 4 F. 

* MS. — *' In these fair halls, with merry cheer. 

Is hid larewell the dying year." 
» " A lady of noble German descent, boni Countess Harriet 
Bruhl of Martinskirehen, married to H. Scott, Esq. of Harden 
^Of tiord PoUvarthj, the author's relative and much-valued 



E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast, 
1'hat he was loyal to his cost ; 
The banish'd race of kings : evered, 
And lost his land, — but kej,t hia beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
Is with fair Uberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
And thes constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land.' 
Little we heed the tempest drear, 
While music, mirtli, and social cheer, 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoim's halls are fan* e'en now, 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and tm'ns agaii^ 
As loath to leave the sweet domain, 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And chps her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant tm'n us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee, 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee I 
For many a merry hour we've known. 
And heard the cliimes of midnigbt's tone 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease^ 
And leave these classic tomes in peace 1 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore, 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
" Were pretty feUows in their day ;'" 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war — •" Profane ! 
Wha.t ! leave the lofty Latiau strain. 
Her stately prose, her verso's charms. 
To hear the clash of rusty arms : 
In Fairy Land or Limbo lojt. 
To jostle conjurer and gho».t. 
Goblin and witch !" — Nay Heber dear. 
Before you touch my char '.cr, hear : 
Though Leyden aids, alas ' no more, , 

My cause with many-Ian^ niged lore,* 

friend almost from infancy." — Firdc:- Minstrelsy, vol. i». 
p. 59. 
' The MS. adds :— " As boasts oln Sl.alli,w to Sir Jchn." 
e " Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir — :\ ve,-y pretty fellow 
in his day." — Old Bachelor. 

9 MS. — " With all his niany-languagpd lo-e.' 
John Leydep M. D., who had been of great sprrice to Sil 
Walter Scott in the preparation of the Border Mins'jvlsy 
sailed for India in April, 1803. and died at Ja.'a IL AugaM 
1811, before completing his 36th year. 

" Scenes sung by him who sings no mors 
His brief and bright career is o'er, 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore. 



PANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



181 



This may I say : — iii realms of death 


Since twixt them first the strife begim, 


Ulysses meets Alcidcs' wraith ; 


And neither yet has lost nor won. 


.lEneas, upon Thracia's sliore, 


And oft tlie Conjurer's words will make 


The ghost of miuxlev'd Polydore ; 


The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; 


For omens, we in Livy cross, 


And oft the bands of iron break. 


At every tm-n, lociitus Bos. 


Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 


As grave and duly speaks that ox. 


Fast as 'tis o])on'd, shuts again. 


As if he told tile price of stocks ; 


That magic strife witliin the tomb, 


Or held, in Rome republican. 


May last until the day of doom, 


The place of commou-couucilmau. 


Unless the adept shall learn to tell 




The very word that cleuch'd the spell, 


All nations have their omens drear, 


When Franch'mont lock'd the treasm-e cell 


Their legends wUd of woe and fear. 


An hundred years are pass'd and gone, 


To Cambria look — the peasant see. 


And scarce three letters lias lie won. 


Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 




And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree.' ' 


Such general superstition may 


The Higlilander, whose red claymore 


Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; 


The battle turn'd on Maida's shore, 


Wliose gossip history has given 


Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 


My song the messenger from Heaven," 


If ask'd to tell a fairy tale ■? 


That warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 


He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 


Nor less tlie infernal summoning ;'' 


Who leaves that day his grassy ring : 


May pass the Monk of Dmham's tale. 


Fuvisible to human ken, 


Whose demon fought in Gotluc mail ; 


He walks among the sons of men. 


May pardon plead for Forduu grave, 




■Wlio told of Gifford's Goblin-Cavi- 


Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along' 


3ut why such instances to you. 


Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 


Who, in an instant, can renew 


Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 


Your treasured hoards of various lore, 


Hang o'er the streimi and hamlet fair f* 


And furnish twenty thousand more ? 


Deep in their vaults, the peasants say 


Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes 


A mighty treasure buried lay. 


rest 


Amass'd through rapine and through "Trong 


Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest, 


By the last Lord of Fraiichgmont.' 


While gripple owners still refuse 


The iron chest is bolted hard. 


To others what they cannot use ; 


A huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 


Give them the priest's whole century. 


Around his neck his horn is hung. 


They shall not spell you letters thi-ee ; 


His hanger in his belt is slung ; 


Their pleasure in the books the same 


Before his feet his blood-hounds lie : 


Tlie magpie takes in pilfer'd gem. 


An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. 


Thy volumes, open as thy heart. 


Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 


DeUght, amusement, science, art. 


As true a himtsman doth he look. 


To every ear and eye impart ; 


As bugle e'er in brake did sound. 


Yet who of all who thus employ them. 


Or ever halloo'd to a hound. 


Can like the owner's self enjoy them ?— 


To cha-^e the fiend, and win the prize, 


But, hark I I hear the distant di-um 1 


In tliat same dungeon ever tries 


The day of Flodden Field is come. — 


An aged necromantic priest ; 


Adieu, dear Heber I hfe and health. 


It is an hundred years at least. 


And store of Uterary wealth. 


That loveil the light of song to pour: 


^ This paragraph appears interpolated on the blaiik Mcs • 


A distant anil a deadly shore 


the MS. 


Ila.s Lkydes'3 cold remains I" 


* MS.^" Which, high in air, like eagle's n»st. 


Lord of tht Isles, Canto 'V, post. 


Hang from the dizzy mountain's breait. 


flee a notice of his life in tlie Anthor's MIscellateoDs Prose 


s See Appendix, Note 4 I. 


rVorks. 


" Ibid. Note 3 B. 


See Appendix, Note 4 G. 


7 Ibid. Note 4 A. The four linea which fi Jlow ale bM ll 


> Ibid. Note 4 H. 


the MS. 



uo 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



iWar mi n. 



CANTO SLXTH. 



Cfle 33nttle. 

I 

Wbile gitat events were on the gale, 

And each hour brought a varying tale, 

And the demeanor, changed and cold, 

Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold. 

And, Uke the mipatient steed of war, 

He snuff'd the battle from afar ; 

And hopes wore none, that back again. 

Herald should come from Teroueune, 

Where England's King in leaguer lay. 

Before decisive battle-day ; 

Wliilst these tilings were, the mournful Clare 

Did in the Dame's devotions shai'e : 

For the good C' tuntess ceaseless pray'd 

To- Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 

And, with short interval, did pass 

Krom prayer to book, from book to mass, 

And all in liigh Baronial pride, — 

A life both dull and dignified ; 

Yet as Lord Marmion nothing press'd 

Upon her intervals of rest. 

Dejected Claia well coidd bear 

The formal state, the leugthen'd prayer. 

Though dearest to her wounded heart 

Tlie hom's that she might spend apart. 

II. 

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repell'd the insult of the air, 

Wliich, when the tempest vex'd the sky. 

Half breeze, half spray, came wliistUng by 

Above the rest, a tm-ret square 

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 

Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 

The Bloody Heart was in the Field, 

And in the chief three muUets stood. 

The cognizance of Douglas blood. 

Tilt turret held a narrow stair,* 

Which, mounted, gave you access where 

A parapet's embattled row 

Did seaward round the castle go. 

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending. 

Sometimes in platform broad extending. 

Its varying cU'cle did combine 

MS. — " The tower contain 'd a narrow Btair, 
Ai>l fiavo an open aecesa where." 



Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 

Above the booming ocean leant 

The f;u--projectuig battlement ; 

Tlie billows bmst, in ceaseless flow, 

Ulion the precipice below. 

Where'er TaiituUon faced the land. 

Gate-works, and widls, wei'e strongly mann I ; 

No need upon the sea-girt side ; 

The steepy rock, and frantic tide, 

Approach of human step denied ; 

And thus these lines and ramjjarts rude, 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 

And, for. they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there. 

And list the sea-bird's cry ; 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwark's side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weaiy eye. 
Oft did the chff and swelling main. 
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane,— • 
A home she ne'er might see again ; 

For she had laid adowu. 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil. 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, 
Again adorn'd her brow of snow ; 
Hqi mimtle rich, whose borders, round, 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the ground ; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remain'd a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she bore. 
With velvet bound, and broider'd o'er. 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
At dawning pale, or twihght dim. 

It fearful would have been 
To meet a form so riclily dress'd,^ 
With book in hand, and cross on breast, 

And such a woeful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. 
To practice on the gull and crow. 
Saw her, at distance, ghding slow, 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some love-lorn Fay she might have been, 
Or, in Romance, some spell-bound Queen 

• MS. — " To meet a form 90 fair, ami dress'd 

[n antiqoe robes, witli cross on breast." 



I'ANK VI. 



MARMION. 



14 



For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 
A form eo witching iiiir.' 

rv. 

Once walldng thus, at evening tide, 

It chanced a gliding sail slie spied. 

And, sighing, thought — " The Abbess, there, 

Perchance, does to her hoQ.io repair ; 

Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, 

Walks han^l in hand with Charity ; 

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 

Tliat the enraptured sisters see 

High vision and deep mystery ; 

The very form of Hilda fair, 

Hovering upon the sunny air. 

And smihng on her votaries' prayer." 

! wherefore, to my duller eye, 

Did still the Saint her form deny 1 

Was it, that, sear'd by sinful scorn. 

My heart could neither melt nor burn ! 

Or lie my w.arm affections low. 

With him that taught them first to glow ? 

Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew, 

To pay thy kindness grateful due, 

And well could brook the mild command, 

That ruled thy simple maiden band. 

How different now ! condemn'd to bide 

My doom from this dark tyrant's pride..^ 

But Marmion has to learn, ere long, 

That constant mind, and hate of wrong. 

Descended to a feeble girl, 

From Red De Clare, stout Gloster'a Earl: 

Of such a stem, a sapling weak,' 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 

V. 

' But see ! — wh.at makes this armor here ?" — 

For in her path there lay 
Targe, corslet, helm ; — she view'd them near. — 
" The breast-plate pierced ! — Ay, much I fear, 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
Thixt hath made fiital entrance here, 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wiltiin ! — Oh! not corslet's ward, 
' Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On yon disastrous day !" — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton liimself before her stood 1 

' MS. — " A form so sail and fair." 

• See Appendix, Note 4 K. 

• MS.-" or sucli a stem, or branch, ! "'°°°'' ! weak, 

He ne'er sliall bend me, though he brealt." 
'MS. — By many a short caress delay'd." 
" Wjicn the surprise at meeting a lover rescued from the 
•ead 13 considered, the abcri •picture will not be thouj;ht over^ 



It might liave seem'd liis passing ghost, 

For every youthful grace was lost ; 

And joy unwonted, and surprise. 

Gave tiieir strange wildness to his eyes. — 

Expect not, noble dames and lords, 

That I can tell such scene in words ; 

What skilful limner e'er would chooea 

To paint the rainbow's varying hues. 

Unless to mortal it were given 

To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 

Far less can my weak Une declare 

Each changing passion's shade ; 
Brightening to rapture from despair. 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 
And joy, with her angehc air. 
And hope, that jjaints the future fair. 

Their varying liues display'd : 
Each o'er its rival's groimd extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
TDl all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delay'd,' 
And modest blush, and bm'sting sigh. 
And question kind, and fond reply : — 

.VI. 

" Forget we that disastrous day, 
When senseless in the Usts I lay. 

Thence dragg'd, — but how I cannot know 
For sense and recollection fled, — 

I fomid me on a pallet low. 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed.' 

Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare, 
How thou didst blush, when the old man, 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a matchless paii' ? 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — ■" 
. He only held my burning head, 
And tended me for many a day, 
Wliile wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was liis care, 
"Wlien sense return'd to wake despair 

For I did tear the closing wotmd. 

And dash me frantic on the ground, 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length to calmer reason brought, 
Much by his kind attendance wrought, 

charged with coloring ; and yet the painter is so fatigued wilk 
hia e.xertion, that lie has finally thrown away the brush, and 
19 contented with merely chalking out the intervening adven 
tures of De Wilton, without bestowing on them any colbrs aj 
all." — CriiiciL Review. 

1 MS. — " Where an old beadsman held my head." 



' MS.—" The banish'd traitor' 



( humble ) , . 
'i I I i'""' 



i42 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. * canto vi 


With him I left my native strand, 


And, passing from a postern door, 


And, in a pahner's weeds array'd, 


We met, and 'counter'd hand to hand, — 


My hated name and form to shade, 


He fell on Gifford moor 


I joiu-ney'd many a land ; 


For the death-stroke my brand I drew 


No more a lord of rank and birth, 


(0 then my helmed head he knew. 


But mingled with the dregs of earth. 


The Palmer's cowl was gone), 


Oft Austin for my reason fear'd, 


Then had tlu'ee inches of my blade 


Wlien I would sit, and deeply brood 


The heavy debt of-vengeance paid, — 


On dark re\'enge, and deeds of blood, 


My hand the thought of Austin staid ; 


Or wild mad schemes uprear'd. 


I left him there alone. — 


My friend at length fell sick, and eaid, 


good old man ! even from the grave 


God would remove him soon: 


Thy spiiit could thy master save : 


And while upon his dying bed. 


If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 


He begg'd of me a boon — 


Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear, 


If e'er my deadliest enemy 


Given to my hand this packet dear, 


Bene.ath my brand should conquer'd lie, 


Of power to clear my injured fame, 


Even then my mercy should awake. 


And vmdicate De Wilton's name. — 


And spare his life for Austin's sake. 


Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 




Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 


VIL 


That broke our secret speech — 


" Still restless as a second Cain, 


It rose from the infernal shade. 


To Scotland next my route was ta'en : 


Or featly was some juggle play'd, 


Full well the paths I knew. 


A tale of peace to teach. 


Fame of my fate made various sound. 


Appeal to Heaven I judged was best, 


That death in pilgrimage I found, 


When my name came among the rest. 


"That I had perish'd of my wound, — 




None cared wliich tale was true : 


IX. 


And living eye could never guess 


" Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 


De Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 


To Douglas late my tale I told, i 


For now that sable slough is shed, 


To whom my house was known of old. 


And trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, 


Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 


I scarcely know me in the glass. 


This eve anew shall dub me knight. | 


A chance most wondrous did provide. 


These were the arms that once did turn 


That I should be that Baron's guide — 


The tide of fight on Otterburne, 


I will not name his name !^ 


And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 


Vengeance to C4od alone belongs ; 


Wlien the Dead Douglas won the field.' 


But, when I think on all my wrongs. 


These Angus gave — his armorer's care, 


My blood is hquid flame 1 


Ere morn shall every breach repair ; 


And ne'er the time shall I forget. 


For naught, he said, was in liis halls, 


Wlien, in a Scottish hostel set. 


But ancient armor on the walls. 


Dark looks we did exchange : 


And aged chargers in the stalls, 


Wliat were liis thoughts I cannot tell ; 


And women, priests, and gray-hair'd men ; 


But in my bosom muster'd Hell 


The rest were all m Twisel glen.' 


Its plans of dark revenge. 


And now I watch ray armor here. 




By law of arms, till midnight's near ; 


VIII. 


Then, once again a belted knight. 


" A word of vulgar augury, 


Seek Surrey's camp with da^vn of light. 


That broke from me, I scarce knew why, 




Brought on a village tale ; 


X. 


Which wrought upon his moody sprite. 


" Tliere soon again we meet, my Clare 1 


And sent him armed forth by night. 


Tliis Baron means to guide thee tliere : 


I boirow'd steed and mail. 


Douglas reveres his King's conmiand, 


And weapons, from liis sleeping band ; 


Else woulil he take thee from his band. 


MS. — " But thought of Austin staid my hand, 


3 Pee the ballad of Otterhourrie, in llie Uorder MinetreUj 


And in the slieatli I plinged the hrand, 


vol. i. p. 3-15. 


I left liim there alone. — 


3 Where James encanjjied before taknig post on Floddeu 


good old man ! even from tue grave. 


The MS. h.is— 


Thy spirit coii 1 De Wilton save." 


" The rest were all on Flodden plaiu " 



OANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



149 



And then: thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now inccter far for martial broil, 
Firmer iiiy limbs, and strung by toil. 
Once more" — " Wilton 1 must we then 
Risk now-fouuil liappiiiess again. 

Trust fata of arms once more ? 
Ajid is tliere not an liumble glen, 

Where we, content and poor, 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
^ shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor < — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know. 
Not even tliy Clare can peace bestow, 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clai-e bids thee go I 
Glare can a warrior's feelings know. 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, 
And bolt thee with thy brand of steel. 

And send thee forth to fame 1" 

XL 

Tliat night, upon the rocks and bay, 
ITie midnight moon-beam slumbering lay. 
And pour'd its silver hght, and pure, 
Tlirough loop-hole, and through embrasure, 

Upon Tant.illun tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was there need ; though seam'd with 8car.s, 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 

Though two gray priests were there. 
And each a blazing torch held high. 
You could not by their blaze descry' 

The chapel's carving {ail. 
Amid that dim and smoky light. 
Checkering the silver moonshine brigh 

A bishop by the altar stood," 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 
Yet sliow'd his meek and thoughtful eye 
But little pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased tliat, in a barbarous age. 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page. 
Than that beneath liis rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doft'd his fiu-r'd gown, and sable hood : 
O'er his huge form and visage pale, 

' MS. — " You might not by their shine descry.'* 
a The well-known Gawain Dougla-s, Bishop of Danlield, son 
•r Archib.iM Bill-llic-Cat, Earl of .\ngua. He was author of 
t Scottish mctricii version of the *^neid, and of many oilier 
poetical pieces of great merit. He had not at this period at- 
lined t.he mitre. • 



Ho wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And lean'd liis hu-gc and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and swetiping brand 
■Wliich wont of yore in battle fray. 
His foeman's limbs to shred away. 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.' 

He seem'd as, from the tombs around 
Rising at judgment-day, 

Some giant Douglas may be found 
In all liis old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge liis Umb, 
So old his arms, liis look so grim. 

XII. 
Then at the altar Wilton kneels. 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 
And tliink what next he must have felt. 
At buckling of the falcliion belt I 

And judge how Clara changed her hue, 
'Wliile fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried. 

He once had found imtrue ! 
Tlien Douglas struck him with his blade : 
" Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! 
■ For King, for Church, for Lady fair, 

i^ee that thou fight." — * 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
Said — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes, 

Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He, who honor best bestows. 

May give thee double." — 
De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trtist 

That Douglas is my brother !" — 
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou nie»t'st them under sliield. 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall liun that blenches first 1" 

• XIIL 

Not far advanced was morning day 
When Marmion did liis troop array 

To Stirrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe conduct for his band. 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide : 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 

» See Appendix, Note 4 L. 

* " The following (five lines) are a sort of mongrel betweo: 
the school of Sternhold and Hopkins, and the latrtr one of Ml 
Wordsworth." — Jeffrey. 



144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(,'AVTO Tl 



Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And wliisper'd in an under tone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is fiown." — 
The train from out tlie castle drew,' 
But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu : — 

" Thoiiijh something I might plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hithnr by your King's behest, 

While n TantaUon's towers I staid ; 
Part we in friendsliip from your land. 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas roimd liim drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he hsts, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.'' 
My castles are my lung's alone. 
From turret to foundation stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." — 

XIV. 
Bum'd Mannion's swai thy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And — " Tills to me !" he said, — 
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, fii-st, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 

Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword), 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" — ' • 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage " 
O'ercame tlie ashen liue of age ; 
Fierce he broke forth, — " And dar'st thou then 
To beard the Hon m his den, 

The Douglas in liis hall ? 
Ajid hopest thou hence unscathed to go? 
No, by Saint Bride of BothweU, no ? 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, Warder, ho 1 

Let tlie portcullis fall." — ' 

1 MS. — " T.ie train the portal arch pasa'd through," 
» MS. — " Un.Tieet they be to harbor here." 
8 MS. — " False Douglas, thou hast lied." 
* ^ee Appendix, Note 4 M. 



Lord Marmion turn'd — well was his need. 
And dash'd the rowels in liis stood, 
Like arrow through the archway sprung. 
The ponderous grate beliind him rung: 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
Tlie bars, descending, razed his plume. 

XV. 

The steed along the di-awbridge flies, 

Just as it trembled on the rise ; 

Nor Ughter does the swallow skim 

Along the smooth lake's level brim : 

And when Lord Marmion reach'd liis band. 

He halts, and turns with clenched liand. 

And shout of loud defiauce pours. 

And shook liis gaimtlet at the towers. 

" Horse ! horse !" the Douglas cried, " uai 

chase !" 
But soon he rein'd his fury's pace : 
'* A royal messenger he came. 
Though most unwortliy of the name, — 
A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed 1 
Did ever knight so foul a deed !^ 
At first in heart it liked me ill, 
Wlien the King praised his clerkly skill. 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine," 
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : 
So swore I, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
SainJ Mary mend my fie'i'y mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay liim where he stood. 
'Tis pity of liun too," he cried : 
'■ Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried." 
With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle halla. 

XVL 
The day in Marmion's journey wore ; 
Yet, ere his passiou's gust was o'er. 
They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor 
His troop more closely there he scann'd. 
And miss'd the Pahiier from the band.— 
" Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth, it was hi strange array." — 
" In what array ?"' said Marmion, quick. 
" My Lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clhik and bang, 
Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang. 
And from a loop-hole while I peep, 

6 See Appendix, Note 4 N. 

" MS. — '* Tlianks to Saint Bothan, son of mine 
Could never pen a written line, 
So sweai' 1, and I swear it still. 
Let brother Gawain fret his fill " 



UANIO VI. 



MARMION. 



14S 



Oiil Bell-the-Cat came fi-oni the Keep, 

Wrapp'd in a gown of sables fivir, 

Ae fearful of the morning air ; 

Beneath, when that was blown aside, 

A rusty shirt of mail I spied, 

By Arcliibald won in bloody work. 

Against the Saracen and Turk : 

Last night it hung not in the hall ; 

I thought some marvel would befall. 

And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 

A matchless horse, though something old. 

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 

I heard the Sheriff Sholto say, 

The Earl did much the Master' pray 

To use him on the battle-day ; 

But he preferr'd" — " Nay, Henry, cease ! 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 

Eustace, thou beai''st a brain — I pray. 

What did Blouat see at break of day ?" — 

XVII. 
■ In brief, my lord, we both descried 
(For then I stood by Henry's side) 
Tlic Palmer moimt, and outwards ride. 

Upon the Earl's own favorite steed : 
All sheathed he wis in armor bright. 
And much resemb'-'d that same Imight, 
Subdued by yea m Cotswold fight : 

Lord Angus wisli'd him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke ; — 
" Ah 1 diistard fool, to reason lost !" 
He mutter'd ; '* 'twas nor fay nor ghost 
I met upon the moonlight wold. 
But hving man of eartlily mould. — 

dotage blind and grujs 1 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had hiid De Wilton in the dust. 

My patli no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — ho told Mb t-Ae 
To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. — 
Will Sm'rey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
0, what a tangled web we weave, 
When first we practise to deceive ! 
A Palmer too I — no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
I might have known there was but one, 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 

* His eldest son, the Master of Angus. 

* See Appendi.x, Note 4 O. 

' " From tills period to the conclnsion of the poem, Mr. 
Bo4U*B genial, so Ions overclouiieil, bursts forth in full lustre, 
19 



XVHL 
Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, 
Where Lemiel's convent' closed their march 
(There now is left but one frail orch. 

Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
Hard by, m hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgriui dwells. 
Well worth the whole Bernardino brood. 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marnjiion entertainment ftur. 
And lodging for his train and Clare." 
Next morn the Baron chmb'd the tow<«r 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamp'd on Flodden edge ; 
Tlie white pavilions made a show, 
Like remnants ';i the winter enow, 

Along the dnsky ridge. 
Long Marmion look'd : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement might descry 

Amid the shifting hues: 
The Scottish host drawn out appears. 
For, flasliing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern smibeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending 
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending. 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
Tlie skilful Marmion well could know, 
They watcli'd the motions of some foe, 
Wlio traversed on the plain below. 

XIX. 
Even -so it was. From Flodden ridge 

The Scots beheld the English host 

Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post. 

And heedfid watch'd them as they cross'd 
The Till by Twisel Bridge.' 

High sight it is, and haughty, whil^* 

They dive into the deep defile ; 

Beneath the cavern'd cliff they faU, 

Beneath the castle's au-y wall. 
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 

Troop after troop are disappearing , 

Troop after troop then' baimers reariii, . 
Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pom-ing down the rocky den, 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
St.and.ards on st.andards, men on men, 

In slow succession still, 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 

and even transcends itself, (t is impossible to do i.im jostm 
by making e.\tract3, when all is equally attractive." — Moutkljl 
Review. 
< Sec A|>pendix Note « P. 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



To gain the opposing hill. 


To see fair England's standards fly." 


That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 


" Stint in thy prate," quoth Bloimt, " thou'dst 


Twieel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 


best, 


And many a chief of birth and rank, 


And hsten to our lord's behest." — ' 


Saint Helen 1 at thy fountain drank. 


With kiniUiug brow Lord Marmion said, — 


Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 


" Tliis mstant be om" band array'd *, 


In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 


The river must be quickly cross' d. 


TIad then from many an axe its doom. 


That we may join Lord Sturey's host. 


To give the marching colunuis room. 


If fight Kuig James, — as well I trust. 




That fight he wiU, and fight he must, — 


XX. 


The lady Clare beliind om- lines 


And why stands Scotland idly now, 


Shall tarry wliile the battle joins." 


Diirk Flodden ! on thy airy brow. 




Smce England gains the pass the wliile. 


XXII. 


And struggles through the deep defile ? 


Himself he swift on horseback tlu-ew, 


What checks the fiery soul of James ? 


Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 


Why sits that champion of the dames 


Far less would listen to his prayer, 


Inactive on his steed. 


To leave behind the helpless Clare. 


And sees between him and his land. 


Down to the Tweed his baud he drew, 


Between liim and Tweed's southern strand, 


And mutter'd as the flood they view. 


His host Lord Surrey lead ? 


" The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 


What 'vaila the vain knight-errant's brand i 


He scarce will yield to please a daw : 


— 0, JJouglas, for thy leaduig wand ! 


Lord Angus may the Abbot awe. 


Fierce Randolph, for thy speed I 


So Clare shall bide with me." 


for one hour of Wallace wight, 


Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 


Or well-skiU'd Bruce, to rule the fight. 


Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep,' 


And cry—" Saint Andrew and om- right 1" 


He ventured desperately : 


Another sight had seen that morn. 


And not a moment will he bide. 


From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 


Till squire, or groom, before liim ride 


And Flodden had been Bannockbourne ! 


Headmost :if all he stems the tide. 


The precious horn- has pass'd in vain, 


And stens it gallantly. 


And England's host ha.s gain'd the plain ; 


Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 


Wheeling their marcli, and circling stilly 


Old Hubet'. led her rein. 


Around the base of Flodden hill. 


Stoutly they braved the ciurent's course. 




And, though far downward di-iven per 


XXL 


force. 


cire yet the bands met Marmion's eye,* 


The southern bank they gain ; 


Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 


Behind them straggling came to shore. 


" Hark ! hark 1 my lord, an English dnmi 


As best they might, the traui : 


And see ascending squadrons come 


Each o'er his head liis yew-bow bore, 


Between Tweed's river and the hiU 


A caution not in vain : 


Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap, 


Deep need th.at day that every string. 


My basnet to a prentice cap. 


By wet uitliarm'd, should sharply ring. 


Lord Sun-ey s o'er the Till ! — 


A moment then Lord Marmion stay'd, 


Yet more 1 yet more ! — how fai- array 'a 


And breathed his steed, his men array'd. 


Tliey file from out the hawthorr shade. 


Then forward moved his band, 


Aid sweep so gallant by P 


Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 


With il' their banners bravely spread. 


He halted by a Cross of Stone, 


And all their armor flashing high. 


That, on a hillock st.anthng lone. 


Saint George might waken from the dead 


Did all the field command. 


1 MS. — " Ere firet they met Lord Marmion's eye." 


And, 


» MS. — " And all go sweeping by." 


' Sfivt in thy prate,^ quoth Blount, 'thou'dst ieit, 


3 " Tile speeches of Squire Blount are a great deal too nr>- 


And listen to our lord's behest.' 


wlished for a noble youth aspiring to knighthood. On two 


Neither can we be brought to admire the simple dignity ol Si 


«<Kaaion9, to specify no more, he addresses his brotiier squire 


Hugh the Heron, who thus encourageth his nephew, — 


hn Ihese cacophonous lines, — 


' By my fay, 


' St. Anion jire thee ! wilt thou stand 


Well hast thou spoke — say forth thy say.' " — JarPBlI 


All day with bonnet in thy hand ;' 


1 MS.—" Where to the Tweed Leafs tributes creep •' 



04NT0 VI. MARMION. 14i 


XXIIl. 


But, parting like a thunderbolt, 


Hence might they see the full array 


First in the vanguai-d made a halt, 


Of either host, for deadly fray ;' 


Where such a shout there rose 


Their miirshall'd lines stretch'd east and -west," 


Of " Mtirmiou ! Marmion !" that the cry 


And fronted north and south, 


Up Floddcn mountiun shriUmg high, 


And dist;uit salutation pass'd 


Startled the Scottish foes. 


From the loud cannon mouth ; 




Not ui th 3 close successive rattle, 


XXV. 


That Lreathes the voice of modern battle, 


Blovmt and Fitz-Eustace rested still 


Btit slow and fi\r between. — 


With Lady Clare upon the liill 1 


The hillock gain'd, Lord Miu-niion staid: 


On wliich (for far the day was spent) 


' Here, by this Cross,"' he gently said, 


The western sunbeams now were bent. 


" You well may view the scene. 


The cry they heard, its meanmg knew, 


Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 


Could plain their dist.ont comrades view : 


'0 ! think of Marniion in thy prayer 1 


Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 


Thou wilt not V — well, — no less my care 


" Unworthy office here to stay ! 


Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 


No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 


Vou, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 


But see^ look up — on Flodden bent 


With ten pick'd archers of my train ; 


The Scottisli foe has fired his tent." 


With fengland if the day go hard, 


And sudden, as he spoke. 


To Berwick speed anuun. — • 


From the sharp ridges of the lull," 


But if we conquer, cruel maid, 


All downward to the banks of Till 


My spoUs sliall at your feet be laid, 


Was wreathed m sable smoke. 


When here we meet again." 


Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 


He waited not for answer there, 


The cloud enveloped Scotland's war. 


And would not mark the maid's despair,' 


As down the hill they broke 


Nor heed the discontented look 


Nor martial sliout, nor minstrel tone. 


From eitiier squire ; but spurr'tl amain, 


Announcetl their march ; tlieir tread aloua 


And, dashing through the battle plain, 


At times one warning trumpet blown. 


His way to Surrey took. 


At times a stifled hum. 




Told England, from liis mountain-throne 


XXIV. 


Kmg James did rusliing come. — 


• Tlie good Lord Marmion, by my life . 


Scarce could they hear, or see then- foes, 


Welcome to danger's hour ! — 


Until at weapon-point they close. — ' 


Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 


Tliey close, in clouds of smoke and dust. 


Thus have I ranged my power: 


With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; 


Myself will rule this central host, 


And such a yell was tliere. 


Stout Stanley fronts their right, 


Of sudden and portentous birth. 


Uy sons command the vaward post, 


As if men fought upon the earth. 


Witli Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ;' 


And fiends in upper air ;' 


Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 


hfe and death were in the shout. 


Shall be in rear-ward of the fight. 


Recoil and rally, charge and rout, 


Vnd succor those that need it most. 


And trium])h and despair. 


Now, gallant Marmion, well I know. 


Long look'd the anxious squires ; their e j e 


Would gladlv to the vanguard go ! 


Could in the darkness naught descry. 


Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 




With thee their charge will bhthely share , 


XXVL 


There fight tliine own retainers too. 


At 1 mgth the freshening western blast 


Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." — * 


Aside the si roud of battle cast ; 


" Thanks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said. 


And, lir':, the ridge of mingled spears' 


Nor farther greeting there he paid ; 


Above the brightenuig cloud appears ; 


' Bee Appendix, Note 4 Q. 


the days of Homer to those of Mr. Souther, there is none, i| 


'MS. — " Their lines were form'd, stretch'd east and west.'' 


our opinion, at all comparable, for interest and animation,— 


MS. — " Nor mark'd the lady's aeep despair, 


for breadth of dravvins and magnificence of elTect, — with th< 


Nor lieeded .iiscontented look." 


of Mr. Scott's."— JJEFFRKY. 


■ See Appendix, Note 4 R. 


" This couplet is not in the .MS. 


"MS. — " Beneath thy seneschal, Fitz-Hogh." 


^ The next three lines are not in the MS 


Of sM the poe,:ca1 battles which have been foaght, from 


" MS. — " And firs- 'he broken ridge of soean 



148 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAUTO y\ 



And iii the smoke the pennous flew, 
As m the storm the white sea-mew. 
Then maik'il they, dashmg broad and far, 
The broken biUows of the war, 
And plumed crests of cliieftains brave, 
Floating hke foam upon the wave ; 

But naught distinct they see ; 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falcliions flash'd amain ; 
Fell England's aiTow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again. 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
Tliey saw Lt)rd Marmion*s falcon fly : 
And stamless Tunstall's banner white, 
And Edmund Howard's Uon bright. 
Still bear them br.avely in the tight : 

Although against them come, ^ 
Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,' 
And many a rugged Border clan. 

With Huntly, and with Home. 

XXVII. 
Far on the left, unseen the wliile, 
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle ; 
Thougli there the western mountaineer" 
Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear. 
And flung the feeble targe aside. 
And with both hands the broadsword plied. 
"Twas vain : — But Fortune, on the right. 
With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight. 
Then fell that spotless barmer wliite,' 

The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew ' 

Aroimd the battle-yell. 
Tlie Border slogan rent the sky 1 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — -forced back, — now low, now high. 

The pennon simk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
Wlien rent are rigging, slirouds, and sail. 

It wavcr'd 'mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear ; 
" By Heaven, and all its saints I I swear 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare' 
May bid your beads and patter prayer, — 



* In all former eililions, Nitrklandman. Badcinoch is the cor- 
liclion of the Aullior's interleaved copy of the eijition of 1830. 

* MS. — " Thougli tliere the dauntless mountaineer." 
9 MS. — " Fell stainless Tunstall's baimer white. 

Sir Edmund's lion fell." 

* MS. — " Fitz-Eustace, you and Lady Clare 

Mav for its safety join in prayer." 



I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
FoUow'd by all the archer traut. 
The fiery youth, with desperate charge 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — 

The rescued banner rose, — 
Eat darkly closed the war aroimd. 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the grotmd* 

It sunk among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too : — yet staid 
As loath to leave the helpless maid. 

When, fast as shaft can fly, 
Blood-shot Ills eyes, his nostrils spread, 
The loose rein dangling from liis head, 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by ; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 

A look and sign to Clara cast 

To mark he would return in haste,' 
Then plunged uito the fight. 

XXVIIL 

Ask me not what the maiden feels. 
Left in that dreadful hour alone : 

Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 
Perchance a coiu-age, not her own. 
Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 

The scatter'd van of England wheels ;— ' 
She only said, as loud in air 
The tumult roar'd, " Is Wilton there ?" — 
They fly, or, madden'd by despair. 
Fight but to die,— "Is Wilton there?" 

With that, straight up the hill there rode 
Two horsemen drench'd with gore, 

And in their arms, a helpless load, 
A wounded knight they bore. 

His htmd still strain'd the broken brand ; 

His arms were smear'd with blood and sand . 

Dragg'd from among the horses' feet, 

With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 

Tlie falcon-crest and plum.tge gone, 

Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . ." 

Young Blount his armor did niUace, 

And, gazing on his ghastly face. 

Said — " By Saint George, he's gone ! 

Tliat spear-wound has our master .sped. 

And see the deep cut oil his head ! 
Good-night to Marmion." — 

" Unnurtur'd Blount ! thy brawling cease. 

He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace I' 

6 MS. — '* Like pine up-rooted from the ground." 

8 MS.^' And cried he would return in haste." 

'MS.— Repulsed, the band 1 „„ 

*,, .. , , J of Eng and wbeelft.' 

The scatter d wing S ° 

8 MS.—" Can that be j [[™"g j Lord Marmion i" 



:anto ti. 



MARMION. 



141 



_/ XXIX. 


She stoop'd her by the rimnel's side,* 


''Whyii, duff d liis casque, he felt free air,' 


But in aliliorrence backward drew ; 


Aroind 'giM Manuidii wildly st;u-e : — 


For, oozing from the mountain's side. 


" Whi-re's Harry iiiuuut * Fitz-EusUcc where t 


Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 


Linger ye here, ye heiuts of hare ! 


Was curdling in the streandet blue. 


Redeem my peiuion, — cliarge again 1 


Where shall she tm-n ? — behold her mark 


Cry — 'Marinion to the rescue!' — Vain! 


A httle fountain cell. 


Last of my race, on baitle-plain 


Where water, clear as tliamond-spark 


That sliout shall ne'er he heard again ! — 


In a stone basin fell. 


Vet my last thought is Enghmd's— fly," 


Above, some half-worn letters say, 


To Dacre boar my siguet-riug : 


3l}rfiift. tocari). pilQvim. Bcintt. auB. jran. 


Tell him his squathous up to bring. — 


gov. tUc. biiiTi. Boiil. of. Siibfl. (fires. 


t'itz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey liie; 


K®l)o. Ijuflt. tDis. cross, nut), toell. 


Tunstall lies dead upon the tield, 


She fill'd the helm, and back she hieo. 


- His hfe-blood stains the spotless shield : 


And with surprise and joy espied 


Edmund is down : — my hfe is reft ; 


A monk supportmg Marmion's head : 


The Admiral alone is left. 


A pious man, whom duty brought 


■Tjet Stanley charge with spm- of fire, — 


To dubious verge of battle fi^ught. 


With Chester charge, and L;uic^ishii*e, 


To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 


Full upon Scotland's central host,* 




Or victory and England's lost. — 


XXXL 


Must I bid twice ? — hence, vai-lets ! fly 1 


Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wav«. 


Leave Marmion here alone — -to die." 


And, as she stoop'd liis brow to lavo- 


They parted, and alone he lay : 


" Is it the hand of Chire," he said. 


Clai-e drew her from the sight away, 


" Or injured Constance, bathes my head *' 


Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan. 


Then, as remembrance rose, — 


And half he nmrmur'd, — " Is there none, 


" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer 1 


Of all my halls have nurst, 


I must redress her woes. 


Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 


Short space, few words, are mine to spare 


Of blessed water from the spring. 


Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !"- ■ 


To slake my dying thirst !" 


'* Alas !" she said, " the wliile, — 




0, thiok of your immortal weal ! 


XXX. 


In vain for Constance is your zeal; 


0, 'Woman ! in our hours of ease. 


She died at Holy Isle." — 


Uncertain, coy, and hai'd to please, 


Lord Marmion started from the ground, 


And variable as the shade 


As Ught as if he felt no wound ; 


By the Ught quivering aspen made ; 


Though ill the action burst the tide, 


'When pain and anguish wring the brow, 


In torrents, from his wounded side. 


A ministering angel thou ! — • 


" Tlien it was truth," — he said — " I knew 


Scarce were the piteous accents said. 


That the dark presage must be true. — 


Wlien, with the Baron's casque, the maid 


I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 


To the nigh streamlet ran ; 


The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 


Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 


Would spare me but a day 1 


The plaintive voice alone she he;u-s, 


For, wastmg fire, and dying groan,* 


Sees but the dymg man.* 


And priests slain on the altar stone, 


^ MS. — "And when he felt the fresher air.'* 


from the discords by which they are surrounded." —&jlu4 


« MS. — " Yet my last thouijht's for England — hie, 


Review. 


To JJacre ^ipe niy signet-ring. . . . 


6 Mt?. — " She stoop'd her by the runnel's tide. 


Fitz-Eostace, to Lord Surrey y^w." 


But in abhorrence soon withdrew. 




For, oozing from the mountains wide 


s Mf.— ' Full on King James's central host." 


Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 


" The hero of the piece, Marmion, who has been guilty of 


Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 


mJocing a nun, and abandoning her to be buried alive, of 


Where shall she turn ? behold, she mark 


forgery to ruin a friend, and of perfidy in endeavoring to 


A little vaulted cell. 


■educe away from iiiin tlie object of his tenderest affections, 


Whose water, clear as diamond sparks, 


Igbts and dies gloriously, and is indebted to the injured Clara 


In a rude basin fell. 


for the last drop of water to cool his dying tliirst. This last 


Above, some half-worn letters say, 


act of disinterested attention e.\torts from the Author the 


Drink, passing pilgrim, drink and pray. ' 


moothest, sweetest, and tenderest lines in the whole poem. 


i* MS. — " Fire, sacrilege, ajid dying gioan. 


U is with pleasure that we extract numbers so Vrmonious 


And priests gorged on tiie altar stoiw 



ISO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Might bribe him for delay. 


For still the Scots, around their King, 


It may not be ! — tliis dizzy trance — • 


Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 


Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 


Wliere's now their victor vaward wing, 


And doubly cursed my failing brand I 


Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 


A siniul heart makes feeble hand." 


0, for a blast of that dread horn, 


Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, 


On Fontarabian echoes borne. 


Supported by the trembling Monk. 


That to King Charles did come. 




Wlien Rowland brave, and Olivier, 


XXXII. 


And every paladin and peer, 


With fruitless labor, Clara bound 


On Roncesvalles died ! 


And strove to stanch the gushing wound : 


Such blast might warn them, not in vain, 


The Monk, with unavailing cares, 


To quit the plunder of the slain. 


Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 


And tm-n the doubtfid day again, 


Ever, he said, that, close and near. 


Wliile yet on Flodden side, 


A lady's voice was iu liis ear, 


Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 


And that the priest he could not liear ; 


And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 


For that she ever sung. 


Oiu" Caledonian pride ! 


"In the lost battle, borne down bi/ thefying, 


In vam the wish — for far away. 


Where mingles wars rattle with groaiis of the 


While spoU and havoc mark their way, 


dying !" 


Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 


So the notes rung ; — 


" 0, Lady," cried the Monk, " away !"* 


" Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 


And placed her on her steed. 


Shake not the dying sinner's sand I — 


And led her to the chapel fair. 


0, look, my son, nyion yon sign' 


Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 


Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 


There all the night they spent in prayer. 


0, think on faith and bliss !— 


And at the dawn of morning, there 


By many a death-bed I have been. 


She met her kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clure. 


And nuiny a simier's parting seen. 




But never aught like this." — 


XXXIV. 


The war, that for a space did fail. 


But as they left the dark'ning heath,' 


Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale. 


More desperate grew the strife of death. 


And — STA.NLEV ! was the cry ; 


The English shafts in volleys hail'd. 


A light on Marmion's visage spread. 


In headlong charge their horse assail'd ; 


And fired his glazing eye ■' 


Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 


With dying hand, above his head. 


To break the Scottish circle deep, 


He shook the fragment of his blade, 


That fought around then- King. 


And shouted " Victory ! — 


But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 


Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " 


Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 


Were the last words of MiU-mion.' 


Though biU-men ply the ghastly blow, 




Unbroken was the ring ; 


XXXIII. 


The stubborn spear-men still made good* 


By this, though deep the evemng fell. 


Then- dark impenetrable wood. 


Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 


Each steppuig where iiis comrade stood. 


Might bribe him for delay. 


6 MS. — " Ever the stubborn spears made good 


^nd all by wkitm the deed was done. 


Their dark impenetrable wood ; 


Should with myself become his own. 


EacI) Scot stcjip'd wliere his comrade stood, 


It may not be" 


Tlie instant tliat lie fell, 


* MS. — " O loott, my son. u]ion this cross, 


Till the last ray of parting light. 


O, think ujion the grace divine, ^ 


Then ceased perforce the dreadful fight. 


On saints and heavenly bliss ! — 


And sunk the battle's yell. 


By many a sinner's bed I've been, 


The skilful Surrey's sage commands 


And many a dismal parting seen, 


Drew from the strife his shatler'd bands. 


But never aught like this." 


Their loss his foeman knew ; 


« MS. — " And sparkled in his eye." 


Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low, 


» The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the death of 


They melted from the field as snow. 


llarmion. — Mackintosh. 


When streams are swoln and south winds bW« 


* MS. — " In vain the wish — for far they stray, 


Melts from the mountain blue. 


And spoil and havoc mark'd their way. 


By various march their scatler'd banda. 


' O. Laf'v,' cried the Monk, ' away !' *' 


Disorder'd, gain'd the Scottish lands.— 


MS. — " But std ipon the darkening heath." 


* Day dawns on F'oddeu's dxearv side, 



UANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



i6\ 



"lie instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
Link'd in tlie srtrried phalanx tiglit, 
Orooni fought hlce noble, squire like isnight, 

Ai fearlessly and well ; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er tl'.sir thin host and wounded King 
Tljen skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife liis shatter'd bands ; 
Ajid fiom the charge they drew. 
As raountain-waves, from wasted lands, 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foeman know ; 
Theii' Kmg, theii' Lords, their mightiest low. 
They melted from the field as snow, 
■When streiuns are swoln and south winds blow, 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 

While m.ar.y a broken band, 
Disorder'd, through her cm-rents dash, 

To gain tlie Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to<town and dale. 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale. 
And raise the universal wail.' 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song. 
Shall many an age that wail prolong ; 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the steru strife, and carnage drear. 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where sliiver'd was fair Scotland's spear. 

And broken was her shield I 

XXXV. 

Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — " 
There, Scotland ! lay tliy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one ; 
The sad survivors all are gone. — ■ 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; i 

Nor to yon Border castle high. 
Look northward vith upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish Iwipe in vain. 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to liia land 

May yet return again. 
He eav the wreck his rashness wrought ; 

And show'd tlie scene of carnage wide ; 

There, Scotland, lay thy bravest pride !'* 

The powerful poetry of these passages can receive no il- 

ustratioD from any praises or observations of oor^. It is Bupe* 

aor, in onr appreliension, to all that this author has hitherto 

produced ; and, with a few faults of diction, equal to any 

Jiing that has ever been written upon similar subjects. From 

the moment the author gets in siglit of Flodden Field, indeed, 

10 the end of the poem, tliere is no tame writing, and no inteiv 

vention of ordinary passages. He does not once flag or grow 

,edious ; and neither stops to describe dresses and ceremonies 

Dor to commemorate the harsh names of feudal barons from the 

Border. There is a flight of five or Bi,\ hundred lines, in short, 

which he never stoops his wing, nor wavers in his coaree ; 



Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plam: 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clench'd within liis manly hand, 

Beseem'd the monarch slain.* 
But, O ! liow changed since yon ilithe 

night !— 
Gladly 1 turn me .from the sight 

Unto my tale again 

XXXVL 

Short is my tale : — Fitz- Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangled body bare 

To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 

And there, beneath the southern aisle 

A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 

Did long Lord Marraion's image beai 

(Now vainly for its sight you look ; 

'Twas levell'd when fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral storm'd and took ; 

But, thanks to Heaven and good Saint Chad, 

A guerdon meet the spoiler had !)' 

There erst was martitd M.irmion foimd, 

His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
And tablet carved, and fretted nicho, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair, 
And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer. 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods a peasant swain 
Follow'd his lord to Fl')ddeu plain, — 
One of those flowers, ^ hom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede away ;" 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
And dragg'd him to its foot, and died. 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers strip.p'd and gash'd the slain, 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, 
Tlie lowly woodsman took the room. 

XXXVIL 
Less easy task it were, to show 
Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low.' 

but carries the reader forward with a more rapid, rustained, 
and lofty movement, than any epic hard that we can at preaeei 
remember." — Jeffrey. 

a " Day glimmers on the dying and the dead. 

The cloven cuirass, and the hetmless head," &c. 

Bvron's Lara. 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 S. * Ibid. Note 4 T. 

6 " A corpse is afterwards conveyed, as that of IVf armion, ta 
the Cathedral of Lichfield, where a magnificent tomb is erected 
to his memory, and masses are instituted for the repore of hii 
Eoul ; but, by an admirably-imagined act of poetical ji'"lice, wi 
are informed that a peasant's body was placed beneath thai 
costly monument, while tlie haughty Baron himself was boried 
like a vulgar corpse, on tlie spot on which be died. —Mon. Rew 



152 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO TV 



They dug his grave e'en where he lay,' 

But 2Tery mark is gone ; 
Time's wasting hand has done away 
The simple Cross of Sybil Grey, 

And broke her font of stone : 
But yet from out the Uttle hiU^ 
Oozes the slender springlet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush, 
\nd rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their giirlands fair ; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
When thou shalt find the httle hUl,' 
With thy heart coraraime, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong. 
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trod, 
Still led thee farther from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, " He died a gallant knight, 
Witli sword in hand, for England's right." 

xxxvin. 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf. 

Who cannot image to liimself. 

That all through Flodden's dismal night, 

Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted him again ; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest heVd,* 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 

Unnamed by HoUinshed or Hall, 

He was the hving soul of all : 

That, after fight, his faith made plain, 

He won his rank and Lands again : 

And charged his old paternal shield 

1 MS. — " They (lug his bed e'en where he lay." 
1 MS. — " Bui yet wkere swdls the little hill." 
9 MS. — " If thoa shouldsl find this little tomb, 

Beware to sjieak a hasty doom." 
4 MS. — " He hardest press'd the Scottish inng ; 

'Twas tliought that he struck down the King." 
6 Used generally for talc or disciiurse. 

(I " vVe have dwelt longer on tile beauties and defects of 
Ais poem, than, we are afraid, will be agreeable either to the 
partial or the inditferent ; not only because we look upon it as 
t misapi-lication, in some degree, of very extraordinary talents, 
but because we cannot help considering it as the foundation 
of a new school, which may here.nfter occasion no little an- 
noyance both to us and to the public Mr. Scott has hitherto 
filled the whole stage himself; and the very splendor of his 
lUiCess has probably operated .is yet rather to deter than to 
encourage the herd of rivals and imitators ; but if, by the help 
of the good parts of his poem, he succeeds in suborning tlie 
■/crdict of the public in favor of the bad parts also, and es- 
AbtiBhes V indiscriminate taste for chivalrous legends and 



With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid, 

To whom it must in terms be said, 

That King and kh\smen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, miless I relate. 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, 

More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke ; 

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw; 

And afterwards for many a daj, 

That it w;is held enough to say. 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they hke Wilton sind like Clare '"' 



a ' 15 n b ii . 

TO THE READER. 

Why then a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song, 

Unle.ss to bid the gentles speed. 

Who long have hsted to my rede !' 

To Statestneu grave, if such may d jign 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt I 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twined by her he loves the best ; 

To every lovely lady bright, 

What can I wish but faithful knight? 

To every faithftd lover too. 

What can I wish but lady true '( 

And knoAvledge to the studious sage ; 

And pdlow to the head of age. 

To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play, 

Light task, and merry hohday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good-night. 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light !' 

romances in irregular rhyme, he may depend upon having af 
manv copyists as Mrs. Radclilfe or Schiller, and upon becomin| 
the founder of a new schism in the catholic [loetica church 
for which, in spite of all our exertions, there will probably be 
no cure, but in the extravagance of the last and lowest of it* 
followets. It is for this reason that we conceive it to be anti 
tlnty to make one strong efibrt to bring back the great tpcstle 
of the heresy to the wholesome creed of his instructors and 1« 
stop the insurrection before it becomes desperate and sense- 
less, by persuading the leader to return to his doty nn i all^ 
giance We admire Mr. Scott's genius as much as iny of 
those who may be misled, by its pervorsion ; and, li^e th# 
curate and the barber in Don Qui.vote. lament the day vhen a 
gentleman of such endowments w,as corrupted by the ivicked 
tales of knight-errantry and enchantment." — Jeffrisy 

" We do not flatter ourselves that Mr. Scott will pay to oni 
advice that attention which he has refused to his acute friend 
Mr. Erskine ; but it is possible that his own good sense may in 
time persuade him not to abandon his 'oved fairy ground (« 
province over whicli we wish him a long and prosperotu eov 



OAKTO VI. 



MARMION. 



l&» 



ernment), b'at to combine the charms of lawful poetry with 
those of will! and roiiiantic SutJon. As the first step to this 
fiownble fiul, we would beg him to reliect that liis Gothic 
models will not tiear Iiim out in 'raristLTritig the loose aud 
ihutlling lidllad metre to a poem of (.-oiisiderable length, and 
of coniplicatt'd interest like the present. It is a very etisy thing 
to write live hundred ballad verses, staiis pede in una ; but 
Mr. S "tt needs not to be told, that five hundred verses writ- 
•jivi DC jne fool have a very poor chance (or immortality." — 
Msnthiy Jievita. 



" 1 he story," writes Mr. Sonthey, " is made of better raate- 
riaJs lliau the Lay, yet ihey are not so well fitted together. 
Aa a whole, il has not pleased me so much, — in parts, it has 
;i.'ea«)il me more. There is nothing so finely conceived in 
your former poem as the death of Maiinion : there is notliing 
finer in its conception anywhere. Tlie introiluc'ory epistles 
I did not wish iiway, because, as poems, they gave me great 
pleasure ; but I wished ihem at the end of the volume, or at 
the be^iinniiig, — anywhere except where they were. My taste 
is perha;is peculiar in disliking all in'errupUons in narrative 
poetry. Wlien the poet lets his story sleep, and talks in his 
own person, it has to me the same sort of unpleasant etfect 
Uiat is produci-d at tlie end of an act. Vou are alive to know 
\*Sat follows, and lo- -down comes the curlain, and the fiddlers 
begin with their abominations. The general opinion, however, 
is with me, in this particular instantje." — Zdfe of Scott, vol. 
lii. p. 44. 

"Tliaiik you," says Mr. Wordsworth, "for Marmion. I 
think your end has been attained. That it is not the end 
which I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will be 
well aware, from what you know of my notions of composi- 
tion, both as to matter and manner. In the circle of my ac- 
qnaintaiicf, it seems as well liked as the Lay, though I have 
heard that in the world it is not =o. Had the poem been 
much better than the Lay, it could scarcely have satisfied the 
public, which has too much of the monster, the moral monster, 
in its coinpo^iilion." — Ibid. p. 45. 

" My own opinion," says Mr. George Ellis, " is, that both 
the productions are equally good in their difterent ways; 
yet, upor the whole, I had rather be the author of Marmion 
than of the Lay, because I think its species of excellence of 
much more ditHcult attainment. What degree of bulk may 
be essentially necessary to the corporeal part of an Epic poem, 
I know not ; but sure I am that the s^tory of Marmion might 
hav) furnislied twelve booUs as easily as six — that the mas- 
leriy caracter of Constance would not have been less be- 
witch Jig had it been much more minutely painted -and that 
D(. Wilton miglit have been dilated with great ease, and even 
L» cowidcrabie advantage ; — in short, that had it been your 
.'rlenticn ijRrely to exhibit a spiritc-il romantic story, instead 
if miking tliat slory subservient to the delineation of the 
nannen which pievai'.ed at a certain period of our history, 
he t'-Dber kad variety of year characters woai'f have uuited 
90 



any scale of painting. On the whole I can sincerely aBBon 
you, rhat had I seen Marmion witlio t knowing liic anlhor, 
I should have ranked it with Theodore ami Ilonoria, — that 
is to say, on tlie very lop shelf of English poetry." — Ibid, vol. 
iii. p. 4G. 

" I shall not, after so much of and about criticism, say any 
thin* more of Marmion in this place, than that [ have alwayi 
considered it as, on the whole, the greatest of Scott's poems. 
There is a certain light, easy, virgin charm about the Lay, 
whicli we look for in vain througli the sulisetjuent volumes of 
liis verse ; but the superior strength, and breadth, and bolrl- 
ness, both of conception and execution, in tlie Marmion, a|>> 
pear to me indisputable. The great blot, the combination of 
mean felo7ty Vfilh so many noble (lualities in the cluiracter of 
the liero, was, as tlie poet says, severely commented on at the 
time by the most ardent of his early friends, Leyden ; bat 
though he admitted the justice of that criticism, he chose ' to 
let the tree lie as it had fallen.' He was Sso sensible that 
many of the subordinate and connecting parts of the narra- 
tive are flat, harsh, and obscure— but would never make any 
serious attempt to do away with thcs-e inii)erfec lions ; and 
perhaps they, after all, heighten by contra'^t the effect of the 
passages of high-wrought enthusiasm which alone he con* 
sidered, in after days, with satisfaction. As for the 'episto- 
lary dissertations,' it must, I take il, be allowed that they in- 
terfered with tlie flow of ihe story, when readers were torO' 
ing the leaves with the fir^t ardor of curiosity ; and they 
were not, in fact, originally intended to be interwoven in any 
fashion with the romance of Marmion. Though the author 
himself does not allude to, and had perhaps forgotten the 
circumstance, when writing the Introductory Es.say vf 183C 
— they were announced, by an advertisement early in 1807, as 
' Six Epistles from Etlrick Forest.' to be published in a sepa- 
rate volume, similar to that of the Ballads and Lyrical Piecea ; 
and perhaps it might have been better that this first plan hail 
been adhered to. But however that may be, are tiiere any 
pages, among all tie ever wrote, that one would be more eoiry 
lie should not have written 1 They are among the most do- 
Ucious portraitures that genius ever painted of itself, — buoyant, 
virtuous, happy genius — exulting in its own energies, yet pofr 
sessed and mastered by a clear, calm, modest mind, and happy 
only in diffusing happiness around it. 

" With what gratification those Epistles were read by the 
friends to whom they were addressed, it would be superfluous 
to show. He had, in fact, painted them almost as fully aa 
himself; and who might not have been proud to find a place 
in such a gallery ? The tastes and habits of six of those men, 
in whose intercourse Scott found the greatest pleasure when bia 
fame was approaching its meridian splendor, are thus preserved 
for posterity ; and when I reflect with what avidity we catch 
at the least hint which seems to afford as a glimpse of the in 
timate circle of any great poet of former ages, I cannot but 
believe that posterity would have held this record precioua, 
even had the individuals been in themselves far le>i9 remark 
able than a Rose, an Ellis, a Heber, a Skene, a Marriott, ano 
an Erskine." — Lockhart, vol. iii. p. 55. 



164 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A- 

As jckcr. the Champion of the Late 

Entt^s jMurgana' s fated house. 

Or in the Chapel Perilous, 

Desp. ■iing spells and demons' farce, 

Holds converse with the unburicd corse.- 



-P. 86. 



Thk romance of ilieMorte Arthur conUiins a sort of abridg- 
ment of the most celebrated adventures of the Round Table ; 
ftlid, being written in comparatively moderu language, gives 
the general reader an excellent idea of what romancea of 
chivalry actually were. It. has also tlie merit of being written 
•n pure old English ; and many of the wild adventures which 
it contains are told with a simplicity bordering upon the sublime. 
Several of these are reterred to in the text ; and I would have 
illustrated them by more full extracts, but as this curious work 
id about to be lepubUshed, I confine myself to tlie tale of the 
Chapel Periloiis, and of the quest of Sir Launcelot after the 
Sangreal. 

"Right so Sir Laoncelot departed, and when he came to 
the Chapell Perilous, he alighted downe, and tied his horse to 
a little gate. And as soon as he was within the church-yard, 
he saw, on the front of the chapell, many faire ricli shields 
turned upside downe ; and many of tiie shields Sir Launcelqt 
had seene knights liave before ; with that he saw stand by him 
thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than -iny man that ever 
he had seene, and all tliose grinned and gn^hed at Sir Laun- 
celot; and when he saw their countenance, hee dread tliem 
Bore, and so put his shield afore liim, and tooke his sword in liis 
hand, ready to doe battaile ; and they were all armed in black 
harneis, ready, with their shields and swords drawn. And 
when Sir Launcelot would have gone tiirough them, they scat- 
tered on every side of liim, and gave him tiie way ; and there- 
with he waxed all bold, and entered into the chapeil, and then 
hee saw no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was he 
ware of a corps covered with a cioath of silke ; then Sir Laun- 
celot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloth away, and 
then it fared under iiim as the earth had quaked a little, whereof 
he was afeard, and then hee saw a faire sword lye by the dead 
knight, and thar he gat in his hand, and hied him out of ihe 
chappell. As soon as he was in the ciiappell-yerd, all the 
knights spoke to him with a grimly voice, and said. ' Knight, 
Sir Launcelot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shnlt die." 
— ' Whether I live or die,' said Sir Launcelot, ' with no great 
wcis get yee it again, therefore figlit for it and yee Ust.' 
Therewith he passed through them ; and, beyond the chappell- 
rerd, there met him a faire damosell. and said. ' Sir Launcelot, 
eave that sword behind thee, or thoD wilt die for it.' — ' I will 
Dot leave it,' said Sir Launcelot 'or no threats.' — * No ?' 
•aid she, 'and ye did leave thi^voword, <iueen Guenever should 
ye nevar see.'—* Then were I a fool and I would leave this 
■word,' said Sir Launcelot. 'Now, gentle knight,' said the 
damosell, ' I require thee to kisa me once.' — 'Nay,' said Su- 
Launcelot, 'that God forbid !'—' Well, sir,' said she, 'and 
thou haddest kissed me lliy life dayes had been done, but now, 
alas!' said she, ' I have lost all my labour; for I ordcined this 
chappell for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine : and once I had 
Sir Gawaine within it ; and at that time he fought with that 
kmght which there Ueth dead in yonder chappell, Sir Gilbert 
the bastcid. and at that time hee smote oft' Sir Gilbert the 
>«fitard'8 left hand And so, Sir Launcelot, now I tell thee, , 



that I have loved thee this seaven yeare ; bat there may ;o w» 
man have thy love but Uueene Guenever; but sitlien S ma; 
not rejoyiee thee to have thy body alive, I had kej.t no mors 
joy in this world but to have had thy dead body ; and I would 
have balmed it and served, and so have kept it in my hfe daies, 
and daily I should have clipped thee, and kissed thee, in tha 
despite of Qaeen Guenever.'— ' Ye say well,* said Sir Launce- 
lot ; ' Jesus preserve me from your subtill craft.* And tbei»- 
with he took his horse, and dejiarted from her." 



Note B. 



^ sinful man, and uncovfcss'd, 
He took the Sangreal' s holy quest, 
And, slumbering, saw the vision high, 
He might 7iot view with waking eye.—V. 87. 
One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast with bii 
Knights of the Round Tible, the Sangreal, or vessel out of 
which the last passover was eaten (a precious relic, which had 
long remained concealed from human eyes, because of the sint 
of tlie land), suddenly appeared to him and al! his chivalry. 
The consequence of this vision was, that all the knights took 
on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. But, aias ! it 
could oidy be revealed to a knight at once ac-omplislied in 
earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil convei-s&lion. 
All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplisliments were therefore ren- 
dered vain by his guilty intrigue witli Q.ueen Guenever, or 
Ganore ; and in his holy quest he encountered only such di»-^ 
graceful disasters as that which follows :— 

" But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wi!d 
forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him ; an^ 
at the last, he came unto a stone crosse, which departed tw< 
wayes, in wast land ; and, by the crosse, was a stone that was 
of marble ; but it was so dark, that Sir Launcelot might not 
well know what it was. Tlien Sir Launcelot looked by him, 
and Baw an old chaiipell, and there lie wend to have found 
people. And so Sir Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and 
there he put ofl* his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then 
hee went unto the chappell doore, and found it wasted and 
broken. And within he found a faire altar, full richly arrayed 
with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, which 
beare si.v great candles, and the candiesticke was of silver. 
And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, hee had a ^'reat wil 
for to enter into the chappell, but he could iind no place wher» 
hee might enter. Tiien was he passing heavie and dismaied. 
Then he returned, and came againe to his horse, and tooke ofl 
his sad ]le and his bridle, and let him pasture, and unlaced hia 
iielme, %nd ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleepo 
upon his shield, before the crosse. 

"And so hee fell on sleepe ; aiid,ha^r«? waking and half* 
sleeping, he saw come by him two palfreys, both faire and 
white, the which beare a Utter, therein lying a sicke knight 
And when he was nigh the crosse, he there abode still. All 
this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slejit no', venty, and 
hee heard him say, ' O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow 
leave me, and when shall the holy vessell come by me, where 
through I shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for Ut- 
tie trespasse !' And thus a great while complained the knight, 
and allwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir Launcelcl 
saw the candiesticke, with the fire tapers, come hofore tbc 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



I5a 



rrtwse ; bat he conld see nobody tliat brought it. Also there 
tame a table of silver, and the holy vessell of the Sancgreall, the 
which Sir Launcelot had seen before that time in King I'et- 
ohoor's house. And therewicliall the sieke knight set him U|»- 
right, and held up botli liis hands, and said, ' Faire sweete 
Lord, which is here within the holy vessell, take heede to mee, 
iJiat t may bee hole of this great malady!' And therewith 
Dpon his hands, and upon his knees, he went so nigh, that lie 
touched the holy vessell, and kissed it : And anon he was hole, 
tnd then he said, ' Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of 
thi& malady.' Soo when the holy vessell had been there a 
fwat while, it went into the chappelle againe, with the can- 
Jleslicke and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it 
became, for he was overtaken with sinne, that hee had no 
power to arise against the holy vessel], wherefore afterward 
many men said of liim shame. But iie tooke repentance after- 
ward. Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, and kissed 
the crosse. Then anon his squire brought him his armes, and 
asked his lord how he did. 'Certainly,' said iiee, 'I tlianke 
God right iieartily. for through the holy vessell I am healed : 
But I liave right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, which 
hath had neitlier grace nor jtower to awake during the time 
that this holy vessell hath beene here present.' — ' I dare it right 
well say,' said the squire, ' tliat this same knight is defouled 
with some manner of deadly sinne, whereof he lias never con- 
fessed.' — ■ By my faith.' said the knight, ' whatsoever he be, 
he is unhappie ; for, as I deerae, hce is of the fellowship of the 
Round Table, ihe which is entered into the quest of the Sanc- 
preall.' — ' Sir,' said the squire, 'here I have brought you all 
vour armes, save your helme and your sword ; and, therefore, 
by mine assent, now may ye take this knight's helme and his 
Bword ;' and so he did. And when he was cleane armed, he 
took frir Lauiujelot's horse, for he was better than hig owne, 
and so they departed from the crosse. 

*'Then anou .'i-'ir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe up- 
right, and he Ihougiit him what hee liad there seene, and 
whether it were dreames or not ; right so he Iieard a voice that 
'Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more 
than ir t!ie wood, and more naked and bare than is the 
of I-ie. f.g tree, tlierefore go thou from hence, and with- 
draw t'.c: ii-jm this holy place;' and when trir Launcelot 
leard Ih'i, h; was passing heavy, and wist not what to doe. 
And so h . f*parted sore weeping, and cursed the time that he 
aras bone ; for then he deemed never to have had more wor- 
tiip ; Tor the words went unto his heart, till that he knew 
vhf^rcfcre that hee was so called." 



Note C. 



Jind Drydcn, in immortal strain. 

Had raised the Table Round again.— P. 87. 

Dryden's melancholy account of his projected Epic Poem, 
•lasted by the selfisli ar.d sordid parsimony of Jiis patrons, is 
*ntained in an " K^s!.y on Satire," addressed to the Earl of 
>>Ret, and pretiicJ tr. the Translation of Juvenal. After 
aentioning a plan of tupplying machinery from the guardian 
ttgeU of kingdoms, m'.'ntioned in the Book of Daniel, he 
adds :- 

"Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your 
lordship, ai.d by you the world, a rnde draught of what I have 
been long labo.ing hi my imagination, and what I had intended 
to have pal in practice (though far nnable for the attempt of 
inch a poem) ; and to have left the stage, to which my genius 
■ever ranch inclined me. for a work which would have taken 
op my life in thi- performance of ft. ThLs, too, I had intended 
chiefiy for the iionor of my native country, to which a poet is 
(jarticalurly oolig-'d Of two subjecU, both relating to it. I 
■ras doubtful whether I should choose that of King Arthur 
•onqne::ing the Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, 
«J»o^\'*n greater scope to my invention ; or that of Edward the 



Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to the law 
ful prince, though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel ; which, 
for the compass of time, including only the ctpedition of ona 
year, for the greatness of the action, and its answerable event, 
for the magnanimity of tlie English hero, opposed lo the in 
gratitude of llie person whom he restored, and for the many 
beautiful episodes which I had interwoven with tlie principal 
design, together with the characters of tlie chiefest English pe^ 
sons (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have takeo 
occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the Hfr 
blest families, and also shadowed the events of future ages ii. 
the succession of our imperial line), — with these helps, and 
those of the machines which I liave mentioned, I might per 
haps iiave done as well as some of my predecessors, or at least 
chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in a like d» 
sign ; but being encouraged only with fair words by King 
Ciiarles IL, my little salary ill paid, and no pjflep ectof a future 
subsistence, I was then discouraged in ihe^OTginning oftny 
attempt ; and now age has overtaken me, and want, a mora 
iusutferable evil, through the change of tlie times, has wholl? 
disabled rae." 



Note D. 



Their theine the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. — P. 87. 

The " History of Bevis of Hampton" is abridged by my friend 
Mr. George Ellis, with that liveliness which eitracLs amuse* 
ment even out of the most rude and unpromising of our old 
tales of chivalry. Ascapart, a most important personage in th« 
romance, is thus described in an extract : — 

" This geaunt was mighty and strong 
And full thirty foot was long, 
He was bristled like a sow ; 
A foot he had between each brow ; 
His lips were great, and hung aside ; 
His eyen were hollow, his mouth was wide; 
Lothly he was to look on than, 
And liker a devil than a man. 
His staff was a young oak. 
Hard and heavy was his stroke.** 
Specimens of Metrical Rojiiances, vo.. '.\. p. 136 

I am happy to say, that the memory of Sir Bevis is still fra 
grant in his town of Southampton ; the gate of which is senti 
nelled by the effiiiies of that doughty knight-errant and his gi 
gantic associate. 



Note E. 



Daij set on JVorham^s castled steep, 

.Jind Tioecd^s fair river, broad and deep, £,-c. — P. 87. 

The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called UbbLnforoj 
is sitnated on the southern bank of the Twe<;d, about sli 3ikloi 
above Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary b» 
tween England and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well 
as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place oi 
magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. resided thera 
when he was created umpire of the dispute concerning the 
Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken da 
ring the wars between England and Scotland ; and, indeec' 
scarce any happened, in which it had not a principal share 
Norham Ciuitle is situated on a steep bank, which overhang! 
the river. The repeated sieges which the castle had sustained, 
rendered frequent reimirs necessary. In UG4, it was almost 
rebuilt by Hiigh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who added a Log* 
keep, or donjon ; notwithstanding wl.jcli. King Henry IL, it. 
1174, took the castle from the bishop, and committed liie keep 
ing of it to William de Neville. After tliis oeriod it seems tJ 



Oave been chiefly ganisoned hy tlie King, and considered as a 
royal fortress. Tlie GreyH of" Cliilliiigliam Caslle were Ire- 
queiitly the castellans, or captains of the garrison : yet, as the 
caslle was silua"^ii iu tlie patrimony of St. Cuthbert. the proi>- 
erty was ir. the see of Durham till tlie Reformation. After 
tha^ period, it pxs^ed tlirough various hands. At the unioa of 
the crowns, it ivas in the possession of Sir Robert Carey (aftel^ 
wards Earl of iWonnioulh), for his own life, and that of two 
of his sons. After King James's accession, Carey sold Nor- 
ham Castle to George Home, Earl of Dunbar, for £6000. See 
itB'floriu IS Memoirs, |)ublished by Mr. Constable of Edinburgli. 

According to Mr. Pinkerton. there is, in the British Musenni, 
jai. B. 6, 21C, a curious memoir of llie Dacres on tlie state of 
Nornain Castle iu 15ii2, not long after the battle of Flodden. 
The uinei ward, or keep, is represented as impregnable : — 
' The provisions are three great vats of salt eels, forty-four kine, 
three hugfi|aBM^^ salted salmon, forty quarters of grain, be- 
Bidfl^'ntanycSfl^Rid four hundred sheep, lying under the cas- 
tle-wall nightly ; but a number of the arrows wanted feathei's, 
and a good Fletcher {i. e. maker of arrows] was required." — 
History of Scotland, vol. li. p. 201, note. 

Tlie ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well 
AS picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with 
many vaults, and fragment.s of other edifices, enclosed within 
«n outward wall of great circuit. 



Note F. 



Tke battled towers, the donjon keep. — P. 87. 

It is perhaps unnecessary ro remind my readers, that the 
donjon, in its proper signification, means the strongest part of 
a feudal castle; a high square tower, with walls of tremen- 
dous thickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, 
from which, however, it was usually detached. Here, in case 
uf the outward defences being gained, the garrison retreated 
to make their last stand. The donjon contained the great hall, 
snd principal rooms of state for solemn occasions, and also tlie 
prison of the fortress ; from wliicli last circumstance we derive 
Uie modem and restricted use of the word dungeon, Ducange 
(voce DuNJo) conjectures |)lausibly, that the name is derived 
from these keeps being usually built upon a hill, which in Cel- 
jc is called Dl'N. Borlaae sui)pose3 the word came from the 
darkness of the apartments in these lowers, which were thence 
figuratively calleil Dungeons ; thus deriving the ancient word 
*rom the modern application of it. 



Note G. 



Well was he firmed from head to heel. 
In vioil and plate of Milan steel. — P. IJ8. 

The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their 
tkitl in armory, as appears from ilie following passage, in 
ffhtcli Froissar! gives an account of ihe preparations made by 
Henry Earl of Hereford, afterwards Henry IV.. and Tliomas, 
Dc»9 of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their iiiO[ioyed combat in 
the liita at Coventry ; — " These two lords made ample provi- 
Blor. cf all things necessary for the combat ; and the Earl of 
Derby sent off messengers to Lombardy, to have armor from 
Sir Galeas. Duke of Milan. The Duke complied with joy, and 
gave the knight, called Sir Francis, who liad brought the mes- 
sage, the choice of all his armor for the Earl of Derby. When 
he had selected what he wished for in plateil and mail armor, 
the Lord of Milan, ot. of his abunilant love for the Earl, oi^ 
dered four of the best armorers in Milan, to accompany the 
knight to Eiiglaiid, that the Earl of Derby might he more com- 
pletely armed.* - Johnks' Froissart, vol. iv. p. 597. 



Note H. 

IVho checks at me to death is dighi. I'. 88. 

The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from the fo. 
lowing story : — Sir David de Lindsay, fir>>t Earl ol Crauford 
was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended, during a 
visit to London, in 1390, by Hir William Dalzell, who was, ac- 
cording to my authority, Bower, not only excelling in wisdom 
but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he thent 
saw t^Lr Piers Courtenay, an English knight, famous for skill is 
tilting, and for the beauty of liis person, pai'ading the palace, 
arrayed in a new mantle, bearing for device an embroidered 
falcon, with this rhyme, — 

' I bear a falcon, fairest of flight, 
Whoso pinches at her, his death is (light,! 
In graith."3 

The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared ne.\t day in a | 
dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a mag* 
pie instead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived 
to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir Piers : — 

" I bear a pie picking at a piece. 

Whoso picks at her, I shall pick at his nese^s 
In faith." 

This altroiit could only be expiated hy a just with sharp 
lances. In the course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that 
it gave way at the touch of his antagonist's lance, and he thaa 
avoided the shock of the encounter. This happened twice: — 
in the third encounter, the lianihonie Courtenay lost two of Jxis 
front teeth. As the Englishman complained bitterly of Dal- 
zell's fraud in not fastening his helmet, the Fcottishman agreed 
to rnn six courses more, each champion staking ^n the hand of 
the King two hundred pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering 
the lists, any unequal advantage should be detected. This be- 
ing agreed to, the wily Scot demaniled that Sir Piers, in addi- 
tion to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extinction ol 
one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the fight ol 
Otterhnrn. As Courtenay demurred to this equalization of op 
tieal powers. Dalzell demanded the forfeit ; which, after much 
altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, he 
surpassed the English both in wit and valor. This must ap 
pear to the reader a singular specimen of the humor of thai 
time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different 
decision from Henry IV. 



Note I. 

They haiVd Lord Jilarmion ; 
They hatl'd him Lord of Fontenayc, 
Of I /utter ward, and Scrivclbnyr., 

Of Taviwovtk tower dnd town. — P. 89. 

Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present ro- 
mance, is entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, in 
deed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fonlenay, in Normandy 
was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fon 
tenay, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained a 
grant of the caslle and town of Tamworth, and also of the 
manor of Scrivelby, in Lincolnshire. One, or h»tli, of these 
uoble possessions, was held by the honorable service of being 
the royal champion, as the ancestors of .Marmion liad formerly 
been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the castle and 
demesne of Tamworth had passed through four successive 
barons from Robert, the family became extinct in the person 
of Philip de Marmion, who died in 20th Edward I. without 
issue male. He was succeeded in his castle ol' Tamworth by 
Alexander de Freville, who mairied Mazera. his grand-daugh 
ter. Baldwin de Freville, Alexander's descendant- in the re"?i 



1 Prepared. 



i Armor. 



8 AomJ 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



157 



nf Richard I., by the supposed tenure of Ilia castle of Tatn- 
worth, claimeil the oJfice of royal (.■hampion, anil to do the 
•ervice appertaining; namely, on tlie day of coronation, to 
tide, eoiiipleleiy armed, upon a barbed borse, into Westniin- 
■ter Hall, ami there to challenge the combat against any who 
would gainsay tlie King's title. But this otfice was adjudged 
to air John Dymoke, to whom llie manor of Scrivelby liad de- 
Bcended by another of the co-heiresses of Robert de Marmion ; 
tnd it remain:* in that family, wliose representative is Heredi- 
ilary Cliami)ion of Englaiul at the present day. The family 
Mid possessions of Freville liave merged in tlie Karls ot Fer- 
■ars. I have not, tliert'fore, created a new family, but only 
revived the titles of an old one in an imaginary personage. 

It was one of the iMarniion family, who, in the reign of Ed- 
ward II., performed that chi-'alrous feat before the very castle 
of Norhain, which Bishop Percy has woven into his beantit'ul 
ballad, " The Hermit of Warkwortb." — The story is thus told 
by Leland : — 

" The ^cottes cam yn to the marches of England, and de- 
stroyed the castles of Werk and Herbotel, and overran much 
of Northumberland marches, 

" At this tynie, Thomas Gray and his friendes defended 
Norham from the ^cottes. 

" It were a wonderful processe to declare, what mischefes 
cam by hungre and asseges by the space of xi yeres in Noi^ 
thumberland ; for the Scottes became so proude, after they bad 
oot Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. 

" About this lyme there was a greate teste made ynLincoIn- 
■hir, to wliich came many gentlemen and ladies ; and amonge 
them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, wilh a 
very rich creste of gold, to William Marmion, knlgiit, with a 
letter oi' commandement of iier lady, tliat he should go into 
the daungerest place in England, and ther to let the heaulme 
be seene and known as famous. So he went to Norliam ; 
whither, within 4 days of cumming. cam Philip Moubray, 
guardian of Berwicke, having yn his bande 40 men of armes, 
the very flour of men of the Scottish marches. 

"Thomas Gray, capilayne of Norham, seynge this, brought 
hU gari-*on afore the barriers of the castel, behind whom cam 
William, richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and wearing 
the heaulme, his lady's present. 

" Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir Knight, ye be 
cam hither to fame your helmet : mount up on yowr horse, 
and ride lyke a valiant man to yowr foes even here tt hand, 
and f forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade or alyve, or 
I myself wyl dye for it.' 

" Whereupon lie toke his cursere, and rode among the throng 
»f ennemyes ; the which layed sore stripes on him, and pulled 
tim at the last out of his sadel to the grounde. 

" Then Thomas Gray, with al the Jiole garrison, lettc prick 
yn among the Scottes. and so wondid them and their Iioi-ses, 
that they were overthrowan ; and Marmion, sore beten, was 
horsid agayn, and, with Gray, persewed the Scottes yn cliase. 
There were taken 50 horse of price ; and tlie women of Nor- 
ham brought them to the foote men to follow the chase." 



Note K. 



~ Largesse, largesse. — P. 89. 

Ihis was the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were 
wont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights. 
Stewart of Lorn distinguishes a ballad, in which he satirizes 
Uie rarrownesa of James V. and his coortiers, by the ironical 
burden — 

*' Lerges, Urges, lerges, hay, 
f erges of tflis ncwyeir day. 
First lerges of the King, my chief, 
Q,uhilk come als quiet as a theif, 



And in my hand slid schillingis iway.* 
To put bis lergnes to the prief,'* 
For lerges of this new-yeir day." 

The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to hav« 
great claims upon the liberality of the knights, of whose feati 
they kiL-\A a record, and proclaimed them aloud, as in the tex 
upon suitable occasions. 

At Berwick. Norham, and other Border fortressea of impo 
taiice, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable characLi 
rendered them the only persons that could, with perfect assi 
ranee of safety, be sent on necessary embassies into 3cotlacd 
This is alluded to in stanza xxi. p. 91. 



Note L. 



Sir Hugh the Heron bold, ^^ 
Baroit of Twisell, and of Ford, 
Mnd Captain of the Hold. — P. 90. 

Were accuracy of any consetjuence in a lictitiouft narrative, 
tills castellan's name ought to have been AVilUam ; for Wil* 
liam Heron of Ford was husband to tlie famous Lady Ford, 
whose siren charms are said to have cost our Janes IV. so dear 
Moreover, the said William Heron, was, at the lime supposed^ 
a prisoner in Scotland, being suri-endered by Henry VHI., o» 
account of his share in the slaughter of Sir Robert Ker of 
Ccsstbrd. His wife, represented in the text as reyiding at the 
Court of Scotland, was, in fact, living in her own Castle at 
Ford. — See Sir RICHARD Heron's cariotis Qcnealogy of thtk 
Heron Family. 



Note M. 

The whiles a J^orlhern harper rude 

Chantrd a rhyme of deadly feud, — 

" IIow the fierce Thinoalls, and Ridleys all,'' iVe. — P. 90 

'This old Northumbrian ballad was taken down from the ' 
recitation ofa w^man eighty years of age, mother of one of tne 
miners of Alston-moor, by an agent for the lead mines ther» 
who communicated it to my friend and correspondent, R. Sur- 
tees, Esquire, of Mainsfortli. She hud not, she said, h^ard i» 
for many yeara ; but, when she was a girl, it used to be sunf 
at the merry-makings " till the rooC rung again." To presents 
this curious, though rude rliyme, it is here inserted. The ludv 
crous turn given to the slaughter marks that wild and disorderly 
state of society, in which a murder was not merely a casual cip* 
cumstance, but, in some cases, an exceedingly goud jest. Tliii 
structure of tlie ballad resembles the "Fray of Suport/'' ha.^ 
ing the Bame irregular stanzas and wild chorus. 

I. 
Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa'. 

Ha*. ye heard how the Ridleys, and Tliirwalla, uid ft 
Ha' set upon Albany-i Fealherstorhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Deadmarthaugh ? 

There was Williraoteswick. 

And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawden. and Will of the W* 

[ canno' tell a', I canno' tell a', 
And mony a mair that the deil may knaw. 

II. 

The anld man went down, but Nicol, his son, 
Ran away afore the fight was began ; 

And he ran, and he run, 

And atbre they were done, 

B See MimlreUy qf f^ ScolttMh Border, vo\ i'- p. ItL 
> FroDOUDced .Iiebonv. 



168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There was many a FEathi.Tston sat sic a stnn, 
A.B uever was seen sincp thp world began, 

III. 

I canno' tell a', I canno' tell a' ; 

Some gat a skelp.^ and some gat a claw ; 

But they gard tlie Featlierstons liaud their jaw,- 

Nicol, and Atick, and a'. 
Bome gat a hurt, and some gat nane ; 
Home liad iiar^ess, and aonie gat sta'en.^ 

IV. 

Arte gal a twist o' the craig ;* 
Ane gat a bunch^ o' the wame ;6 
Symy Haw gal lamed of a leg, 
And syne ran wallowing' hame. 



3jot, homTthe old man's slain outright I 

iiay him now wi' his face down : — he's a sorrowful Bight. 

Janet, thou donot,^ 

I'll lay my best bonnet, 
Thoo g«ts a new gude-man afore it be night. 

VI. 

Hoo away lads, boo away, 
We's a' be iiangiil if we stay. 

Tak up the dead man, and lay him ahint the biggin. 
Here's the Bailey o' Ilallwhislle,^ 
Wi' Ilia great bull's pizzle, 

That sup'd up the broo', — and syne in the piggin.'" 

Jn explanation of tliis ancient ditty, Mr. Snrtees has fur- 
nished me with the following local memorandum : — Willi- 
moteswick. the chief seat of the ancient family of Ridley, is 
litnaled two miles above tlie confluence of the Allon and 
Tyne. It was a house of strength, as appears from one ob- 
long tower, still in tolerable preservation, '^ It has been long 
in jmssession of the Blackct family. Hardricling Dick is not 
an epithet referring to liorsemanahip, but means Richard Rid- 
ley of Ilardridiiig,i2 the seat of another family of that name, 
which, in the time of Charles I,, was sold on account of ex- 
penses incurred by the loyalty of the proprietor, the imme- 
i'.ste ancestor of Sir Matthew Ridley. Will of the Wa' seems 
to bo William Ridley of Walltown. so called from its sitaa- 
'ion on the great Roman wall. Thirlwall Castle, whence 
.he clan of Thirlwalls derived their name, is situated on the 
imall river of Tippel, near the western boundary of Northum- 
berland. It is near llie wall, and takes its name from the 
rampart liaving been thiTlcd, I. e. pierced, or breached, in its 
vicinity. Fealherston Castle lies south of the Tyne, towards 
\lston-moor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, .tlie chief of that 
aticient family, made a fignre in the reign of Edw-ird VI. A 
feud did certainly exist between the Ridleys and Fcatlier- 
i;ins, productive of such consequences as the ballad narrates. 
24 Oct. bifida Hcnrici8vi. Infjiiisitio capt. apud Hnutwhis' 
tie sup visum corpus Alezandri Fcatherston, Qen. aptid 
Grensi/fiaitg-h fclonice intcrfecti, 2'2 Oct. per JVicolaum 
Ridley dc Untkanke, Qcn. Jfugun liidle, J^ico/num Ridle, 
lU alios cjusdem mmtnis. Nor were the Featherstons without 
their revenge ; f t .■ioto Henrici 8vi, we have — Utlagatio J^Tico- 
iai Fethcrsto7i, ac Thome JVijxson, .Vc. Ar. pro homicidio 
t^ill. Ridle de Morale. 

1 ^kdp signifies Blap, or ratlier U the aame word which was originally 
•pelleil . / lap. 
9 Hold their jaw, n vulgar expreaaioa ntill in use. 

3 Got Btvlen, or, were plundered ; a very likely tennlnation of the 
b-ay. 

4 Neclt. s 1'' t'ch. c Helly. / Bellowing. 

8 Siltv ilui. The border bard calls bor so, because she wns weeping 
lor her elnio biisband ; a loss which he reems to think might be eooo 
•I aired, 

'th» Bai'jtf of Ilultwhuitle eeeiis to have .imved whea the fray was 



Note N. 

James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
Warbeck, that Flemish connterftit. 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march with Siirreifs power^ 
What time we razed old ,^yton tower. — P. 91. 

The story of Perkin Warbeck. or Richard, Duke of York 
is well known. In 14%, he was received honorably in Scot 
land; and Jamict (V., after conferring upon him in marriagi 
hia own re'itior, the Lady Catiiarine Gordon, made war ox 
England in tehalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an inva- 
sion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the 
head of considerable forces, but retreated, after taking the in- 
considerable fortress of Ayton. Ford, in bis Dramatic Chroni- 
cle of Perkin Warbeck, makes the most of this inroad ; 
" Surrey. 
" Are all our braving enemies shrunk back, 
Hid in the fogges of their distcmjier'd climate, 
Not daring to behold our colors wave 
In sjiiglit of this infected ayre ? Can they 
Looke on the strength of Cundrestine defac*t ; 
The glorie of Heydonhall devasted ; that 
Of Edington cast downe ; the pile of Fulden 
Oretlirowne : And this, the strongest of their forts, 
Old Ayton Castle, yeelded and demolished. 
And yet not peepe abroad 1 The Scots are bold, 
Hardie in battayle. bat it seems the cause 
They undertake considered, appeared 
Unjoynted in the frame on't." 



Note 0. 



- / trow, 



J^orham can find you guides enow ; 

For here be some have pricked as far, 

On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 

Have drunk the monks of St. Batkan*a ale. 

And driven the becccs of I^auderdale ; 

Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, 

And given tkcm light to set their hoods. — P. 91. 

The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norhara, and 
Berwick, were, as may be easily supposed, very i^jblesome 
neighbore to Scotland. Sir Richanl Maiilan'l jf J jdington 
wrote a poem, called "The Blind Baron's Co'ifi^ft," wlien 
bis barony of Blythe, In Lauderdale, was harri.d jy Rowland 
Foster, the English captain of Wark, with hi? c rr^any, to the 
number of 31)0 men. They spoiled the poet- j?.l '■.night of 5000 
sheep, 200 nolt, 30 horses anrl mares; the wlrjle furniture ot 
liis house of Blythe, worth 100 pounds Scots (£8 Os. 8d.), and 
every thing else that was portable. ' ' This s|;oiI was committed 
the 16ih day of May, 1570 (and the said Sir Richard was lliree 
score and fourteen yeai-s of age, and grown blind), in lime ot 
peace ; when nane of that cou.itry lippcncd [expected] such a 
thing." — " The Blind Baron's Comfort" consists in a string ■■•( 
puns on the word Blythe, the name of the lands thua despoiled. 
Like John Littlewit, he had " A conceit left in his ro'ierj- * 
mi.^erable conceit." 

The last line of (he text contains a phrase, by wiii',-h the 
Borderers Jocularly intimated the bumiug a hoarj. VCIk.fl 

over. This supporter of social order is Ireat'rJ T.itb cbamcterisUe Irrever- 
ence by the moss- trooping poet. 

10 An iron pot wilh two eais. 

I ) Williinotesnick n'as, in prior editionn, r o'otmd'.d with Ridley Hall, 
sitiiiLted two mill's lower, on the eiime aide of t\e Tyne, the hereditai* 
seat of Williau) C. Lowes, Esq. 

13 Ridley, the bishop and martyr, vei v^-.riing to some authonUe* 
bora at Hardriding, where a chair wi». f- ).erved, called the Bishop'' 
Chair. Others, and partioidarlyhiB biof rv p t and namesake. Dr. Glo^e* 
ter Ridley, assign the honor of the maryr'' birth to W illrnoteswick- 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



15> 



tbe Maxwells, in 1085. bamed the Castle of Lochwood, tliey 
taid Ihey (iid so o give the Lady Johnstone " light to set Iier 
hotul."- Nor was the phrase iiiapplicahle ; for, in a letter, to 
irhich I have mislaid the reference, the Llarl of Noitlumihi*- 
and writes to the Kin^ and Council, that lie ilresseii himself 
«t midnight, at WarUworth, by the bli''.e of the nei>;hboriiig 
illagei ':imei' * / thr Scottish marauders. 



Note P. 
The priest of Shores icood^ke could rein 
Ths wildest loar-horse in your train, — P. 91. 
ThJh churchman seeni3 to have been akin to Welsh, the 
ficar o." St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish 
msorgf^ts in 1549. "This man," says HoUinshed, "had 
m^oy good things in him. He was of no great stature, but 
Tffell set, anci niightilie compact: He was a very good wrest- 
ler; shot well, both in the long bow and also in the cross- 
Dow ; he handled his hand-gun and peece very well ; he was 
a very good woodman, and a bardie, and such a one as would 
ool give bis head fur the polling, or his beard for the washing. 
He was a companion in any exercise of activitie, and of a 
courteous and gentle behaviour. He descended of a good honest 
parentage, being borne at Peneverin in Cornwall ; and yet, in 
this rebellion, an arch-captain and a principal doer." — Vol. iv. 
p. 958, 4io. edition. This model of clerical talents had the 
misfortune to be hanged upon the steeple of his own church.' 



Note Q. 

- - — that g'rot where Oiives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie retired tXt God.— P. 92. 

*' Sante Rosalia was of Palermo, and bom of a very noble 

family, and, when very young, abhorred so much the vanities 

] of this world, and avoided the convei-se of mankind, resoKing 

! to dedicate herself wholly to God Almighty, that she, by 

I divine inspiration, forsook her father's honse, and never was 

I more heard of till her body was found in that cleft of a rock, 

; on that alnio^t inaccessible mountain, where now the chapel 

I Is built ; and they affirm she was carried up tJiere by the 

j hands of angels ; for that place wa.s not formerly so accessible 

I (as now it is) in the days of the Saint ; and even now it is a 

1 very bad, and sleepy, and breakneck way. In tliis frightful 

I place, this holy woman lived a great many years, feeding only 

■ on what she found growing on that barren mountain, and 

creej)iiig into a narrow and dreadful cleft'tn a rock, which 

►as always dropping wet, and was her place of retirement as 

well as prayer ; having worn out even the rock with her knees 

ir a Certain phice, which is now open'd on purpose to show it 

•■■* ino-!e who come here. This chapel is very richly adorn'd ; 

■nd on the spot where the Saint's dead body was discover'd, 

which is just beneath the' hole in the rock, which is open'd 

la purjiose, as ( said, there is a very fine statue of marble, 

ttpre^enting her in a lyinij posture, railed in all about with 

Hne uon and brass work ; and the altar, on which they say 

uass, is built just over it " — Voyage to Sicily and Malta, 

ly Itt -3hn Dryden (sou to the poet), p. 107. 



Note R. 



Friar John - 



Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have marked ten aves and two creeds. — P. 92. 
Friar Join understood the soporific virtue of his beads aod 
k eviary, as well as his namesake in Rabelais. " But Gar- 

I The readier needs hardly to be remmdo'^ nf Ivaoboe. 



gantua could not sleep by any means, on which side soevci 
he turned himself. Whereupon the monk said to him, ' I 
never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or prayers' 
het us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms, 
to try whether you shall not quickly fall asleep.' The conceil 
pleased Gargantua very well ; and beginning the first of thes* 
psalms, as soon as they came to Bcati quorum, they fell asleep 
both the one and the other." 



Note S. 



The summon'd Palmer came in place.— ¥, {fZ 

A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it hli 
sole business to visit different holy shrines ; travelling incessant- 
ly, and subsisting by charity ; whereas the P ijgfi m retired to hit 
usual home and occupations, when he had ^jm his devotioni 
at the particular spot which was the object of his pilirrima«;e. 
The Palmers seem to have been the Questionarii of the ari* 
cient Scottish canons 1342 and 1296. There is in the Binna- 
tyne MS. a burlesque account of two such persons, entitled, 
" Sinmiy and his brother." Their accoutrements are thus Indi- 
crously described {I discard the ancient spelling) — 
" Syne shaped them up, to loup on leas, 
Two tabards of the tartan ; 
They counted naught wliat their clouts were 

When sew'd them on, in certain 
Syneclampit up St. Peter's keys, 

Made of an old red gartane ; 
St. James's shells, on t'other s'de, shows 
As pretty as a partane 

Toe, 
On Symmye and his brother.'" 



Note T. 



To fair St. Jindrews bound, 
IVithin the oeean-cave to prny. 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay^ 
From midnight to the daicn of day. 
Sang to the billams' sound. — P. 93. 
St. Regulus (Scottice, St. Rule), a, monk of Patrre, in Achv 
ia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed wen^- 
ward, until he landed at St. Andrews in Scotland, where he 
founded a chapel and tower. The latter is stiil standing ; and, 
tliough we may doubt the precise date of its fonndation, is cer- 
tainly*one of the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, 
nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. An- 
drew.s, bears the name of this religious person. It is difficult o( 
access ; and the rock in which it is hewed is washed by the 
German Ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in diameter, 
and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone altar, 
on the other an aperture into an inner den, where the miserahle 
ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At full 
tide, egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Regulasfafst 
colonized the metropolitan see of Scotland, and converted Ifie 
inhabitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to complaiq, 
that the ancient name of Killrule (Cella Reguli) should hav« 
been superseded, even in favor of the tutelar saint of Scotland. 
The reason of the change was, that i^t. Rule is said to havi 
brought to Scotland the relics of Saint Andrew. 



Note U. 



linint Fillan's blessed well. 

Whose spring can phrensied dreams dispel, 
,Bnd the crazed brain restore. — P. 93. 

St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Althoogb 



160 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Popery is, with us, matter of abomination, yet the common 
people still retain some of the superstitions connected witli it. 
There are in Perthshire several wells and springs dedicated to 
St. FjUan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, 
even among the Protestants, They are held powerful in cases 
af madness ; and, in some of very late occnrrence, lunatics have 
been left, all nj^ht bound to the holy stone, in confidence that 
the saint would cure and unloose them before morning, — [See 
various notes to die jMinstreisy of the Scottish Border.'] 



N'OTE V. 



The scenes are desert now, and bare, 
Inhere flourish' d once a forest fair. — P. 94. 

Eltrick Forest now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, 
was anciently reserved for the pleasure of the royal chase. 
Since it was dl^Sferked, the wood has been, by degrees, almost 
totally deatroyeti, allliough, wherever protected from the sheep, 
copses soon arise *.;;liout any planting. When the King hunt- 
ed there, he often summoned the array of the country to meet 
and assist his sjiort. Thus, in 1528, James V. " made procla- 
mation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, land ward-men, and 
freeholders, that they should compear at Edinburgh, with a 
month's victuals, to pa-ss with the King where he pleased, to 
danton tlie thieves of Tivioldale, Annandale, Liddisdale, and 
other parts of that country ; and also warned all gentlemen that 
had good dogs to bring them, that be might hunt in llie said 
country as he pleased : The wliilk the Earl of Argyle, the Earl 
of Huntley, the Earl of Atliole, and so all the rest of the gen- 
tlemen of the Highland, diti, and brought their hounds with 
them in like manner, to hunt with the King, as he pleased. 

" The second day of June the King past out of Edinburgh 
10 the hunting, with many of the nubles and gentlemen of 
Scotland with him, to the number of twelve thousand men; 
and then past to Meggillnnd, and hounded and hawked all the 
country and bounds ; that is to say, Crammal, Pappertlaw, St. 
Mary-laws. Carlavrick, Chapel. Ewindoores, and i-ynghope. 
I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, eighteen score of harts, "i 

These huntings liad, of course, a military character, and at- 
tendance upon them was a part of the duty of a vassal. The 
act for abolii^hing ward or military tenures in Scotland, enu- 
merates the services of hunting, hosting, watching, and ward- 
ing, as those which were in future to be illegal. 

Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account of the mode in 
which these huntings were conducted in the Highlands of Scot- 
land, in the seventeenth century, liaving been present at Brie- 
mar opon such an occasion : — 

" There did I lind the truly noble and right honourable 
ords, John Ei>kine, Earl of Mar ; James Ptuart, Earl of Mur- 
ray ; George Gordon, Earl of Eiigye, son and heir to the Mai^ 
qais of Huntley ; James Erskine, Earl of Buehan ; and tohn. 
Lord Erskine, son and heir to the Earl of Mar, and their ( ount- 
esse9, with my much honoured, and my la^^t assured ar^d ap- 
prcved friend, Sir William Muiray, knight of Abercarney, and 
hundreds of others, knights, esqufres, and their followers; all 
and every man, in general, in one liahit, as if Lycnrgus had 
6een there, and made laws of equality ; for once in the year, 
which is the whole month of August, and sometimes part of 
depairjtff ::;j-.'jy of ("i-e nobility and gentry of the kingdom 
(for their pleasure) do cor..e Into these Highland countries to 
hunt; where they do conform themselves to tlie habit of the 
Highlandmen, who, for the most part, speak nothing hut Irish ; 
and, in former lime, were those people w'lich were called the 
Red-shanks. Their habit is — shoes, with but one sole a-piece ; 
itockings (which they call short hose), made of a warm stuif 
of diverse colours, which they call tartan ; as for breeches, 
many of them, nor their forefathers, never wore any, but a jer- 
kin of the same stuQ'that their hose is of; their garters being 
knoda or wreaths of liayor straw; with a plaid about their 

I Pit«collifc's Hatori/ of Scotland, Mio editiuu, p. 143. 



shoulders ; which vs a mantle of diverse colours, much finer ani 
lighter stuff" than their hose ; with blue flat caps on their heads ^ 
a handkerchief, knit with two knots, about their necks : an<i 
thus are they attired. Now their weapons are— long bowes 
and forked arrows, swords and targets, hanjuebusses, muskets 
durks, and Lochaber axes. With these arms I found many of 
them armed for the liunting. As for their attire, any man, ol 
what degree soever, that comes amongst thorn, must not dis- 
dain to wear it ; for, if they do, then they will disdain to hunt 
or willingly to bring in their dogs; but if men be kind unto 
them, and be in theii' habit, then are they conquered with kind- 
ness, and the sport will he plentiful. This was the reason that 
I found so many noblemen and gentlemen in those sliapes 
But to proceed to the hunting : — 

" My good Lord of Marr having put me into that sliape, I 
rode with him from his house, where I saw t!ie rniris of an old 
castle, called the Castle of Kindrogliit. It was built by King 
Malcolm Canniore (for a hunting-house), who reigned in Scot- 
land when Edward the Confessor, Harold, and Norman Wil- 
liam, reigned in England. I speak of it, because it was the 
last house I saw in those parts ; for I was the sp.^cc of twelve 
days after, before I saw either house, corn-field, or habitation 
for any creature, but deer, wild horses, wolves, and such like 
creatures, — which made me doubt that I should never have 
seen a house again. 

"Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there 
were small cottages, built on purpose to lodge in, which they 
call Lonfjuhards. I thank my good Lord Erskine, he com- 
manded tiiat I should always be lodged in his lodging : the 
kitchen being always on the side of a bank : many kettles and 
pots boiling, and many spiLs turning and winding, with great 
variety of cheer, — as venison baked ; sodden, rost, and stewed 
beef; mutton, goals, kid, hares, fresh salmon, pigeons, hens, 
capons, chickens, partridges, mnii^coots, heath-cocks, capei* 
kellies, and t.erni;igants ; good ale, sacke, white and claret, 
tent (or allegant), with most potent aquaviUe. 

" All these, and more than these, we had continually in sa 
perfluous abundance, caught by falconers, fowlers, lishers, anr 
brought by my lord's tenants and purveyor to victual oui 
camp, which consistelh of fourteen or fil'teen hundred men and 
horses. The manner of the hunting is this: Five or six hun 
dred men do rise early in the morning, and they do disperse thena 
selves ilivers ways, and seven, eight, or ten miles compass, thej 
do bring, or chase in, the deer in many herds (two, three, o 
four hundred in a lierd), to such or such a place, as the noble- 
men shall appoint them ; then, when day is come, the lordi 
and gentlemen of their companies do ride or go to the said 
places, sometime.'? wading up to the middles, tlirongh bum: 
and rivers ; and then, they being come to the place, do lie dowr 
on the ground, till those foresaid scouts, which are called the 
Tinkhcll, do bring down the deer; but, as the proverb says of 
the bad cook, so these tinkhell men do lick their own fingers ; 
for, besides their bows and arrows, which they carry with them, 
we can hear, now and then, a harquebuss or a musket go off; 
which they do seldom discharge in vain. Then, after we had 
staid there three hours, or thereabouts, we might perceive the 
deer api)ear on the hills round about us (their heads making a 
show like a wood), which, being followed close by the tinkhell, 
are chased down into the valley where we lay ; then all the 
valley, on each side, being way-laid with a hundred couple ol 
strong Irish greyhounds, they are all let loose, as occasion 
serves, upon the herd of deer, that with dogs, guns, arrows, 
durks, and daggers, in the space of two hours, fourscore fa/ 
deer were slain; which after are disposed of, some one way 
and some another, twenty and thirty miles, and more than 
enough left for us, to make merry witha'.l, at our rendezvous." 



^OTE W. 
By lone Saint Yiry^s siletU lake. — P. 95 
Thi3 heatiitfal sheet o.*" water forms tiie reservoir from whks* 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



161 



ihe YaiTOw takes its sonree. It is connected with a smaller 
lake, called tlie iioch of the Lowes, and surrounded by moun- 
tains In the witiicr, it is still frequented by flights of wild 
•wans ; hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines : — 

"■J he swan on sweet St. Mary's lake 
lloats double, swan and shadow." 

N -ar the lower extremity of the lake, are the ruins of Dry- 
hope tower, the birth-place of Mary I^cott. daught^ of Philip 
Scott, of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the 
Flower of Yarrow. !She was married to Walter Scott of Har- 
den, no less renowned for his depredations, than his bride for 
her beauty. Uer romantii; appellation was, in later days, with 
equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary Lilias Hcott, the last of 
the elder branch of the Harden family. The author well re- 
members the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, 
though age had then injured the charms which procured her 
the name. The words usually sung to the air of " Tweedside," 
beginning, " Wiiat beauties does Flora disclose," were com- 
posed in her honor. 



Note X. 



in feudal strife, a foe, 

tiath laid Our I^ady's chapel low. — P. 96. 

The chapel of i?t. Mary of the Lowes (de lacuous) was situ- 
ated on the eisteni side of tiie lake, to which it gives name. 
It was injured by the clan of Scott, in a feud with the Cran- 
Btouns; but continued to be a place of worship during the 
ieventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can now 
■carcely be traced ; hut the burial-ground is still used as a cem- 
etery. A funeral, in a spot so very retired, has an uncommon- 
iy striking effect. The vestiges of the chaplain's house are yet 
visible. Being in a high situation, it commanded a full view 
of the lake, with llie opposite mountain of Bourhope, belong- 
ing, with the lake itself, to Lord Najder. On the left hand is 
*he tower of Dryhope, mentioned in a preceding note. 



Note Y. 



the IViiard^s grave ; 

That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 
From company of holy dust. — P. 96. 

At one correr of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, 
hot without its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram^s 
Corse, where tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic 
priest, the former tenant of the chaplainry. His story much 
resembles that of Ambrosio in "The Monk," and has been 
made the theme of a ballad, by my friend Mr. James Hogg, 
more poetically designed the Ktiricic Shepherd. To his vol- 
ome, entitled "The Mountain Bard," which contains this, 
■nd many other legendary stories and ballads of great merit, 1 
refer the curious reader. 



Note Z. 



Some ruder and more savage scene. 

Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. — P. 96. 

Loch skene is a mountain lake, of considerable size, at the 
head of the Moffjit-water. The character of the scenery is 
uncommonly sav.ige ; and tlie earn, or Scottish eagle, has, for 
many ages, built its nest yearly upon an islet in the lake. 
Loch-Bkeu2 discharges itself into a brook, which, after a short 
lad precipitate course, falls from a cataract of immense height, 
•nd gloomy grandeur, called, from its appearance, the "Gray 
21 



Mare's Tail." The " Giant's Grave," afterwards mentioned, 
is a sort of trench, which bears that name, a little way fr&n 
the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a battery, 
designed to command the [toss. 



Note 2 A. 



high fVhithij's cloistered vile.—F. 97. 

The Abbey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconry of Cleavelaud 
on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A. D. 057, in conse- 
quence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northumberland. It con- 
tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order; but, 
contrary to what was usual in such establishments, the abbess 
was superior to the abbot. The monastery was afterwards 
ruined by the Danes, and rebuilt by William Percy, in the 
reign of the Conqueror. There were no nuns there in Henry 
the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby 
Abbey are very magnificent. 



Note 2 B. 



, St. CuthberVs Holy Isle.—V. 97. 

Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, waa 
called Holy Island, trom the sanctity of its ancient monastery, 
and from its having been the episcopal seat i>f the see of Do- 
ham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succes-* 
sion of holy men held that office ; but their merits were swal 
loweil up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth 
Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " palri- 
/noiiy" upon the extensive property of the see. The ruins o( 
the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The 
arches are, in general, strictly Saxon ; and the pillars which 
support them, short, strong, and massy In some placej 
however, there are pointed windows, which indicate that the 
building has been repaired at a period long subsequent to the 
original foundation. The e,\terior ornaments of the building, 
being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, ;is desi;ribed 
in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but raBher, 
as the venerable Bede iias termed it, a .^enit-isle ; for, ^hhough 
surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry 
between it and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from 
)vhich it is about three miles distant. 



Note 2 C. 



Then fVhiihy's vn-ns exulting told 
How to their house three Baroiis bold 
Must menial seroice do. — P. 99. 

The popular account of this curious service, which waa 
probably considerably exaggerated, is thus given in " A True 
Account," printed and circulated at Whilby : " In the fifth 
year of the reign of Henry II., after the conquest of England 
by William, Duke of Normandy, the Lord of Uglebarnby, 
then called William de Bruce : the Lord of Smeaton. callw* 
Ralph de Percy ; with a gentleman and freeholder called AI- 
latson, did, on the IGth of October. 1159, appoint to meet an^ 
hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood, or desert place, belong- 
ing to the Abbot of Whitby ; the place's name was Eskdalo- 
side; and the abbot's name was Sednian. Then, these young 
gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boar-stavs, in the 
place before mentioned, and there having found a great wild- 
boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and her 
milage of Eskdale-side, where was a monk of Whilby, who 
was an hermit. The boar, being very sorely pursued, anJ 
dead-run, took in at the chapel door, there laid him down, and 
presently died. The hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel 



162 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the 
hounds standing at bay without. Tlie gentlemen, in the thick 
of the wood, being just behind their game, followed the cry of 
their nounds, and so came to the hermitage, calling on thelier- 
mit, who opened the door and came forlli ; and within Ihey 
found llie boar lying dead : for which, the gentlemen, in a very 
great Jury, because llie hounds were put from their game, did 
most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar- 
staves, whereby he soon after died. Tlierenjion the gentle- 
men, perceiving and knowing thai they were in peril ofdeath, 
took sanctuary at Scarborough ; But at that time the abbot 
being in very great favor with the King, removed them out of 
the sanctuary ; whereby they came in danger of the law, and 
not to be privileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, 
which was death for death. But the hermit, being a holy and 
devout man, and at the poifit of death, sent for tlie abbot, and 
desired him to send for the gentlemen who had wounded him. 
The abbot so doing, the gentlemen came ; and the hermit, 
being very sick and weak, said unto them, ' I am sure to die 
of those wounds you have given me.' — The abbot answered, 
*They shall as surely die for the same.' — But the hermit an- 
swered, ' Not so. for 1 will freely forgive them my death, if 
they will be content to be enjoined the penance I shall lay on 
them for the safeguard of their souls.' The gentlemen being 
present, bade him save their lives. Then said the hermit, 
* YoQ and yours shall hold your lands of the Abbot of Whitby, 
and his successors, in this manner: That, upon Ascension-day, 
yon, or some of von. shall come to the wood of the Stray- 
heads, which is in Eskdale-side, the same day at sun-rising, 
and there shall the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent 
that you may know where to find him ; and he shall deliver 
•into you, William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven stront stowers, 
and eleven ypthei-s, to be cut by you, or some of yon, with a 
knife of one penny price : and you, Ralph de Percy, shall take 
twenty-one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and 
yon, Allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as afore- 
said, and to be taken on your backs and carried to the town of 
Whitby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day 
before mentioned. At the same hour of nine of the clock, if 
it be full sea, your labor and ser\'ice shall cease ; and if low 
water, each of you shall set your stakes to the brim, each 
stake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each side 
with your yether? ; and so stake on each side with your strout 
Btowers, that they may stand three tides without removing by 
the force thereof. Eacii of you shall do, make, and execute 
the said service, at that very hour, every year, except it be full 
Bea at that liour: but when it shall so fait out, this seri'ice 
shall cease. You shall faithfully do this, in remembrance 
that yon did most crutilly slay me ; and that yon may the bet- 
ter call to God for mercy, repent unfeignedly of your sins, and 
do good works. The officer of Eskdale-side shall blow, Out on 
you! Out on you! Out on you! for this heinous crime. If 
you, or your successors, shall refuse this service, so long a.i it 
shall not he full sea ,it the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall 
forfeit )our lands to the Abbot of Whitby, or his successors. 
This I entreat, and earnestly beg, that you may have lives and 
goods preserved for this service : and I request of you to prom- 
Be, by your parts in Heaven, that it shall be done by you and 
yonr ooccessors. a^ is aforesaid requested: and I will confirm 
it by the faith of an lionest man.' — Then the hermit said, * My 
■Onl longeth for the Lord : and I do as freely forgive these 
men my death as Christ forgave the thieves on the cross.' And, 
ID the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said moreover 
these woi'ds : 'In mnnus tuos. Dominc, commcndo spiritum 
meum., a vinciilis enim mortis redeviisti vie, Domine verita- 
tis. ^men.^ — So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of 
Pecember, anno Domini 1159, whose soul God have mercy 
pon. Amen. 

" This service," it is added, " still continues to be performed 
with the pre-scribed ceremonies, though not by the proprietors 
n person Part of the lands charged therewith are now held 
vy a gantleman of \he name of Herbert." 



Note 2 D. 



■ in their convent ceil 



^ Saxon princess once did dwell. 
The lovely Edvljlcd.—? . 99. 
She was Jie daughter of King Oswy, who. in gratitude to 
Heaven for the great victory which he won in C55, agatmi* 
Penda, the Pagan King of Mercia, dedicated Edelfleda, the» 
but a year old, to the service of God, m the monastery ol 
Wliitby, of which St. Hilda was then abbess. She afterwwii 
adorned the place of iier education with great magnificent 



Note 2 E 



of thousand snakes, each one 

Was changed into a coil of stone^ 

When holy Hilda pray'' d ; 
They told, how sea-fowls'' pinions fail ^ . 

As over Wliitby's towers they sail. — P. 99. 

These two miracles are much insisted upon by all ancient 
writers who have occasion to mention either Wiiitby or St. 
Hilda. The relics of the snakes which infested the precincts 
of the convent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not only be- 
headed, but petrified, are still found about the rocks, and are 
termed by Protestant fossilists, Amnwnita:. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden: *'It is 
also ascribed to the power of her sanctity, that these wild 
geese, which, in the winter, fly in great flocks to the lakes and 
rivers unfrozen in the southern parts, to the great amazement 
of every one, fall down suddenly upon the ground, when 
they are in their flight over certain neighboring fields here- 
abouts : a relation I should not have made, if I had not re- 
ceived it from some credible men. . But those who are less in- 
clined to heed superstition, attribute it to some occult qualify 
in the ground, and to somewhat. of antipathy between it and 
the geese, such as they s;iy is betwixt wolves and scyllaroots: 
For that such hidden tendencies and aversions, as we call 
sympathies and antipatJiies, are implanted in many things by 
provident Nature for the preservation of them, is a thing so 
evident that everybody grants it." Mr. Charlton, in his His- 
tory of Wiiitby, points out the true origin of the fable, from 
the number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a storm, often 
alight near Whitby ; and from the woodcocks, and other birds 
of passage, who do the same upon tJieir arrival on shore, after 
a long flight. 



Note 2 F. 



His body^s resting-place, of old. 

How oft their Patron changed, they told. — P. 99. 

St. Cuthbert was, in the choice of lus sepulchre, one of the 
most mutable and unreasonable saints in the Calendar. He 
died A D. 688, in a hermitage upon the Fame Islands, having 
resigned tlie bisliopric of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, about 
two years before.^ His body was brought to Lindisfarne. 
where it remained until a descent of the Danes, about 793, 
when the monastery was nearly destroyed. The monks fled 
to Scotland wi;h wlial they deemed their chief treasure, the 
relics of St. Cuthbert. The Saint was, however, a most capri- 
cious fellow-traveller; which was 'the more intolerable, as, 
like Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, he journeyed ujion the 
shoulders of his companions. They paraded him through 
Scotland for several years, and came as far west as Wliitlieni, 
in Galloway, whence they attempted to sail for Ireland, bat 
were driven back by tempests. He at length made a halt al 
Norham ; from thence he went to Melrose, where he remained 

1 He reauniei! the hiehojiricof Lindisrame, which, owing to bin' Lealin, 
he Eilain Telinqiiisbcd within Icbb tlitui three months before hiadeiih.— 
RiiMR's St. Cuthbert. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



lea 



ilA.iinary for a short time, and then caased himself to be 
launched ii[)on the Tweed in a stone coffin, which landed him 
at Tilmouth. in Northumberland. This boat is finely shaped, 
ten feel long, three ft.-et and a half in diameter, and onljr four 
■nchea thick ; so tha.',. with very little assistance, it might cer- 
.afhly have swam ; It still lies, or at least ilid so a few years 
ago, in two pieces, beside the ruined chapel of Tilmouth. 
From Tilmouth, Cuthbert wandered Into Yorkshire; and at 
fength madt.* a long stay at Chester-.e-street, to wliich the 
bifliop's set was transferred. At length, the Danfs, continu- 
feg to infest ihe Country, the monks removed to Ripnon for a 
aea^ic ; ann H was in return from thence to Chester^le-street, 
C>>^\, passing through a forest called Dunholme, the Saint and 
lis carriage became immovable at a place named Wardlaw, 
jrWardilaw. Here the Saint chose his place of residence ; 
and all who have seen Durham must admit, that, if ditBcult 
in his choice, he evinced taste in at length fixing it. It is said 
that the Northumbrian Catholics still keep secret the precise 
■pot of the Saint's sepulture, which is only intrusted to three 
persons at a time. When one dies, the survivors associate to 
them, m his room, a person judged fit to be the depository of 
lO valuable a secret. 

[The resting-place of the remains of tins saint is not now 
matter of uncertainty. So recently as 17th May, 18'37, 1139 
years after his death, their discovery and disinterment were 
etfecteii. Under a blue stone, in the middle of the shrine of 
St. Cuthbert, at the eastern extremity of the choir of Durham 
Cathedra], there was then found a walled grave, containing 
the coffins of the Saint. The first, or outer one, was ascer- 
tained to be that of 1541, the secoud of 1041 ; the third, or in- 
ner one, answering in every particular to the description of 
that of 698, was fonnd to contain, not indeed, as had been 
averred then, and even nntil 1539, the incorruptible body, but 
the entire skeleton of the Saint ; the bottom of tlie grave being 
^rfeclly dry, free iVom offensive smell, and without the slight- 
est symptom tliat a linman body had ever aadergone decom- 
position within its walls. Thr, .keletou was found swathed in 
five silk robes of emblemaMffl embroidery, the ornamental 
parts laid with gold leaf, v^i' '^lese again covered with a robe 
of tin a. Bef-ide the sk'^'.;'*'. »vere also deposited several gold 
and silver insignia, anJ /t'.ec relics of the Saint. 

The Roman CathoU'*! / j* al'ow that the coffin was that of 
St. Cuthbert. 

The bones of t!if Pjvt were again restored to the grave in 
a new eclnn, ami-» 'a' fragments of the former ones. Those 
(lorlions of i\v, i-.n-r coffin wliich couUf be preserved, inclu- 
ding onp of Its <!■ gF, with the silver altar, golden cross, stole, 
?omb, two riaclp'js, bracelets, girdle, gold wire of the skele- 
ton, and f/a.'^.ne.its of the five silk«-obe9. and some of the rings 
of thf: on;er collin made in 1541, were deposited in the library 
of the Dean and Chapter, where Ihey are now preserved. 

Fcr ample details of the life of St. Cutlibert.— his coffin- 
joQTneys, — an account of the opening of his tomb, and a de- 
(criotJon of the silk robes and other reUes found in it the reader 
interested in such matters ]s refen-ed to a work entitled " Saint 
Cuthbert, by James Raine. M. A." (4to, Durham. 1828_), 
where he will find macli of antiquarian liistory, ceremonieii, 
and Bopcntilions, to gratify his curiosity.] — Ed. 



Note 2 G. 



Even ScoUan'^' t dauntless fcinff and heir, &-e. 
Before his sfandnrdfied.~V. lUO. 

Every one has Ip^rd, that when David [., with his son 
benry, invaded /-orthurabcrland in 1136, the Enghsh host 
marched agains, ./.em under the holy banner of St. Cuthbert ; 
to the efficac^ 1 1 tvhich was imputed the great victory which 
Jiey o' .ai; <■(' ir. .he bloody battle of Northallerton, or Cuton- 
*0(n The ct r.qQerors were at least as much indebted to the 



Jealousy and intractability of the different trilies who composed 
David's army ; among whom, as mentioned in the text, were 
the Galwegians, the Britons of Strath-Clyde. fJie men of Te- 
viotdale and Lothian, with many Normau a ^d fJerman war* 
riors, who asserted the cause of the Empress Maud. Seo 
Chalmers' Caledonia, vol. i. p. 0^2 "2 ; a most laborious, cq 
rious, and interesting publication, from which considerabl* 
defects of style and manner ought not to turn aside the Soot 
tish antiquary. 



Note 2 H. 



' Twas he, to vindicate his reign. 

Edged Alfred^ s falchion nn the Dane, 

^nd turned the Conqueror back again. — P. 100. 

Cuthbert. we have seen, had no great reason to spare lbs 
Danes, when op[iortunity offered. Accordingly, I find, in 
Simeon of Durham, that the Saint appeared in a vision to 
Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of Glastonbury, and 
promised him assistance and victory over his lieathen enemies; 
a consolation, which, as was reasonable. Alfred, after the vic- 
tory of Ashendown, rewarded, by a royal offering at the shnne 
of the Saint. As to William the Conqueror, the terror spread 
before his army, when he marched to punish the revolt of the 
Northumbrians, in 1096, had forced the' monks to fly once 
more to Holy Island with the body of the Saint. It was, how 
ever, replaced before William left the north ; and, to balance 
accounts, the Conqueror having intimated an indiscreet curios- 
ity to view the Saint's body, he was, wliite in the act of com- 
manding the shrine to be opened, seized with heat and sickness, 
accompanied with such a panic terror, tliat, notwithstanding 
lliere was a sumptuous dinner prepared for him, lie fled with 
out eating a morsel (whicli the monkish historian seems to have 
thought no small part both of the miracle and tiie penaucn'V 
and never ilrew iiis bridle till he got to tlie river Teei 



Note 2 L 



Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 

The seorborn beads that bear his nj.me. — P. 100. 

Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, during his lilo, 
such wn artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, sinca 
his death, he has acquired tlie reputation of forging those En* 
trochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, and 
pass there by the name of St. Cuthbert's Beads. While at 
this task, he is supjiosed to sit during the night upon a certain 
rock, and use another as his anvil. This istory was perhaps 
credited in former days ; at least the Saint's legend contairw 
some not more probable. ' 



Note 2 K. 

Old Colw-ulf.^V. Itiu. 

Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, King of Northumberland, floariA«. 
in the eighth century. Ho was a man of some learning; fof 
the venerable Beiie dedicates to him his '* Ecclesiastical His- 
tory." He ^.bdicated the throne about 738, and retired to 
Holy Island, where he died in the odoi of sancuiy. Saint a* 
Colwulf was, however. I fear ihe fouutlation of the penance 
vault dots not corresjjond with his character ; for it is reconie/i 
among Ids memorabilia, that, finding the air of the island raw 
and cold, he indulged the monks, whose rule had hitherto con- 
fined them to milk or water, with the comfortable privilege of 
using wine or ale. If any rigi<l antiquary insisu^on this objeo* 
tion, he is welcome to suppose the penancc-vauit was inlerded 
i»y the founder, for the more genial purposes of \cellar 



164 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



These penitential vault': were the Qeisscl-nreiciilbe of Ger- 
man convents, fn I h^ earlier and more rigid times of monastic 
discipline, they were sometimes used as a cemetery for tlie lay 
oenefactors of the Lonvont, whose unsanclitied corpses were 
then seldom i)5rniitted to pollute the choir. They also served 
ai ilaces of meeting for the chapter, when measures of uncom- 
m'>n severity were to he adopted. But their most frequent 
use, as implied hy the name, was as places for performing pen- 
ai cej, oi undergoing punishment. 



Note 2 L. 



Tynemouth' s haughty Prioress. — P. 100. 

That there was ao ancient priory at Tynemouth is certain, 
ts ruins are situated on a high rocky point; and, doubtless, 
many a vow was made to the shrine by tl)e distressed mariners 
who drove towards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland 
in stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery ; for Virca, 
abhesa of Tynemouth, presented St. Cuthbert (yet alive) with 
a fare winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called Tuda, 
who had sent him a cofBn : But, as in the case of Whitby, and 
o'" Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at Tynemouth, in 
the reign of Henry VIH. is an anachronism. The nunnery at 
Holy Island is altogether fictitious. Indeed, St. Cutlibert was 
unlikely to permit such an establishment ; for, notwithstand- 
ingJiis ao^pting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, and his 
carrying on a visiting accjuaintance with the Abbess of Col- 
dingham, he certainly hated the whole female sex ; and, in 
revenge of a slippery trick played to him by an Irish princess, 
he, after death, inflicted severe penances on such as presumed 
to approach within a certain distance of his shrine. 



Note 2 M. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 
Jilive, within the tomb.—V. 102. 

It is well known, that the religious, who broke their vows 
of chastity, were subjected to tiie same penalty as the Roman 
vestals in a similar case. A small niche, sufficient to enclose 
their bodies, was made in the massive wall of the convent ; a 
Blender pittance of food ami water was deposited in it, and the 
awful words, Vade in Pace, were the signal for immuring 
the criminal. It is not likely that, in latter times, this punish- 
ment was often resorted to ; but among the ruins of the Abbey 
of Coldingham, were some years ago discovered the remains 
of a female skeleton, which, from llie shape of the niche, and 
position of the figure, seemed to be that of an immured nun. 

[The Edinburgh Reviewer, on st. x.\xii. post, suggests that 
the proper reading of the sentence is vade. in paccm — not part 
in peace, but o-o into pence, or into eternal reat, a pretty intel- 
ligible mittimus to another world.] 



Note 2 N. 

The village inn.~F. 107. 

The accommodations of a Scottish hostelrie, or inn, in the 
I6th century, may be collected from Dunbar's admirable tale 
jf "The Friars of Berwick." Simon Lawder, "the gay 
OstHer," seems to have lived very comfortably; and his wile 
decorated her person with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt of silk 
and si'ver. and rings upon her fingers ; and feasted her para- 
moor with rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bordeaux wine. 
At least, if tlie Scottish inns were not good, it was not for 
want of enconragement from the legislature ; who, so early as 
the reign of James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs 
lud fairs tlierp be hostellaries, having stablet! and cItamberH, 



and provision for man and horse, but hy another statute, o* 
daineii that no man, travelling on horse or foot, siiould pre- 
sume to lodge anywhere except in these liosifllaries ; and thai 
no person, save innkeepers, sliould receive suirh travellers, un 
der the penalty of forty shillings, for exercising sucli hospital 
ity.' But, in spite of tlieso provident enactments, the Scottisf 
liostels ace but inditferent, and straiigecs continue to find re- 
ception in ttie houses of individuals. 



NOTI^ 2 0. 

The death of'adear fricnd.—V. 109. 

Among other omens to which faithful credit is given among 
the Scottish peasantry, is wliat is called the "dead-bell," ex- 
plained by ray friend James Hogg, to be that tinkling in the 
ears which the country people regard as the secret intelligence 
of some friend's decease. He tells a story to the pur]>ose m 
the "Mountain Bard," p. 26. 

[" O lady, 'tis dark, an' I heard the dead-bell I 
An' 1 darena gae yonder for gowd nor fee." 

" By the dead-bell is meant a tinkling in the ears, which our 
peasantry in the country regard as the secret intelligence of 
some friend's decease. Thus this natural occurrence strikes 
many with a superstitious awe. This reminds rae of a trifling 
anecdote, which I will here relate as an ins;tance : — Our two 
servant-girls agreed to go on an errand of their own, one night 
alter supper, to a considerable distance, from which I strove 
to persuade tliem, but could not pr;ivail. So, after going to 
the ajiartment where I slept, I took a drinking-glass, and, 
coming close to the back of the door, made two or three sweeps 
round the li|)sof the glass with my finger, which caused a load 
shrill sound. I then overheard the following dialogue: — 
' B. Ah, mercy ! the dead-bell went through my head just 
now with such a knell as I never heard.' — ' /. I heard it too." 
— ' B. Did yon indeed 1 That is remarkable. I never knew 
of two hearing it at the same time before.' — ' /, We will not 
go to Midgehope to-night.' — ' B. I would not go for all the 
world ! I sliall warrant it is my poor brother Wat ; who 
knows what these wild Irishes may have dona to him?' '* — 
Hooo's Mountain Bard, 3d Edit. pp. 31-2.] 



Note 2 P. 

The 6ohlin-Han.—V. 110. 

A vaulted hall under the ancient cattle of Gilford or Yeat« 
(for it bears either name indiJVerently), the construction of 
which has from a very remote period been ascribed to magic. 
The Statistical Account of the Parish of Garvald and Baro 
gives the following account of the present state of this castle 
and apartment : " Upon a peninsula, formed by the water of 
Hopes on the east, and a large rivulet on tlie west, stands the 
ancient castle of Yester. Sir David Dalrymjile, in liis Annals, 
relates, that ' Hugh Gitford de Yester died in 1267 ; that in 
his castle there was a capacious cavern, formed by magicaJ 
art, and called in the country Bo-Hall, i. e. Hobgoblin Hall-' 
A stair of twenty-four steps led down to this apartment, which 
is a large and spacious Iiall, with an arched roof; and though 
it hath stood for so many centnries, and bee* exjtosed to the 
external air for a period of fifty or sixty year?, it is still as firm 
and entire as if it had only stood a few years. , From the floor 
ef this hall, another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to a 
pit which hath a communication with Hopes-water. A great 
part of the walls of tJiis large and ancient castle are still stand- 
ing. There is a tradition, that the castle of Yester was the 
last fortification, in this country, that surrendered to Genera 

1 JSDK's I. Par' anient (. cap. 24 ; Parhamenl III. cap. M. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



16£ 



Bray, bent into Scotland by Protector Somerset." Statisti- 
tnt ^Iccuunl, vol. xiii. — I h:ivp only to a»l<i. that, in 1737, the 
Goblin Hall was tenanted by the .Marquis of Tweeddale's fal- 
conur, u I lerini I'rom a poem, by Boyse, entitled " Retire- 
ment, ' writter U[ion visiting Vester. It is now rendered ia- 
acce^sibU- by tli.- fall of tlie stair. 

Sir David Daliymple's nnlliority for the anecdote is in For- 
dun, \vho<e words are.- -" A. D. MccLXVll. Hugo Qijfard 
de Ytster moritur ; ciijus custrum, vel stiltem caveam, et 
dongionrm, arte i.'irmuniid antiqaie relationcs J'erunt fabri- 
factus : nam ibidem habetiir mirnbiUs speciis subterrancus, 
tpere mirijicu constructiis, ninirno Ivrraruin spntio prote- 
taltis, qui communiter 3So==3^(lII appdlatus est.'^ Lib. 
X. caji. 'ii. — Sir David i-otijectures that Hugh deGifTord must 
either liave been a very wise man, or a great oppressor. 



Note 2 Q. 

There floated Haco^s banner trim 
.Ibove JVoriceyan warriors ffrim.- -Hi). 

In l'J63, Haco, King of Norway, came into the Frith of 
Clyde with a powcrfnl armament, and made a descent at 
Largs, in Ayrshire. Here lie was tncoun'ered and defeated, 
on llie 2d October, by Alexander III. Haco retreated to Ork- 
ney, where he died soon after this disgrace to liis arms. There 
are still e.\i?;ting, near the place of battle, many barrows, scce 
of which, having been opened, wertj found, as usual, to con- 
tarn bones and urns. 



Note 2 R. 



and even of commanding them. The Spaniards impoted th« 
haggard and downca-^t looks of tlieir Pliilip IL to tbo Jba^ee- 
able visions to which this privilege subjected him. 



rke tcizurd habit strange. — P. IIL 

' Magicians, as is well known, were very corions in lh> 
choice and form of their vestments. Their caps are oval, or 
hke pyramids, with lappets on each side, and fur within. 
Their gowns are long, and furred with fox-skins, under which 
they have a linen garment reaching to the knee. Their girdles 
are three inches broad, and have many cabalistical names, 
with crosses, trines, and circles inscribed on them. Their 
shoes should be of new russet leallier. will) a cross cut upon 
Ihem. Their knives are dagger^ fash ion ; and their swords 
have neither guard nor scabbard." — See these, and many other 
particulars, in the Discourse concerning Devils and Spirits, an- 
nexed to Reginald Scott's Discuverij of IVitchcraft edi- 
tion 16G5. 



Note 2 S. 

Upon his breast a pcntacle. — P. 111. 

"A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five comers, 
according to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with char- 
actere. Tliis the magician extends towards the spirits which 
he invokes, when they are stubborn and rebellious, and refuse 
.o be conformable onto the ceremonies and rites of n*isic."^ 
iee the Discourses, &c. above mentiof'd, p. 66. 



Note 2 T. 

As horn vpon that blessed night, 
TVhcn yawning graves and dyivg groan 
Proctaim''d Hr-lTs empire overthrown. — P. 111. 

It to a popular article of faitli. that those who are born on 
Qinsimaa or Gooa Friday have the power of seeing spirits, 



Note 2 U. 



Yet still the knightly spear and skiela 
The Elfin warrior doth wield 

Upon the brown uiWs brea.-it. — P. 112. 

The following extract from the Essay upon the Fairy Super- 
stitions, in the "Minstrelsy of the Scotli'^li Border," vol. ii 
will show whence many of the parliculara of the combat b^ 
twcen Alexander HI. and the Goblin Knight are derii'ed : — 

Gcrvaseof Tilbury Otia hnpcria! ap. Script, rcr. Brnnsvie 
(vol. i. p. 797), relates the following popiilarstoiy concerning a 
fairy knight: " Osbert, a bold and poweri'ul haron, visited ^ 
noble family in the vicinity of Wandlcbury, in the bishopric of 
Ely. Among otiier stories related in the social circle of his 
friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by re- 
peating ancient tales and traditions, In; was informed, that if 
any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moon- 
light, and challenged an adversary to apj)ear, Jie would be im- 
mediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. Os- 
bert resolvetl to make the experiment, and set out, attended by 
a single squire, whom he ordered to r.-'main without the limits 
of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient entrench, 
ment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed 
by an adversary, whom he cjuickly unhorseii, and seized the 
reins of his steed. During this operation, his ghostly opponent 
sprung up. and darling his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert. 
wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with 
tlie horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. The 
horse was of a sable color, as well as his whole accoutremcqta, 
and apparently of great beauty and vigor. He remained with 
his keeper *ill cock-crowing, when, witli eyes (lashing fire, he 
reared, spurned the ground, and vanisheu. On disarming him- 
self, Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and that one t>t 
his steel boots was full of blood." Gervase adds, that, aa 
long as lie lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh or the 
anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit.'' 
Less Ibrtunate was the gallant Bohemian knight, who, travel- 
ling by night with a single companion, " came in sight of a 
fairy host, arrayed under displayed banners. Despising the re- 
monstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break 
a lance with a champion, who advanced from the ranks appa- 
rently in defiance. His companion beheld the Bohemian ovei^ 
thrown, horse and man, by his aiirial adversary ; and returning 
to tlie ('j)ot next morning, he found the mangled corpses of tha 
knight and steed." — Hierarchy of Blessed .^ngcls, p. 554. 

Besides tliese instances of Elfin chivalry above quoted, many 
others might be alleged in support of employing fairy machine- 
ry in this manner. The forest of Glenmore, in the North High* 
linds, is believed to be haur.teU by a spirit called Lham-dearg, 
in the array of an ancient warrior, having a bloody hand, rronc 
which he takes his name. He insists ujion those with whoa 
he meets doing battle with him ; and the clergyman, who 
makes up an account of the dis'rict, extant in the Macf:»rlane 
MS. in the Advocates' Library, gra'.cly assures us, that, in his 
time, L,ham-de,arg fought with three brothers wlioni he met in 
his walk, none of whom long survived the ghostly conflict. 
Barclay, in his " Eupliormion," gives a singular account of an 
officer who Iiad ventured, with his servant, ratlier to introdo 
upon a haunted house in a town in Flanders, than to put up 
with worse quarters elsewhere. Ailer taking the usual precau- 
tions of providing fires, lights, and arms, they watched till mid 
night, when behold ! the severed arm of a .nan dropped from 
the ceiling ; tliis was followed by the legs, the other arm, the 
trnnk, and the head of the body, all sejiarately. Theraembert 
rolled togetJier, united themselves in the presence of the astoa- 
ished soldiers, and formed a gigantic warrior, who defied the* 



166 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



both lo combat. Theii blows, althongh they penetrated the 
DoJy and amputated the limbs of their strange antagonist, had, 
as the reader may eajily beheve. little etTect on an enemy who 
possessei' such powers of self-union ; nor did his efforts make 
mort: effectnal impression upon them. How the combat ter- 
minated I do not e.\actly remember, and have not the book by 
me ; but I tliink the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion 
the nsual proposal, tliat they should renounce their redemption ; 
ffhitjh being declined, lie was obliged to retract. 

Tne most singular "ale of the kind is contained in an extract 
COmmonieateii lo me by my friend Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, 
tn the Bishopri;, who copied it from a MS. note in a copy of 
Burthogge, "On tiie Nature of Spirits, 8vo. 1694," which 
aad been the propeity of the late Mr. Gill, attorney-general to 
Egertoii. Bi^liup of Durham. " It was not," says my obliging 
correspondent, "in Mr. Gill's own hand, but probably an 
hundred years older, and was said to be. E libra Convent. 
Dunelm. per T. C. eitract., wlioni I believe to have been 
Thomas Cradocke. Esq. barrister, who held several offices nn- 
der the See of Durliam a hundred years ago. Mr. Gill waa 
possessed of most of Iiis manuscripts." The extract, which, in 
. fact, suggested tlie introduction of the tale into the present 
poem, runs thus : — 

^* Jicm miram kujusmodi qua: nostris temporibus cvenit, 
teste viro nohili nc fide dignissimo, cnarrarc hand pigebit. 
Radulphus Buhner, cum e castris, qut£ tunc tevipuris propc 
^orham posita rrant, obfcctationis causa, exiisset, ac in 
ulteHore Tucdis ripd pradam curn canibus Icporariis inse- 
guerctur, forte cum Scoto guodam nobili, sibi tintc/iac, ut 
videbatur, familiar iter cognito, congrcssas est ; ac, ut fas 
erat inter ijiimicos, flagrante betlo, brevissimd interroga- 
Uonis mord interpositd, alter utros invicem incitato cursu. 
infcstis aniviis petiere. J^oster, prima occursu, equaprma^ 
cerrinio hostis impetu tabnntc, in terram evcrsus.pectore et 
capite ItBSOy savffuinevi, mortuo similis, evomebat. Quern 
ut se trgre kabentem cumiter allocutus est altcr^ pollicituS' 
^ue, modo auiilium nan abnegaret, monitisque obtemperans 
ab vmni rerum sacrarum cogitationc abstincret, nee Deo, 
Deipara Virgini, Sanctove uUo, prcces aut vota efferret vel 
''nter scse conciperet, sr brcvi earn sanum oaiidumque resti- 
tuturum esse. Pro: angurc oblala conditio accepta est; ac 
veterator ille nescio quid obscmnt juitrmnris insusurrans, 
prehcnsa manu, dicto eitin» in pedes sanuin ut antea suble- 
vavit. JSToster autem, mnzima pne rei inauditd noviiate 
^ormidine perculsus, Ml Jesu ! ezclamut, vel quid simile; 
ac subito respiciens ncc kostem ncc allavi alium conspicit, 
eguum solum gravissivw nuper casu afflictum. per summam 
DOcem in rivofiuvii pascentcm. Ad castra itaque mirabun~ 
dus revertens , fidei dubius, rem prima occultavit, dein, con- 
*ecto bellp, Confcssori sua tot am asseruit. IJelusoria pro. 
eiU dubio res tola, ac maia veteratoris illius aperitur fraus, 
qua hoviinevi Ckristianuvi ad vetitum tale aaxilium pcllicc- 
rei. JVomcn utcunquc ilUus (nobiiis alias ac elari) reticen- 
dum duco, cum /laud dubiiim sit quin Diabolus, Deopermil- 
tente,formom qwim libuci-it, immit ange/i lucis, sacro oculo 
Vet teste, posse as.-'umerei^' The MS. cbranicle. from 
whicu Mr. Cradocku took this curious extract, cannot now 
•e fband in the Chapter Library of Durham, or, at least, 
b&a hitherto escaped ibe researches of my friendly correspon- 
dent. 

Linde^iy is made to allude to this adventure of Ralph Bnl- 
iner, as a well-known story, Ic the -Ith Canto, Stanza xxii. p. 
121. 

The northern champions of old were accustomed peculiarly 
jO Bearch for, and delight in, encounters with such military 



1 I beg leave t.j qimle a sinjrle instance froui 8 verj- interesticg poEsagO. 
bir David, recounting his attention to King James V. in hia infancy, la 
made, by the learucd editor's punctuation, toaay, — 



' Tlio first sillAbis, that thou did n)ut«, 
Wna |ia, da, lyn, upon the lute : 



spectres. See a whole chapter on the snbject, in BasthoU 
Nus, De Causis contemptoi Mortis a Danis, p. 253. 



■ Note 2 V. 



Close to ike hut, no more his own, 
Close f.o the aid he sought in vain. 
The morn may find the stiffened swain. — P. 114. 

I cannot help here mentioning, that, on the night in whioh 
these lines were written, suggested, as they were, by a saddM 
fall of snow, beginning after sunset, an unfortunate man ptf 
ishpd exactly in the manner here described, and his body WM 
next morning found close to his own iiouse. The accident 
happened within five miles of tlie farm of Ashestiel. 



Note 2 W. 



Forbes.— P. 115. 

Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet; unequalled, per- 
haps, in tbe degree of individual affection entertained for him 
by his friends, as well as in the general respect and esteem of 
Scotland at large. His" Lifeof Beattie," wliom lie befriended 
and patronized in hfe, as well as celebrated after his decease, 
was not long publislied, before the benevolent and affectionate 
biographer was called to follow the subject of his narrative. 
This melancholy event very shortly succeeded the marriage of 
the friend, to whom this introduction is addressed, with one oi 
Sir William's daughters. 



Note 2 X. 

Friar Rush.—?. 116. 
Alias, "Will o' the Wisp." Tins personage is a strolling 
demon, or esprit follet, who, once upon a time, got admittance 
into a monastery as a scullion, and played tlie monks many 
pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Goodfellow, and Jack o* 
Lanthem. It is in allusion to this mischievous demon that 
Milton's clown speaks, — 

" She was pinched, and pulled, she said, 
And he by FViar's lanthcrn led." 

" The hbtory of Friar Rush" is of extreme rjrity, and, for 
some time, even the e.xistence of snch a book was doubted, 
although it is expresply alluded to by Reginald Scott, in hii 
"Discovery of Witchcraft." I have perused a copy in the 
valuable library of my friend Mr. Heber J and I observe, from 
Mr. Beloe's " Anecdotes of Literature," tliat there is one in 
the excellent collection of the Marquis of Staffo"' 



Note 2 Y. 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 

Lord Lion King-at-arms. — P. 117. 

The late elaborate edition of Sir David Lindesay'a Woikl^ 

by Mr. George Chalmers, has probably introduced him to man/ 

of my readers. It is perhaps to be regretted, that the learned 

Editor had not bestowed more pains in elucidating his author, 

even although he should have omitted, or at leaet reserved, hif 

disquisitions on t]ie origin of the language used by the poet :t 



Then played I twenty springiaperqueli 
Quhilk waa great plesour for to hear.** 

Vol. L p. 7, 257. 

Mr. Chalmers doa« not inform ua, tv not* or fflossnry, wl*t la muBt km 
Oi« King " muting pa, dai,i!/Ti,vpon Iht I ul4." boi ac^ «U wonUB M 



APPENDX TO MARMION. 



167 



Bat, with all his faults, hia work is an acceptable present to 
Bcoltish antiquaries. Sir David Lindesay was well known for 
His early etlbrls in favor of the Rt'formeii doctrines ; and, in- 
deed. )iis play, coarse as it now seems, must have had a pow- 
erful effect upon the peoplf of his ago. I am uncertain if I 
tbuFtf poetical license, by introducing Sir David Lindesay in 
ihe character of Lion-Herald, sixteen years before lie obtained 
Uiat otUce. At any rate, I am not the lirst wlio has been 
guilty of this anaciironism ; for llie autliorof " Flodden Field" 
diBcalches Da/lamount, which can mean nobody but Sir Da- 
vid de la Mont, to France, on the message of defiance from 
James IV. to Henry VIH. It was often an office imposed on 
the Lien King-at-arms, to receive foreign ambassadors ; and 
Liatleaay himself did tliis honor to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1539-40. 
Indeed, the oath of the Lion, in it^ first article, bears reference 
to hia frequent employment upon royal messages and embas- 
sies. 

The office of hcrtlus. in feudal times, being held of the ut- 
most importanci'. the inauguration of the Kings-at-arms, who 
presided over their colleges, was proportior.ally solemn. In 
fact, it was the mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the 
unction was made with -vine instead of oil. In Scotland, a 
namesake and kinsman of ."^ir David Lindesay, inaugurated in 
1592, "was crowned by Kin^; James with the ancient crown 
of Scotland, which was used before the Scottish kings assumed 
a close crown ; and, on occasion of the same solemnity, dined 
at the King's table, wearing the crown. It is probable that 
the coronation of his predeceswr was not less solemn. So 
jacred was the herald's office, that, in 1515, Lord Drummond 
was by Parliament declared guiily of treason, and his lands 
forfeited, because he had struck with his fist the Lion King- 
»t-arras, when he reproved him for his follies, ^ Nor was he 
«3toreu, but at the Lion's earnast solicitation. 



Note 2 Z. 

« Crtc/itoun Castle. — P. 118. 

A large roincas eastle on the banks of the Tyne, about ten 
miles from Edinbur^*li As iiidici;.ted in the text, it was built 
at different times, and with a very dilVering regard to splendor 
and accommodation. Tlie oldest part of the building is a nar- 
row keep, or tower, such as formed the mansion of a lesser 
Scottish baron ; but so many additions have been made to it, 
that there is now a large court-yard, surrounded by buildings 
of different ages. The eastern front of the court is raised above 
a portico, and decorated with entablatures, bearing anchors. 
All the stones of tliis front are cut into diamond facets, the 
»nj,Mar projections of which have an uncommoidy rich appear- 
ance. The inside of this part of the building appears to have 
contained a gallery of great length and uncommon eleganoe. 

Bco Uad wiJ' bear witTiess, that pa, dn, Ij-n, are the first efforta ofacliild 
lo 607, ** fV\are*a David Lindesay V2 und that the subsequent words 
bo^i AiiQtber seoteDce — 



" Upon the late 

Then played I twenty spriogis perqueir," 4c. 

\£ v30tber place, " juflting lumia," i. e, looms, or implemeDt« of lilting, 
•• irt'jtnaly interpreted " plaj-fiil limba." Many such minute errors cotdd 
^ p.'i>"*i f.1 1 ; but these are only mentioned incidentally, and not as di- 
uiBi*htD[c ihj real merit of the edition. 
1 The t^rord expr-^^nes, i>r rather is said to have expressed, the cause of 
rfriture lo be,—" Eo quod Leonem, armorum Hegtm pugno violaatet 
Aum turn de ineptiii auin admo/ieL"— S.'o N'tsBBT'a ft eraidry, Part iv. 
ekap.rri. ; and Lbsl^i Hietoria ad ^nnum 1515. 

8 [" la Scotland, formerly, as still in some parts of Greece, the great 
ibiefUms required, aa an acknowledgement of their authority, that those 
who passed throueh their lands should rej-air lo their castle, to explain the 
^rpote of their journey, and receive the hospitality suited to their rank, 

9 It is fuggested by an ini^enlous correspondent, that Pa, da, lyn, ought 
■Ak» U W interpreted, play, Oamf t-indetay. 



Access was given to it by a magnificent staircase, now qoiU 
destroyed. The soffits are ornamented with twining cordag* 
and rosenes : and the wliole seems to have been far more 
splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. The casil* 
belonged originally to the .Chancellor. Sir William Crichton, 
and probably owed to him its fir?t enlargement, as well as ita 
being taken by the Earl of Douglas, wlio imputed to Critrhton'a 
counsels the death of his predecessor. Earl William, belieadef! 
in E.liiiburgh Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is said to 
have been totally demolished on that occasion : but t'ie preieDt 
state of the ruin shows the contj-ajy. In 1483, it was garrisoned 
by Lot-d Crichton, then its proprietor, against King James ;il., 
whose displeasure he had incurred by seducing his sister Marga- 
ret, in revenge, it is said, for tlie Monarch having dishonored his 
bed. Fro;:: tlie Crii-hton family the castle passed to that of the 
Heticunia, Earls Bothwell ; and when the forfeitures of Stew- 
art, the last Ear! of Bothwell, were divided, the barony and 
castle of Crichton fell to the share of the Earl of Buccleuch 
They were afterwards thy pro}ierty of the Pringles of Clifton, 
and are now that of Sir John Callender, Baronet. It were to 
be wished the proprietor would take a little pains to preserve 
these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at present used 
as a fold for sheep, and wintering cattle ; although, perha|>3, 
there are very few ruins in Scotland which display so well 
the style and beauty of ancient castle-architecture. The cas 
tie of Crichton has a dungeon vault, called the Massy More. 
The epithet, which is not uncommonly applied to the prisons 
of other old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. It oo 
curs twice in the " Epistola: lliiierari(B''^ of Tollius. " Car- 
eer sul'tcr ramus, sloe, ut Mauri appellant. Mazmohr ," 
p. 147 ; and again, '* Cuguntur omnes Captivi siih noctcm in 
ergastuln subtcrranea, qutE Turc(B Jiigezerani vacant Mvlz- 
KORRAS," p. 243. The same word applies to the dungeons©! 
the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and serves lo show frore. 
what nation the Gothic style of castle-building was originally 
derived .3 



Note 3 A. 

Earl Adam Hcpbnrn.—F. US. 

He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field of 
Flodden, where, according to an ancient Englisli poet, he dis 
tinguished liimself by a furious attempt to retrieve the day .- 

"Then on the Scottish part, right proud, 
The Eavl of Bothwell then out brast, 

And stepping forth, with stomach good. 
Into the enemies' throng he thrast ; 

And Bothwell! Bothwell! cried bold, 
To cause his souldiers to ensue. 

To neglect this was held discourtesy in the great, and insolence in Hu 
inferior traveller-, and so strictly was the etiquette insisted on by aeaM 
feudal lords, that the Lord Olipbant is said to have planted guns at his 
castle of Newtyle in Angus, so as to conmiand the liifh roaa, and compM 
all restive possiLn^ers to do this act of hnmago. 

" It chanced when such ideas were predominant, thai the Lord cf Cneii- 
tou Castle received intelligence thai a Southern chieftaiu of high rank, 
some say Scott of Buccleuch, waa to pnsa his dwelling on his retnm from 
court. The Lord of Cnchton made great preparation to banquet h« 
expected guest, who neverlhelcM rode past the castle without payinu th« 
expected visit. In his tirst burst of inili^ation, the Baron porsued tli« 
discourteous traveller with a borly of horse, made hiiii prisoner, and confined 
him in the dungeon, while he bimself ami bis vassals feualed upon the goo<* 
cheer which had been provided. With the mcrniop, however, carni 
reflection, and anxiety for the desperate feud which impended, as th« 
nect^Gsnry consequence of his rough proceeding. It is said, that, by way o| 
amende honorable^ the Baron, upon the second day, placed hia compelled 
guest in hia seat of honor in the hall, while he himself retired into his owa 
dungeon, and thus did at once penance for hia rashness, bitisfied the honor 
of the stranger chief, and put a stop tc the feud which must othenrtw 
have taken place between them." — Sir Waittr Scott't JfisM^oiMOM 
ProM Worka^ vol. vii. pp. 192-3.}— Ed. 



168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bnt there he caught a wellcome cold, 

Tlie Englishmen straight down him threw. 
Thus Haburn through liis hardy heart 
Hi9 fatal fine in conflict lound," &:c. 

Flodden Field, a Poem ; edited by 
H. Weher. Edin. 1808. 

Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, loo well 
kDOwn in the history of Q,ueen Mary. 



Note 3 B. 



For that a messenger from heaven, 
In vain to James had counsel given, 
Jigainst the English war. — P. 119. 

This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic simpli- 
city :— '* Tlie King, seeing that France could get no snpport of 
hiro for that time, made a proclamation, full hastily, through 
alt the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south and north, 
as well in the isles as in the tirm land, to all manner of men 
between sixty and sLxteen years, that they should be ready, 
withhi twenty days, to pass with liim, with forty days victual, 
and to meet at the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh, and there to 
pass forward where he pleased. His proclamations were liastily 
obeyed, contrary to the Council of Scotland's will ; but every 
man loved his prince so well that they would on no ways 
disobey liim ; but every man caused make his |irocIamation so 
nastily, conform to the charge of the King's ))roclamation. 

" The King came to Lithgow, where he happened to be 
for the time at the Council, very sad and dolorous, making his 
devotion to God, to send him good chance and fortune in his 
voyage. In this mean time there came a man, clad in a blue 
gown, in at the kirk door, and belted about him in a roll of 
hneri clotli ; a pair of brotikingsi on his feet, to the great of 
his legs; with all other hose and clothes conform thereto : but 
he had nothing on his hfead, but syde^ red yellow hair behind, 
and on his haflets,3 whicli wan down to his shoulders; but 
his forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to he a man of 
two-and-fifty years, with a great pike-staft" in his hand, and 
;:ame first forward among the lords, crying and speiringi for the 
King, saying, he desired to speak with him. While, at the 
last, he came where the king was sitting in the desk at his 
prayers; but when he saw the King, he made him little 
jeverenee or salutation, but leaned down grottiing on the desk 
oefore him, and said to him in this manner, as after follows : 
Sir King, my mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to 
pass, at this time, where thou art purposed ; for if tliou does, 
Ihou wilt not fare well in thy journey, nor none that passeth 
with thee. Further, she bade thee mel!'' Mitli no woman, nor 
ase their counsel, nor let tliem loiich thy body, nor thou 
theirs ; for, if thou do it, thnu wilt be confounded and brought 
to shame.' 

** By this man had spoken thir words unto the King's grace, 
the evening-song was near done, and the King pansed on ihir 
words, studying to give him an answer; but. in the meantime, 
before the King's eyes, and in the presence of all the lords that 
were about him for the time, this man vanished away, and 
Oould no ways be seen or comprehended, but vanished away 
u he liad been a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwitul, 
and could ho more be seen. I heard say. Sir David Lindesay 
Lyon-herauld. and John Inglis the marshal, who were, al that 
lime, young men, and special servants to the King's grace, 
were atanding presently beside the King, who thought to have 
laid hands on this man. that they might have speired further 
Ijdings at him : But all for naught ; they could not touch 
nim ; for he vanished away betwixt them, and was no more 
leen." 
Buchanan, in more elegant, though not more impressive 

1 fiiiskias 2 Long. 3 Cheeks, 



langoage, tells the same story, and quotes the personal infonn& 
tion of our Sir David Lindesay : " In lis (i. e. gut propiui 
astiterant),fuit David Lindesius, Montanus , homo spectata 
Jidei et probitatis, ncc a literarnm studiis atienus, et cujua 
totius vit(B tenor logissime a mcnticndo aberrat ; a quo nist 
ego k<£C uti tradidi, pro certis accepisscm, ut vulgatam ua- 
nis rumor ibus fabidum, omissnrus eram/^ — Lib. xiii. Tha 
King's throne, m St. Catherine's aisle, which he iiad con 
structed for himself, with twelve stalls for the Knights Com 
panions of the Order of the Thistle, is still shown as the place 
where the apparition was seen, I know not by what mean* 
St. Andrew got the credit of having been the celebrated moni 
tor of James IV. ; for the expression in Lindesay's narrative, 
" My mother has sent me," could only be used by St. John, 
the adopted son of the Virgin Mary. The whole story is so 
well attested, that wejiave only the choice between a miracle 
or an imposture. Mr. Pinkerton plausibly argues, trom the 
caution against incontinence, tliat the Clueen was privy to the 
scheme of those who had recourse to tliis expedient to det^ 
King James from his ioipoUtic war. 



Note 3 C. 



The wUd'buck bells.— F. 119- 

I am glad of an opportunity to describe the cry of the deei 
by another word than braijivg, although the latter has been 
sanctified by the use of the Scottish metrical translation ot 
the Psalms. Be2l seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. 
This sylvan sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors-, 
chielly, I suppose, from association. A gentle knight in the 
reign of Henry VHI., Sir Tiiomas Wortley, built Wantley 
Lodge, in Wancliffe Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancient 
inscription testifies) of " listening to the hart's bell " 



Note 3 D. 



June saw his father's overthrow. — P. 119. 

The rehelhon against James III. was signalized by the 
cruel circumstance of his son's presence in tlie hostile army 
When the King saw his own banner displayed against him, 
and his son in the faction of his enemies, he lost the little 
courage he had ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from 
his horse as it started at a woman and water-pitcher, and 
was slain, il is not well understood by whom. James IV.. 
after the battle, passed to Stirling, and hearing the monks ol 
the t'tjapel-royal deploring the death of his father, their founder, 
he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itself in 
severe penances. See a following note on stanza ix. of canto 
v. Tlie battle of Sauchie-burn, in wliich James IH. fell, wiB 
fought ISth June, 1488. 



Note 3 E. 
The Borough-moor.— P. 122. 

The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh, was of very 
great extent, reaching from the southern walls of the city to 
the bottom of Braid Hills. It was cnciently a forest; and, in 
that state, was so great a nuisance, that the iniiabitants ol 
Edinburgh had permission granted to them of building wooden 
galleries, projecting over the street, in orrier to encour.age 
them to consume the timber, whicli they seem to have done 
very eff'ectually. W^hen James IV. mustered tlie array of the 
kingdom there, in 1513, the Borough-moor was, according to 
Hawthornden, "a field spacious, and delightful by the shade 
of many stately and aged oaks." Upon that, and sinula. 

4 Asking. 9 Unddl*. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



168 



occasions, the royal standard ia traditionally said to have been 
displayed tVoni tiie Hare-Slane, a liigli stone, now built into 
Ihe wall, on the lell hand of the highway leading towards 
Braid, not far from the head of Bumtsfield Links. The Hare- 
Stane probably derives its name from tlie British word Har, 
ijgnitying au array. 



Note 3 F. ^ 

Pavilions.—?. 122. 
1 do not exactly know the Scottish mode of encampment in 
1513, but Patten gives a curious description of that which he 
jaw after the battle of Pirikey, in 1547 : — " Here, now, to say 
somewhat of the manner of their camp. As they had no pavil- 
ions, or round liouses, of any commendable compass, so wear 
there few other tentes with posts, as tlie used manner of mak- 
ing is ; and of these few also, none of above twenty foot length ; 
bat most far under ; for the most part all very sumptuously be- 
•ct (after their fashion), for tlie love of France, with tleur-de- 
ys, some of blue buckeram, some of black, and some of some 
other colours. Tiiese wliite ridges, as I call them, that, as we 
stood on Fauxsyde Bray, did make so great muster toward us, 
which I did take then to be a number of tentes, when we came, 
we found it a linen drapery, of tlie coarser cainbryk in dede, 
for it was all of canvas sheets, and wear the tenticles, or rather 
uabyns ami couches of their soldiers; the which (much after 
the common building of their country bejiide) had they framed 
of four sticks, about an ell long a piece, whearof two fastened 
together at one end aloft, and tlie two endes beneath stuck in 
the ground, au ell asunder, standing in fasliion like the bowes 
of a sowes yoke ; over two such bowes (one, as it were, at 
their head, the other at their feei), they stretched a sheet down 
on both sides, whereby tlieir cabin became roofed like a ridge, 
but fikant shut at both ends, and not very close beneath on the 
sid&s, unless their sticks were the shorter, or their wives the 
more liberal to lend them larger napery ; howbeit, when lliey 
had lined them, and stuff 'd them so tiiick with straw, with the 
weather as it wa-s not very cold, when they wear ones couched, 
they were as warm as they had been wrapt in horses dang." — 
Patten's jiccouTit of Somerset's Expedition. 



NOTB 3 G. 



in proud Scotland's royal shield. 

The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. — P. 133. 

Tbe well-known arms of Scotland. If you will believe Boe- 
ihmsand Buclianan. the double tressure round the shield, men- 
tioned, counter Jleur-de-lysed or lingucd and armed azure, 
was G'st assumeil by Echaius, King of Scotland, contemporary 
*f Charlemagne, and founder of the celebrated League with 
France ; but later antiiiaarics make poor Eochy, or Achy, Ut- 
ile better than a sort of King of Brentford, whom old Grig 
fwho has also swelled into Gregorios Maguus) associated with 
himself in the important duty of governing some part of the 
Mrtheasteru coast of Scotland. 



Note 3 H. 



Caledonia's Queen is changed. — P. 124. 

The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north side 
by m lake, now drained, and on tlie south by a wall, which 
.b«ro was some attempt to make defensible even so late as 1745. 
Ti* gates, and the greater part of the wall, have been pulled 
ior«T»j in die course of the late extensive and beautifoi enlarge- 
■U^t of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Tho- 
•wi < vmpbell. propiiserf U> celebrate Edinbur^ nnder the epi- 



thet here borrowed. But the " Q,ueen of the North" has not 
been so fortunate as to receive trom so eminent a pen the ffo 
posed distinction 



Note 3 I. 



Simejirst, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry vicek she gave repose. — P. 125. 

Henry VI., with his Queen, his heir, and the chiefs of his 
family, fled to Scotland after the fatal battle of Tnwton. Itf 
this note a doubt was formerly expressed, whether Henry VI 
came to Edinburgh, though his U,ueeii certainly did ; Mr. Pin . 
kertou inclining to believe that iie remained at Kirkcadbrighi 
But my noble friend. Lord Nitpier, has pointed out to me a 
grant by Henry, of an annuity of forty marks to his Lordslup'a 
ancestor, John Napier, subscribed by the King himself, at 
Edinburgh, the 28th day of August, in the tl.Jrty-ninth year of 
his reign, which corresponds to the year of God, 14G1. This 
grant, Douglas, with his usual neglect of accuracy, dates in 
1368. But this error being corrected from the copy in Macfar* 
lane's MSS., p. 119, 20, removes all skepticism on the subject 
of Henry VI. being really at Eilinburgh. John Napier was 
SOD and heir of Sir Alexander Napier, ami about this time wa» 
Provost of EJlnburgh. The hospitable reception of the dia 
tressed monai'ch and his family, called forth on Scotland th« 
encomium of MoHuet, a contemporary poet. The English 
peojile, he says, — 

" Uiig nouvcau roy crHrenl 

Par dcspiteux vouloir, 

Le viel en dcbouttrent, 

Et son legitivic hoir. 

Qui j'uyttjf al/a prendre, 

D' Escosse le garand, 

De tous siecles le mendre, 

Et le plus toUcrant." 

Recollection des AvaDtnro* 



Note 3 K. 



125. 



the romantic strain. 

Whose .^nglo-JVorman tones whUere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear. — P. 

Mr. Ellii, in his valuable Introduction to the "Specimens 
of Romance, has proved, by the concurring testimony of La 
Ravaillere, Tressan, but especially the Abbe de la Rue, that 
the courts of our Anglo-Norman Kings, rather than those of the 
French monarcli, produced the birth of Romance Uterature. 
Marie, soon after mentioned, compiled from Armorican origi- 
nals, and translated into Norman-French, or romance language, 
the twelve curious Lays, of which^Mr. Ellis lias given as a 
precis in the Appendix to his Introduction. The story of Blon* 
de), tlie famous and faithful minstrel of Richard I., needs no 
commentary. 



Note 3 L. 



The cloth-yard arrows. — P. 126. 

This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of the counties o( 
England, distinguished for archery, shafts of this extraordmary 
length were actually used. Thus, at tlie battle of Blackhealh, 
between the troops of Henry VII,, and the Cornish insurgents, 
in 1496, the bnogv d: Li^zvlert was defended by a picked band 
of archers from the rebel army, " whose arrows," says Hollio- 
shed, " were in length a full cloth yard." The Scottish, ao 
cording to Ascham, had a proverb, tliat every English archei 



170 



'ICOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



carried nnder his belt twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his han- 
dle of unening shal'tfl. 



Note 3 M. 



To pass, to wheel, the croupe tc gaii\ 
And high curoctt, that not in vain 
The sword sioai/ might descend amain 
Onfoeman^a casque below. — P. 126. 

' Ths most nseful air, as the Frenchmen terra it, is terri- 
terr ; the cotirbettes, cabrioles, or un pas et un sault, heing 
fitter for holies of parade and triumph than for soldiers : yet 1 
cannot deny but a demicolie with courbettes, so tJiat they be 
not too high, may he useful in a fight or meslce ; for, as La- 
broue hath it, in his Book of Horsemanship, Monsieur de 
Montmorency having a horse that was excellent in performing 
the demico/tc, did, with liis sword, strike down two adversaries 
from tiicir horses in a louriiey, where divers of the prime gal- 
lants of France did meet ; for, taking his time, when the horse 
was in the heiglit of his eourbette, and discharging a blow 
then, his sword fell with sucli weight and force upon the two 
cavaliers, one after another, that he struck them from their 
horses to the ground." — Lord Herbert of Chtrbury's Life, 
p. 4« 



liToTE 3 N, 

He saw fJie hardy burghers there 

March arm'd on foot with fac'cs bare. — P. 126. 

The Scottish burgeseess were, like yeomen, appointed to be 
armed with bowa and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spear, or 
a good axe instead of a bow, If worth XlOO ; their armor to be 
of white or bright harness. They wore white hats, i. e. bright 
Bteel caps, mthout crest or visor. By an act of James IV. 
their wcapon-schawings are appointed to be held four timet a 
year, under the alderman or balulls. 



Note SO. 



On foot the yeoman too * 

Each at his back (a slender store) 

His forty days^ provision bore. 

His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,- 



-P. 126. 



Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the pea- 
lantry of Scotland, by repeated statutes ; spears and axes seem 
universally to have been used instead of them. Their defen- 
sive armor was the plate-jack, hauberk, 'or brigantine ; and 
ihei/ missile weapons crossbows and culverina. All wore 
BW«>id8 of excellent temper, according to Patten ; and a volu- 
icinous handkerchief round their neck, " not for cold, but for 
cutting." The mace also was much used in the Scottish 
army : The old poem on the battle of Floddea mentions a 
band — 

" Who manfully did meet their foes. 
With leaden maules, and lances long." 

When the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, 
»/tch man was obhged to appear with forty days' provision. 
tVhen this was expended, which took place before the battle 
of Flodden, the army melted away of coarse. Almost all the 
Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-ai-arms, and the 
Bordeivprickers, who foroiei excellent light cavalry, acted 
Ojiou fcwt. 



Note 3 P. 

A banquet rich, and costly wines. — P. 12&. 

In all transactions of great or petty importance, and among 
whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of wiiw 
was a uniform and indispensable preliminary It was aot to 
Sir John Falstaff alone that such an introductory preface wai 
necessary, however well judged and acceptable on the part oi 
Mr. Brook ; for Sir Ralph Sadler, while on an embassy to 
SKotland in 1539—40, mentions, with complacency, " the sama 
night came Rothesay (the herald so called) to me again, aoJ 
brought me wine from the King, both white and red '" — Clif 
ford's Edition, p, 35. 



Note 3 Q. 

-Jiis iron-belt, 

That bound his breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain. — P. l29. 

Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weigh 
of which James added certain ounces every year that he lived. 
Pitscottie founds his belief, that James was not slain in the bat- 
tle of Flodden, because the English never had this token of the 
iron-belt to show to any i^cottishman. The person and chai^ 
acter of James are delineated according to our best historians. 
His romantic disposition, which led liim highly to relish gayety, 
approaching to license, was, at the same lime, tinged with en- 
thusiastic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a 
strange contrast. He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to 
assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Fran- 
ciscans ; and when he had thus done penance for some time in 
Stirling, to plunge again into the tide of pleasure. Probably, 
too, with no unusual inconsistency, he sometimes laughad mi 
the superstitious observances to whicii he at oth&r ti ocs <i«il>- 
jected himself. There is a very singular poem /•/ Ocnbar, 
seemingly addressed to James IV. , on one of thes") -r :a Aona ol 
monastic seclusion. It is a most danng and prof '.« i arody od 
the services of the Cliurch of Rome, entitled,— 

> 
" Dunbar'' s Dirige to the King^ 

Byding ower lang in Striviling 

We that are here, in heaven's glorj 
To you that are in Purgatory, 
Commend us on our hearty wise ; 
i mean we folks in Paradise, 
In Edinburgh, with all merriness. 
To you in Stirling, with distress. 
Where neither pleasure nor delight l', 
For pity this epistle writis," &c. 

See the whole in Sibbald's Collection, vol. i. ^. 234. 



Note 3 R. 



Sir Hugh the Heron's wife.—? 129. 

It lias been already noticed [see note to stanza xiii. of caata 
i.], that King James's acquaintance with Ludy Heron of Ford 
did not commence until he marched into England. Ooi his- 
tonans impute to the King's infatuated passion the delays 
which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. Tiie author o/ 
" The Genealogy of the Heron Family" endeavors, with laud- 
able anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford from this scandal : hat 
she came and went, however, between the armies of Jamew and 
Surrey, is certain. See Pinkerton's History, and the au- 
thorities he refers to, vol. ii. p. 99. Heron of Ford had been, 
in 1511, in some sort accessory to the slaughter of Sir Robert 
Kerr of Cessford, Warder of the Middle Marches. It wat 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



171 



•ommitted by hu brother the bastard, Lilbnrn, and Starkeil, 
blue n(rrderere. Lilburn and Heron of Ford were delivered 
ip by Henry to James, and were imprisoned in the fortress of 
Faatcastle, where the former died. Pari of the pretence of 
Lady Fori'i negofiation witli James was tlie liberty of berhua- 
h&nd 



Note 3 S. 



The fair Queen of France 
Sent him a turquois ring and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and love, 

For her to break a lance. — P. 129. 

' " Also the daeen of France wrote a love-letter to the King 
of Scotland, ca".ling him her love, showing bim that she had 
goflered much rebake in France for ihe defending of his honor. 
She believed surely that he would recompense her again with 
•ome of liis kingly support in her necessity ; that is to say, that 
be would raise her an army, and come three fool of ground on 
English ground, for her sake. To that effect slie sent him a 
ring off her finger, with fourteen thousand French crowns to 
pay bis expenses." Pitscottie, p. 110. — A turquois ring; 
probably this fata! gift is, with James's sword and dagger, pre- 
served in the College of Heralds, London. 



Note 3 T. 



Archibald Bdl-thc-Cat.—?. 130. 

Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angos, a man remarkable for 
ftrengtb of body and mind, acquired the popular name of 
Bell-thr-Cat, upon the following remarkable occasion : — James 
Ibe Third, of whom Pitscottie complains, that lie delighted 
more in music, and " policies of building," thaji in bunting, 
faawkiiig, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised, as to 
make favorites of his architects and musicians, whom the same 
historian irreverently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobihty, 
who did not sympathize in the King's respect for the fine arts, 
were extremely incensed at the honors conferred on those pei^ 
■ons, particularly on Cochrane, a mason, who had been created 
Earl of Mar ; and, seizing the opportunity, wheu, in 1482, 
the King had convoked the whole array of the country to 
march against the English, they held a midnight cooncil in the 
thurch of Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly removing these 
minions from the King's person. When all had agreed on the 
propriety of this measure. Lord Gray told the assembly the 
fcpologue of the Mice, who bad formed a resolution that it 
would be highly advantageous to their community to tie a bell 
roand the cat's neck, that they might hear her approach at a 
distance; bnt wiiicli public 'neasure unfortunately miscarried, 
ftom no mouse being willing to undertake the task of fastening 
the bell. " I understand the moral," said Angus, " and, that 
what we pmnos** may not lack execution, 1 will bcll-thc-cat.*' 
Tile res* o*" uie strange scene is thus told by Pitscottie : — 

"By tliia wa? advi;;ed and spoken by thir lords foresaid, 
Cocnran, the Earl of Mar, came from the King to the coancil 
(which connril was holden in the kirk of Lauder for the time), 
who was well accompanied with a band of men of war, to the 
■amber ot three hundred light axes, all clad in white livery, 
and black bends thereon, that they might be known for 
Cochran the Eail of Mar's men. Himself wa.s clad in a 
riding-pie of black velvet, with a great chain of gold about his 
»eck, to the value of five hundred crowns, and four blowing 
iOTua, witii both the ends of gold and silk, set with a precious 

one, called a brrryi hanging in the midst. This Cochran 
had his heumont borne before him, overgilt with gold, and so 
were all the res', of his horns, and all his pallions were of fine 
Oanvas of silk, and the cords thereof fine twined silk, and the 
•haim upon bis pallions were doable overgilt with gold. 



*' This Cochran was so prond in lua conceit, that be connted 
no lords to be marrows to him, therefore he ruaJied rudely al 
the kirk-door. The council inquired who it was that perturbed 
them at that time. Sir Robert Dou^Jaa, Laird of Lochleven, 
was keeper of the kirk-door at that time, who inquired who 
that was that knocked so rudely? and Cochran answered, 
•This is 1, the Earl of Mar.' The which news pleased well 
the lords, because ihey were ready boun to cause take bim. »• 
is before rehearsed. Then the Earl ol' Angus pa.ssed hastily ta 
the door, and witli him Sir Robert Dougl.is of Lochleven 
there to receive in the Earl of Mar, and so many of his com 
plices who were there, as they thought good. And the Earl 
of Angus met with the Earl of Mar, as he came in at ttie door^ 
and pulled the golden chain from his craig, and said to him, a 
towi would set him better. Sir Robert Douglas syne palled 
the blowing liorn from him in like manner, and said, ' He had 
been the hunter of mischief over long.' This Cochran asked, 
'My lords, is it mows,2 or earnest?' They answered, and 
said, ' It is good earnest, and so thou shalt find ; for thou and 
thy complices have abused our prince this long time ; of whom 
thou shalt have no more cpedence, but slialt have thy reward 
according to thy good service, as thou hast deserved in times 
bypast ; right so the rest of thy followers.' 

" Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet till they caused 
certain armed men to pass into the King's j)al!ion. and two of 
three wise men to pass with them, and give the King fair 
pleasant words, till they laid hands on all the King's servants, 
and took them and hanged them before his eyes over the bridge 
of Lawder. Incontinent they brought forth Cochran, and his 
hands bound with a tow, who desired theni to take one of Iiia 
own pallion tows and bind his hands, for he thought shame to 
have his hands bound with sacli tow of hemp, like a thief 
The lords answered, he was a traitor, he deserved no better, 
and, for despight, they took a hair tether, ^ and hanged him 
over the bridge of Lawder, above the rest of his complioes.' *- 
Pitscottie, p. 78, folio edit. 



Note 3 11. 



Against the war had Angus stood, 
And chafed his royal Lord. — P. 130. 

Angus was an old man when the war against England wai 
resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure from 
its commencement ; and, on the eve of the battle of Floddeo, 
remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that tha 
King said to him, with scorn and indignation, "if he wai 
afraid be might go home." The Earl burst into tears at this 
insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons 
George, Master of Angus, and Sir William of Glenbervie, U" 
command his followers. They were both shiin in the battle, 
with two hondred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The 
aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house an<*. 
his country, retired into a religious house, where he died abon^ 
a year after the field of Flodden. 



Note 3 V, 

Tantallon hold.— P. 131. 

The rains of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting 
into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Ber- 
wick. The building is not seen till a close ajiproach, as there 
is rising ground betwixt it and the land. The circuit is ol 
large extent, fenced upon three sides by the precijiice wnick 
overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by a double ditch and 
very strong outworks. Tantallon was a principal casiie ol 
the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Ang-is was banisbei' 
1 Rope. 2 Jeat. 3 Hulter. 



172 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



in 1597 it continned to hold out against James V. The King 
went in person against it, and for its reduction, borrowed from 
the Castle of Dunbar, then belonging to the Duke of Albany. 
two great cannons, whose names, as Pitseottie iiiforma ua with 
laudable minuteness, were " Thrawii-niouth'd Meg and liT 
Marrow;" also, "two great botcards, and two nioyan, two 
double falcons, and fourquarter falcons ;" for the safe guiding 
and re-delivery of which, three lords were laid in pawn at 
Dinbar. Vet, notwithstanding all this apparatus, James was 
'orced to raise the siege, and only afterwards obtained pos- 
leBGlon of Tunt^llon by treaty with the govrrtior, Simon Pa- 
nango. AVlien the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, 
upon the death of James, lie again obtained possession of Tan- 
tallon. and it actually afforded refuge to an English ambassa- 
dor, under circumstances similar to those described in the 
text. This was no other than the celebrated Sir Ralph Sadler, 
who resided there for some time under Angus's protection, 
after the failure of his negotiation for matching the infant 
Mary with Edward VI. He says, that though this place was 
poorly furnished, it was of such strength as might warrant 
him against the malice of his enemies, and tliat he now thought 
himself out of danger.' 

Tht re is a military tradition, that the old Scottish March 
was meant to express the words, 

Ding down Tantallon, 
Mak a brig to the Bass. 

Tantallon was at length "dung down" and ruined by the 
Covenanters ; Us lord, the .Martjuis of Douglas, being a favorer 
of the royal cause. The castle and barony were sold in the 
beginning of the eighteenth century to President Dalrymple of 
North Berwick, by the tlicn Marquis of Douglas. 



Note 3 W. 



Tkcir motto on his blade. — P. 131. 

A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears, 

tmong a great deal of flourishing, two ^ands pointing to a 

heart, whicii is placed betwixt tliem. and the date 1329, being 

the year in which Bruce charged the Gooii Lord Douglas to 

ury his heart to the Holy Land. The following lines {the 

iTrst couplet of which is quoted by Godscroft as a popular 

laying in his time) are inscribed around the emblem : 

' ' So mony guid as of ye Dovglas beinge 

Of ane surname was ne'er in Scotland seine. 

I will ye charge, cfter yat I depart. 

To holy gi-awe, and thair bury my hart ; 

Let it remane ever botiie tyme anp howr, 

To ye last day I sie ray Saviour. 

I do protest in tyme of al my ringe, 

Ve lyk subject had never ony keing.*' 

This -curious and valuable relic was nearly lost during the 
rivil war of 1745-6, being carried away from Donglas-Castle 
Dy some of those in arms for Prince Charles. But great intei^ 
tBt having been made by tlie Duke of Douglas among the chief 
jrartL^ans of the Stuart, it was at length restored. It resembles 
i Highland cliymyre, of the usual size, is of an excellent tem- 
per and admirably poised. 



Note 3 X. 

Martin Swart.— P. 132. 

A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by 
the Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was de- 

1 The very curioua Slate Pupera of ihia nbie negotiator were, in 1810, 
'ViUiihed by Mr. Clifford, witU wr-ii"* n','t«B by Ibe Anlbor of MsrmioD. 



feated and killed at Stokefield. The name of this Germai 
general is preserved by that of the field of battle, which ii 
called, after him. Swart-moor. — There were soi.gs about bitn 
long current in England. — See Dissertation prefixed to RlT 
son's Ancient Songs, 1792, p. Ixi*- 



Note 3 Y. 



Perchance some form was uvobserved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved. — P. 132. 

It was early necessary for those who felt themselves obligeii 
to believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the triiji 
by duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously precurions 
chances of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used 
by those who took up an unriglUcous quarrel, wtre supposed 
sufficient to convert it into a ju.vt one. Tiius, in the romance 
of " Amys and Amelioii," the one brothei^in-arms fighting 
for the other, disguised in his armor, swears that he did not 
commit the crime of which the Steward, his antagonist, (rnly, 
though maliciously, accused him whom he represented. Bran- 
tome tells a story of an Italian, who entercLl the li^ts upon an 
unjust quarrel, but, to make his cause good, fleil from his ene- 
my at the first onset. "Turn, coward!" exclaimed his an- 
tagonist. " Tlion liest," said the Italian, " coward am I none ; 
and in thl= quarrel will I fight to the death, but my first canst 
of combat was unjust, and I aliancloii it." "■ .fc vans Itnsst 
a pciiscr,'^ adds Brantome, " s'il n^y a pas tic t'abits M." 
Elsewhere he says, very sensibly, upon the confidence which 
those who had a righteous cause entertained of victory : " Un 
autre abus y avoit-il, que cenx qui avoicnt un juste subjci 
de qucrclle, ct gu'on les faisoit j aver avant cntrcr nu camp, 
pensoicnt estre aussitost vainqucurs, voire s'cn assuroicnt- 
t-ils du tout, mesmcs que leurs confcsscurs, parrnins ct con- 
fidants leurs en respondoicnt tout-h-fait, covime si Dieu 
leur en eust donni une patente ; ct nc regardant point i 
d*autrcs fautes passees, ct que Dicu en garde la punition h 
ce coup la pour plus grande, despiteuse, et cxeniplaire.'* — 
Discour^ Kur les Duels. 



Note 3 Z. 



^ The Cross.— P. 134. 

Tlie Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and cnrtoos stmc- 
ture. The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in 
diameter, and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there 
was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. 
Above these was a projecting battlement, with a turret ri 
each corner, and medallions, of ruile but curious workman* 
ship, between them. Above this rose the proper Cross, s 
column of one stone, upwards of twenty feel high, surmount- 
ed with a nnicorn. This pillar is preserved in the grounds ol 
the property of Drura.nenr Edinburgh. The Magistrates ol 
Edinburgli. in 17r)G. willi ronsenl of the Lords of Session (proh 
pudor !) destroyed this curious inouunient, under a wanton 
pretext that it encumbered llie street ; while, on the one hand 
they left an ugly mass called ih* Luck^nbooths, and, on the 
other, an awkward, long, and low guard-house, whieli were 
fifty times more encumbrance than the venerable and inoffen- 
sive Cross. 

From the tower of the Cross, so long as It remained, the her- 
alds published the acts of Pariiamerit ; and it? site, marked b» 
radii, diverging from a stone centre, in the High Street, is ttill 
the place where iiroclamations are made 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



IV,-^ 



Note 4 A. 
TkU awfxd summons eamr. — P. 134. 
This supematiiral citation is mentioned by all oar Scottish 
aistorians. It was. ptobabU-, like the apparition at Linlithgow, 
ao attempt, by those averse to the war, to impose upon the 
inperstitious temper ot James IV. The tbllowing account from 
Piucotlie is characteristically minute, anti furnishes, besides, 
Bome curioua partieulani of the equipment of the army of JaoiC!} 
IV. I neeil only acid lo it. that Plotcock, or Plotock, is no 
other than I'luio. The Cliristiaiis of the middle ages by no 
means mi^hdieveil in tlie e.\istcnce of the heathen deities ; they 
only considered them as devils;' and Plotcock, so far from 
Implying any thing Jabulous. was a synonyme of the grand 
• enemy of mankind. "Yet all tliir warnings, and nncouth 
tidings, nor no good coun-^I, njight stop the King, at this pres- 
ent, from liis vain purpose, and wicked enterprize. but hasted 
him fast to Edinburgh, and tiiere to make his provision and 
furnishing, in having forlli his army against the day appointed, 
that they shoulil meet in the Burrow-inuir of Edinburgh : 
That is to say, seven cannons that he had forth of the Castle 
of Edinburgh, wliich were called the Seven Sisters, casten by 
Robert Borthwick, the master-gunner, with other small artille- 
ry, bullet, powder, and all manner of order, as the master-gun- 
ner could devise. 

" In this meantime, when they were taking forth their artil- 
lery, and the King being in the Abbey for the time, there was 
a cry heard at the Market-cross of Edinburgh, at the hour of 
midnight, proclaiming as it had been a summons, which was 
named and called by the proclaimcr thereof. The Summons 
of Plotcock ; which desired all men to compear, both Earl, and 
Lord, and Baron, and all honest gentlemen within the town 
(every man spucilieil by his own namej, to compear, within 
the space of forty days, before his master, where it should hap- 
pen him to appoint, and be for the time, under the pain of dis- 
obedience. But whether this summons was proclaimed by 
vain persons, niglit-walkers, or drunken men, for their pastime, 
•rifit was a spirit, I cannot tell truly ; but it was shewn to 
me, that an indweller of the town, Mr. Richard Lawson, being 
evil-disposed, ganging in his gallery-stair foreanent the Cross, 
hearing this voice proclaiming this summons, thought marvel 
what it should be, cried on his servant to bring him his purse ; 
and when he had brought him it, he took out a crown, and 
cast over the stair, saying, 'I appeal from that summons, 
jodgment, and sentence thereof, and takes me alt whole in the 
mercy of God, and Christ Jesus his son.' • Verily, the author 
of this, that caused me write the manner of this summons, was 
B landed gentleman, who was at that time twenty years of age, 
and was in the town the time of the said summons ; and there- 
after, when tlie lield was stricken, he swore to me, there was no 
man that escaped that was called in this suntmons, but that one 
man alone which made his protestation, and appealed from the 
laid summons ; but all the lave were perished in the field with 
the king." 



Note 4 B. 



One of his own ancestry. 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry.— V. 136. 

Tins relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion 
b the reign of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury de- 
•cribes with some attribtHes of my fictitious hero ; ''Homo bd- 
ticosus,ferocia, ft astucia, fere nudo suo tempore impar.^^ 
This Baron, having expelled the Monks from the church of 
Oaventry, was not long of experiencing the divine judgment, 



! See, oc iDh curious Bwlijei-l, the Eaoay on Fiiiri.'B, in the " Border Min- 
UtoIbj-," -ol, ii, uiiJ:r the foiirtb heiid; also Jiickson on Unbelief, p. ns. 
ChauMr eulla Plcto tie '* King of Faerie ■." and Dunbar nnmes hun. " Pluto, 
►at «lrich i«ub.K." libo waa notacluaUy ltd devil, he must be conaid- 



as the same monks, no doubt, termed hia disaster. Having 
waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester. Marmion's horse 
fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, agains! a body oi 
the Earl's followers ; the rider's thigh beiiigbroken by the fall, 
his head was cat off by a common foot-soldier, ere he could 
receive any succor. Tlie whole story is U>ld by William oi 
Newbury. 



Note 4 C. 

the savage. Dane 

Jit lol more deep the mead did drain. — P. 137. 

The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Cnrint- 
mas in Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. The 
humor of the Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each 
other with bones ; and Torficus tells a long and curious story, 
in the History of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Hottus, an inmate ol 
the Court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with 
these missiles, that he constructed, out of the bones with which 
he was overwhelmed, a very respectable intrenchment, against 
those who continued the raillery. Tiie dances of the northern 
warriors round the great fires of pine-trees, are commemorated 
by Olaus Magnus, who says, they danced with such fury 
holding each other by the hands, that, if the grasp of any fail 
ed, he was pitched into the fire with the velocity of a sling. 
The sufferer, on such occasions, was instantly |)Iucked out, 
and obliged to quaff oft' a certain measure of ale, as a penalt; 
for " spoiling the king's fire." 



Note 4 D. 
On Christmas eve.—?. 137.. 

In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said at night, 
except on Christmas eve. Each of the frolics with which that 
holiday used to be celebrated, migiil admit of a long and cu 
rious note ; but I shall content myself with tiie following de 
scription of Christmas, and his attributes, as personified in one 
of Ben JonsoTi's Masques for the Court, 

" Enter Christ.mas with two or three of the Guard. He 
is attired in round hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high- 
crowned hat, with a brooclt, a long thin beard, a truncheon, 
little ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his 
drum beaten before him. — 7*kc names of his children, with 
their attires : JiHsn-Rule, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short 
cloak, great yellow ruff, like a reveller ; his torch-bearor, beai^ 
ing a rope, a cheese, and a basket ; — Carol/, a long tawny coat, 
with a red cap, and a flute at his girdle ; his torch-bearer car* 
rying a song-book, open ; — Minc'd-pie, like a fine cook's vvife, 
drubt neat, her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoons ; — Ocni- 
bull, like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells : his torch-bearer 
arm'd with cole-staff, and blinding cloth; — Past and Pair, 
with a paii^royal of aces in his hat, his garment ail done jvei 
with pairs and purs; his squire carrying a box, cards, %nji 
counters; — .N'ew-year^s-Oift, in a blue-coat, serving-ma-j jke 
witli an orange, and a sprig of ro:;emary gilt on his nead, hi: 
hat full of brooches, with a collar of girgerbroad : hi> torch- 
bearer carryir.g a march-pain, witli a bottle of wine on eitnei 
arm ; — Mummivg, in a niasquing pied suit, with a visor; hxt 
torch-bearer carrying the bo.\, and ringing it ; — IVassal, like a 
neat sempster and songster ; her page bearing a brown bowi, 
drest with ribbands, and rosemary, before her ; — Offering, \q 
a short gown, with a porter's staft' in his hand ; a wylh born« 
before him, and a bason, by his torch-bearer; — Baby Coci\g 



ered us the " prince of the jwwir of tlm nir." The mrfit remarkable In 
stiiiio<- of llieso S'.in'iviiii; claiisicjl giijifrsliti'in^, la that oC ihu (.lennnns, coii 
cerning the [till of VenuB, into wbioh sbo ntl^niiits to entice all ^allAnl 
kiiigbta,and detains them there to a sort of Fool'a F iradiae. 



174 



SCOTT'S POKTICAL WORKS. 



iiBBt lilte a boy, in a fine long coal, biggin, bib, mnckender, 
tnd & lit'Ie dagger ; his usher bearing a great cake, with a bean 
md a pease.*' 



No-t:4E 

fVho lists may in their miimmma see 
Traces of ancient mystery. — P. 138. 

It heeras certain, that the jyiummers of England, who (in 
jConhumberland at least) used to go abdut in disguise to the 
aeighboriiig liouses, bearing the then useles* ploughshare ; and 
ike Ou-'saj-ds of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in 
iKKae indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which 
vere the origin of tlie English drama. In Scotland {me ipso 
t€ste), we were wont, during my boyhood, to take the charac- 
Iftra of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot ; 
the first bad the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last 
the bag, in which the dole of our neighbors' plumb-cake was 
detosited. Oiie played a champion, and recited some tradi- 
tiaaal rhymes ; another was 

. . . . " Alexander, King of Macedon, 
Wlio conquer'd all the world but Scotland alone; 
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 
To see a little nation courageous and bold." 

these, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote, and 
Lnconnectedly. Tliere was also, occasionally, I believe, a 
Saint George. In all, there was a confused resemblance of the 
ancient mysteries, in which the characters of Scripture, the 
Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually 
exhibited. It were much to be wished that the Chester Mys- 
teries were publislied from the MS. in the Mnseom, witli the 
annotations which a diligent investigator of popular antiqaities 
might still supply. The late acute and valuable antiquary, 
Mr. Ritpon, showed me several memoranda towards such a 
task, which are probably now dispersed or lost. See, however, 
hia Hnnarks on ShuKspcare, 1783, p. 38. 

Since the first edition of Marmion appeared, this subject has 
received much elucidation from the learned and extensive la- 
bors of Mr. Douce ; and the Chester Mysteries [edited by J. 
H. Markland, Esq.] have been printed in a style of great ele- 
gance and accuracy (in 1818), by Bensley and Sons, London, 
for the Roxburghe Club. 1830. 



Note 4 F. 

fVhere my great-grandsirc came of old, 
fVitk amber beard and flaxen hair. — P. 138. 

Mr. Scott of Harden,' my kind and affectionate friend, and 
distant relation, hx"? the original of a poetical invitation, ad- 
dressed from his grandfather to my relative, from which a few 
lines in the text are imitaieit. They are dated, as the epistle 
^ the text, from Merloun-house, the seat of the Harden fam- 

■'j 

" With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 
And reverend apostolic air. 
Free of anxiety and care. 
Come liitber. Cliristmas-day, and dine; 
We'll mix sobriety with wine. 
And easy mirth with tlioughta divine. 
We Christiana think it holiday, 
On it no sin to feast or play I 
Others, in spite, may fast and pray. 
No superstition in the use 
Oar ancestors made of a goose ; 

* Now LoM Polwarl'i. 

\ The old geDtlriiiaii was an intimAte of this celebrated geDiui. By 
ke fftvoi ii the late EatI of Kellie, who wae descended on the maternal 



Why may not we, as well as they, 
Be innocently blithe that day, 
On goose or pie. on wine or ale. 
And scorn enthusiastic zeal ? — 
Pray come, and welcome, or plagne rott 
Your friend and landlord, Walter Scott. 
" jyir. Walter Scott, I^essuden.^* 

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the Hne3 are addres* 
ed, was the younger brother of William Scott of Rnebum 
Being the cadet of a cadet of the Harden family, he had verj 
little to lose ; yet he contrived to lose the small jToperty Ilf 
had, by engaging in the civil wars and intrigues of the house 
of Stuart. His veneration for the exiled family was so great, 
that he swore he would not shave his beard till they were re- 
stored : a mark of attachment, whicli, I supjiose, had beep 
common during Cromwell's usurpation; for, in Cowley's 
" Cutter of Coleman Street," one drunken cavalier upbraids 
another, that, when lie was not able to afibrd to pay a barber, 
he affected to " wear a beard for the King." I sincerely hope 
tliis was not absolutely the original reason of my ancestor's 
beard ; which, as apjiears from a portrait in the possession o/ 
Sir Henry Hay Macdougal, Bart., and another painted for thi 
famous Dr. Pitcairn,^ was a beard of a most dignified am 
venerable appearance. 



Note 4 G. 

The Spirit's Blasted Tree.—?. 139. 

I am permitted to illustrate tins passage, by inserting *' Ceu 
brcn Iff F.llylt, or the Spirit's Blasted Tree," a legendary tale, 
by the Reverend George Warrington ; — 

"Tlie event, on wliich this tale is" founded, is preserved by 
tradition in the family of the Vaughans of Hengwyrt ; nor ia 
it entirely lost, even among the common people, who sUlI 
point out this oak to the passenger. The enmity between the 
two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele, and Oweji Glendwr, was 
extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the one, and fero- 
cious cruelty in the other.^ The story is somewhat changed 
and softened, as more favorable to the character of the two 
chiefs, and as better answering the purpose of poetry, by ad- 
mitting the passion of pity, and a greater degree of sentiment 
in the description. Home trace of Jlowel Sele's mansion was 
to be seen a tew years ago, and may perhaps be still visible, in 
the park of Nannau. now belonging to Sir Robert Vaughan, 
Baronet, in the wild and romantic tracks of Merionethshire. 
The abbey mentioned passes under two names, Vener and 
Cymmer. The former is retained, an more generally used. 

THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE. 

Ceubrcn yr FJhjll 

" Through Nannau's Chase, as Howel paHs'd 
A chief esleera'd botli brave ami kind, 
Far distant borne, the s^^ag-bounds' cry 
Came murmuring on the hollovv wind. 

*' Starting, he bent an eager ear, — 

How should the sounds return again ? 
His hounds lay wearied from the chase. 
And all at home his hunter train 

" Then sudden anger Hashed his oye 
And dee[» revenge he vow'd to laR? 
On that bold man who dared to forct 
His red-deer from the-foresi oraKe 

side from Dr. PitcAim, my father became poaseeaed of the ponrut in qcet 
tion. 
3 The history of their fend may be found in Pemuuit's Tour in W«Im. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



lf« 



• 
'*Unliappy Chief ! would nanght avail, 
No signs impress thy heart with fear, 
Thy lady's dark mystcrions dream, 
Thv warning from the hoary seer? 


" 'Twas now November's cheerless hour, 
Which drenching rain and clouds defaei* 
Dreary bleak Robell's tract appear'd. 
And dull and dank each valley's spaca 


Thrpe ravens gave the note of death, 
As through mid-air they wing'd their way ; 

Then o'er his head, in rapid flight, 

They croak, — ihey scent their destined prey. 


" Loud o'er tlie weir the hoarse flood fell, 
And dasli'd the foaming spi'ay on high ; 
The west wind bent the forest tops, 
And angry frown'd tho evening sky. 


' Ill-omen'd bird ! as legends say, 

Who hast the wondrous power to know, 

While health fills high the throbbing veins, 

The fated hour when btood must flow. 


" A stranger pass'd Llanelllid's bourne, 

His dark-gray steed with sweat besprent. 
Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way, 
Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 


" Blinded by rage, alone he pasa'd, 
Nor BOQgiit his ready vassals' aid : 
But what his fate lay long unknown, 
Fo' Tia" ' 11 rmxious year delay'd. 


'* The portal reach'd.— the iron bell 

Loud sounded round the outward wall ; 
Q,uick sprang tjie warder to the gate. 
To know what meant the clam'rous call 


' A peasant raark'd his angry eye. 

He saw him reach the lake's dark bourne. 
He saw him near a Blasted Oak, 
But never from that hour return. 


** ' O t lead me to your lady soon ; 
Say, — it is my sad lot to tell, 
To clear the fate of that brave knight. 
She long has proved she loved so well 


Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came ; — 
Where should the Chief his steps delay ? 

With wild alarm the servants ran. 
Yet knew not where to point their way. 


" Then, as he crossM the spacious hall, 
The menials look surprise and fear ; 
Still o'er his harp old Modred hung, 

And touch'd the notes for grief's worn eo. 


"His vassals ranged the mountain's height, 
The covert close, the wide-spread plain ; 
But all in vain their eager search, 
They ne'er must see their lord again. 


" The lady sat amidst her train ; 

A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look : 
Then, asking what his mission meant, 
The graceful stranger sigJi'd and spoke ; 


"Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes, 

Bore to his home the Chief once more : 
Some saw him on high Moal's top. 
Some saw him on the winding shore. 


" ' O could I spread one ray of hope, 

One moment raise thy soul from woe, 
Gladly my tongue would tell its tale, 
My words at ease unfetter'd flow 1 


' With wonder fraught the tale went round, 
Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue: 
Each peasant felt his own sad loss, 
Yet fondly o'er the story hung. 


" ' Now, lady, give attention due, 

The story claims thy full belief: 
' E'en in the worst events of life. 

Suspense removed is some relief. 


" Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light, 
His aged nurse and steward gray 
Would lean to catch the storied sounds, 
Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 


*• 'Though worn by care, see .Madoc here, 

Great Glyndwr's friend, tliy kindred's foa i 
Ah, let his name no anger raise, 
For now that mighty Chief lies low. 


" Pale lights on Cader'a rocks were seen, 
And midnight voices heard to moan; 
'Twas even said the Blasted Oak, 
Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan: 


" 'E'en from tbe day. when, chain'd by fate, 
By wizard's dream, or potent spell. 
Lingering from sad Salopia's field 
'Reft of his aid the Percy fell ;— 


* And to this day the peasant still, 

With cautious fear, avoids the ground : 
In each wild branch a spectre sees, 
Alii trembles at each rising sound 


" * E'en from that day misfortune still. 
As if for violated faith. 
Pursued him with unwearied step ; 
Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 


" Ten annnal sons had held their course, 
la summer's smile, or winter storm ; 
The lady shed the widow'd tear, 
As oft she traced his manly form. 


*' ' Vanquish'd at length, the Glyndwr fled, 

Where winds the Wye her devious flood l 
To fiud a casual shelter there. 
In some lone cot, or desert wood 


Yet 3till to nope her heart would cling 
At o'er the mind illusions play, — 

Of travel fond, perhaps her lord 
To distant lands had steer'd his way. 


■' ' Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, 
He gain'd by toil his scanty bread ; 
He who had Cambria's sceptre bornw 
And her brave sous to glory led I 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



*To pennry extreme, and grief, 

The Chieftain fell a lingering prey ; 
1 heard his last lew faltering words, 
Such as with pain I now convey. 

' To Sele'g sad widow bear the tale, 

Nor let our horrid secret rest ; 

Give hut his corse to sacred earth. 

Then may my parting soul be blest.'— 

' Dim wax'd llie eye that fiercely shone, 
And faint the tongue that proudly spoke, 
And weak that arm, still raised to me, 
Which oft bad dealt the mortal stroke. 

'How could I then his mandate bear? 
Or how his last behest obey ? 
A rebel deem'd, with him 1 fled ; 
With him I shunn'd the light of day. 

' Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, 
My country lost, despoil'd my land, 
Desperate, I fled my native soil, 
And fought on Syria's distant strand. 

' Oh, had thy long-lamented lord 

The holy cro^ and banner view'd, 
Died in the sacred cause ! who fell 
Sad victim of a private feud I 

' Led by the ardor of the chase. 

Far distant from his own domain, 
From where Garthmaelan spreads her shades 
Tlie Glyndwr sought the opening plain. 

' * With heatl aloft and antlers wide, 

A red buck roused then cross'd in ^new : 

Stong with the sight, and wild with rage. 

Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew, 

' ' With bitter taant and keen reproach, 
He, all impetuous, pour'd his rage ; 
Reviled the Chief, as weak in arms. 
And bade iiioi loud the battle wage. 

' * Glyndwr for once restrain'd his eword. 
And, still averse, the fight delays; 
Bnt soflen'd words, like oil to fire, 
Made anger more intensely blaze. 

' ' They fought ; and doubtful long (he fray ■ 
Tlie Glyndwr gave the fatal wound ! 
Still mournful must my tale proceed. 
And ii3 last act all dreadfal sound. 

' How could we hope for wish'd retreat, 
His eager vassals ranging wide, 
His bloodhounds' keen sagacious scent, 
O'er many a trackless mountain tried. 

' ' I mark'd a i)road and Blasted Oak, 

Scorch'd by the lightning's livid glare 
Hollow its stem from branch to root, 
And alljts shriveli'd arms were bare. 

• ' Be this, I cried, his proper grave 1 — 
(The thought in me w.is deadly do,) 
Aloft we raised the haple«? Chief, 
And dropp'd his bleeding corosc witlu" 



* A shriek from all the damsels buret, 
That pierced the vaulted roofs below; 
While horror-struck the Lady stood, 
A living form of sculptured woe. 

' With stupid stare and vacant gaze, 
Full on his face her eyes were cast, 
Absorb'd ! — she lost her present grief, 
And faintly thought of things long past. 

"Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath, 
The rumor through the hamlet ran ; 
The peasants crowd at morning dawn. 
To hear the tale — behold the man. 

'* He led them near the Blasted Oak, 

Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew ; 
The peasants work with trembling haste, 
And lay the whiten'd bones to view !^ 

" Back they recoil'd ! — the right hand still. 

Contracted, grasp'd a rusty sword ; 

Which erst in many a battle gleam'd, 

And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord 

** They bore the corse to Vener's shrine, 
With holy rites and prayers address'd ; 
Nine white-robed monks the hist dirge sangf 
And gave tlie angry spirit rest." 



Note 4 H. 



The Highlander' 



Will, oil a Friday viorn, look pale. 
If ask' d to tell a fairy tale."— P. 139. 

The Daoine shi\or Men of Peace, of the Scottish llign 
landers, rallier resemble the Scandinavian J) u erg ar th^n tltt 
EngUsh Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, il 
not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and 
apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of theij 
existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who think 
they are particularly offended at mortals who talk of them, 
who wear their favorite color, green, or in any respect interfere 
with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided on Friday 
when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Ger- 
many, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or 
for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed 
of greater power. Some curious particulars concerning the 
popular superstitions of the Highlandei-s may be found in Dr. 
Graliam's Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire. 



Note 4 I. 



The towers of Fraiickemont. — P. 139. 

The journal of the friend to whom the Forrth Canto of V'm 
Poem is inscribed, furnished me with the following account o£ 
a striking superstition. 

*' Passed the pretty little village of Franch^mont (near 
Spaw), with the romantic ruins of the old castle of the Counts 
of that name. The road leads through many delightful vales 
on a rising ground ; at the extremity of one of them stands 
the ancient castle, now the subject of many superstitious 
legends. It is firmly believed by the neighboring peasantry, 
tliat the last Baron of Franchemont deposited, in one of the 
vaults of the castle, a ponderous chest, containing an im 
mense treasure in gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, 
was intrusted to the care of the Devil, who is constantly foaad 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



177 



iltting on the chest in the sh ipe of a bontsman. Any one 
kdvenltirous enough to touch the chest is instantly Beized 
with the palsy. Upon one occasion, a priest of noted piety 
was brought to the vault : he used all the arts of exorcism to 
peiBuade his infernal majesty to vacate Iiis seat, Jut in vain ; 
the hnnisman remained immovable. At last, moved by the 
»amest.iess of the priest, he told him that he would agree to 
resign tlie che^t, if the exerciser would sign liis name with 
blood. But the priest understood his meaning, and refused, 
as by that act he would have delivered over his sou. to the 
Devil. Yet if anybody can discover the mystic wordj used 
by the person who deposited the treasure, and pronounce 
tbem, the tiend must instantly decamp. I had many atoriea 
of a similar nature from a peasant, who had h'inself seen the 
Revi) in the shape of a great cat." 



Note 4 K. 

The very form of Hilda fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries* prayer. — P. 141. 

" I shall only prodnce one instance more of the great ven- 
eration paid to Lady Hilda, which still prevails even in these 
Out days ; and that is, the constant opinion that she rendered, 
and still renders, herself visible, on some occasions, in the 
Abbey of Strcanshalh or WhJlby, where she so ior.^ resided. 
At a parlicolar time of the year (viz. in the sumr>er months), 
at ten or eleven in the forenoon, the sunbeams lati in the 
inside ol me nortnem part of the choir ; and 'tis then that the 
ipectators, who stand on the west side of Whitby churchyard, 
•o as jest to see the most nortlierly [lart of the abbey pass the 
&4rth end nf Whitby church, imagine they perceive, in one 
of llie highest windows there, the resemblance ol' a woman 
atTayed iu a shroud. Though we are certain tiiis is only a 
leflection caused bv ihe splendor of the sunbeams, yet fame 
reporid it, and it is constantly believed among the vnlgar, to 
be an appedranvf of Lady Hilda in her shrond, or rather in a 
glorified state : before which. I make no doubt, tlie r^oists, 
even in these our days offer ud their prayers with as much 
zeal and devotion as betbre any otJier image of their most 
gloritied saint.** — Charlton's History of Whitby, p. 33. 



Note 4 L. 

the iiiige and sweeping brand 

Which wont of yore, \n battle fray. 
His foemen' s limbs to shred away, 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. — P. 143. 

The Earl of Angus had strength and personal activity cor- 
responding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favorite 
of James IV., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met hira 
while hawking, and, compelling him to single combat, at one 
blow cnt asunder his thighbone", and killed him on the spot. 
But ere he could obtain James's pardon for this slaughter, 
Angus was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in ex- 
change for that of Bothwell, which was some diminution to 
the family greatness. The sword with which he struck so 
lemarkable a blow, was presented by his descendant James, 
Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lin- 
tieaay of the Byres, when he defied Bothwell to single combat 
m Carberry Hill. See Introduction to the MinstrcUy of the 
Seutish Border. 



Note 4 M. 



And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? 
Jfol by St. Bride of Bothwell, nc I 
Up drawbridge, grooms J — What, Warder ho ' 
Let the portcullis fall.— ?. 144. 
23 



This ebullition of violence \n the potent Earl of Angas ii 
not without its example in t je real history of ihe house ol 
Douglas, whose chieftains pjs.ses8ed the ferocity, with the 
heroic virtues of a savage state. The most curious instanj* 
occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bombay, who, 
having refused to ai'knowledge the pre-tminence claimed by 
Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, waj 
seized and imprisoned by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve, 
On the borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sir Patrick fir-,, 
commaniler of King James the f^econd's guard, was nnclp Ui 
the Tutor of Bombay, and obtained from tliR King a " sw^et 
letter of supplication," praying the Earl t» deliver hii piisonei 
into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick ajrivcd at the castle, 
he was received with all the honor due to a favorite ser 
vant of the King's household ; but while lie was at dinner, 
the Earl, who suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to be 
led forth and beheaded. After dinner. Sir Patrick presented 
the King's letter to the Earl, who received it with great aflec* 
tation of reverence ; " and took him by the hand, and led him 
forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and 
showed him the manner, and said, ' ^-ir Patrick, you are come 
a little too late ; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants 
the head : take his body, and do with it what you will.' — Six 
Patrick answered agaiu, with a sore heart, and said, 'My 
lord, if ye have taken from liini his head, dispone upon the 
body as ye please;' and with that called for his horse, and 
leaped thereon ; and when he was on horseback, he said to 
the Earl on this manner, "My lord, if I live you shall be 
rewarded for your labors that you have used at tliis time 
according to your demerits.' 

" At this saying the Earl was highly offended, and cried fot 
horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred his horse 
but he was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him ; and had 
it not been his led horse was so tried and good, he had been 
taken." — Pitscottie's History, p. 39. 



Note 4 N. 



A letter forged .' — Saint Jude to speed.' 
Did ever knight so foul a deed! — P. 144. 

Lest the reader should partake of the Eari's astonishment 
and consider the crime as inconsistent with (be manners of thr 
period. I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly 
executed by a female assistant) devised by Robert of Artoia, 
lO forward his suit against the Countess Matilda ; which, being 
detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved tht 
remote cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars in 
France. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward 
VI. to forge such documents as might appear to establish the 
claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English monarch* 



Note 4 0. 
LenneVs convent. — P. H5. 

This was a Oiatertian house of religion, now almosf entire ? 
demolished, Lennel House is now the residence of ay venei 
able friend, Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well kna*n in the 
literary world.' It is situated near Coldstream, almost opposita 
to Cornhill, and consequently very near to Flodden Field. 



Note 4 P. 

Twisel bridge.— V. 145. 

On the evening previous to the memorable battle ot Flodatui, 
Saney'a head-qnartera were at Barmoor Wood, sod Kinf 

I First Edition.— Mr. Brydane baa b«eD mouy yeftn deM IBU. 



James held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden-hill, 
one of the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge 
of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between 
the armies. On the morning of the 9th September, 1513, 
Surrey rt.aiohed in a northwesterly direction, and crossed the 
Till, will; Iiis van and artillery, at Twisel-bridge, nigh where 
ih&t river joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing 
aboQt a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the 
double fffciit of placing his army between King James and his 
goppUes from Scotland, and of striking the Scottish monarch 
with surpnse, as he seems to have relied on the depth of the 
river in his front. But as tlie passage, both over tlie bridge 
and through the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible 
that the English miglit have been attacked to great advantage 
while struggling with these natural obstacles. I know not if 
we are to impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, 
or to the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in bis 
mouth, " that, he was determined to have his enemies before 
him on a plain field," and therelore would suft'er no interrup- 
tion to be given, even by artillery, to their passing tlie river. 

The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English crossed 
the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a s])lendid pile 
of Gothic arcliitecture, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake, 
Bart., whose extensive plantations have so much improved the 
country around. The glen is romantic and delightful, with 
steep banks on each side, covered with copse, particularly with 
hawliiom. Beneath a tall rock, near the bridge, is a plentiful 
fonnvain, called St. Helen's Well. 



Note 4 Q. 

Hevce -migki they see the full array 

Of citticr host, for deadly fray. — P. 147. 

The reader cannot here expect a full account of the battle 
oi Flodden; but, so far as is necessary to nnderstand the ro- 
mance, I beg to remind him, that when the English army, by 
their skilful countermarch, were fairly placed between King 
James and his own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to 
fight; and, setting fire to his tents, descended from the ridge 
of Flodden to secure the neighboring eminence of Brankstone, 
on which that village is built. Thus the two armies met, almost 
without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem of 
"Flodden Field," 

" The English line stretch'd east and west, 
And southward were their faces set ; 
The Scottish northward proudly prest, 
And manfully their foes they met." 

The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, 
which first engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, 
Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, 
the Knight Marshal of the army. Their divisions were sepa- 
rated from each otlier ; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, his 
brother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The 
centre was aomraanded by Surrey \t. person; the left wing by 
Sir Edwird Stanley, with the men of Lan:ashire, ar.d of the 
jalatinate of Chester. Lord Dacreg. with a large body of 
horse, formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind 
had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they 
|>erceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar 
orier of battle, and in deep silence.* The Earls of Huntley 



1 " Lcsfjuctz Escoasoie descendirenl la montnig-ne en bonne ordre, en 
ta maniere que marchenl lea 'iUemani sans parler, rie /aire nucun 
trui(." — Gftiettu of the battle, Pinkerlon'a History, Appendix, vol. ii. 
p. 456. 

3 "In 1810, aa Sir Camaby Haggeratoue'a workmen were digging in 
Flodden Field, they csmo to it pit filled with liuman bones, nnd which 
iMmed of greiit eilt^nt; but, alanned Ht tlio sight, they immediately filled 
U^ tho excavation antl proo(?eiii;d no farther. 

" Id 1£17, Mr. ,iray if Millfie! 1 HI' fouiuV, nea' the traces of an ancient 



and of Home commanded their left wing, and charged Sii 
Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to defeat hii 
part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner wai 
beaten down, and he himself escaped with difficulty to hla 
brother's division. The Admiral, however, stood firm ; acd 
Dacre advancing to his suppoa with the reserve of cavalry 
probably between the interval of the divisions commanded by 
the brotliers Howard, appears to have kept the victors in 
effectual clieck. Home's men, chiefly Borderers, begai, Ut 
pillage the baggage of both armies ; and their leader is brandeu 
by the Scottish historians with negligence op treachery. On 
the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow many enco- 
miums, is said by the EnglL^h historians to have left the fie!a 
after the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, whose flanh 
these chiefs ouglit to have attacked, availed himself of theii 
inactivity, and pushed forward against another large division 
of the Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls ol 
Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain, and theii 
forces routed. On the left, the success of the English was yei 
more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of un- 
disciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox and Argyle, 
was unable to sustain the charge of Sir Edward Stanley, and 
especially the severe execution of the Lancashire archeiB. 
The King and Surrey, who commanded the respective centres 
of their armies, were meanwhile engaged :n close and dubious 
conflict. James, surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and 
impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, sujiported also by 
his reserve under Bothwell, charged with such fury, that the 
standard of Surrey was in danger. At that critical moment, 
Stanley, who had routed the left wingof liif Scottish, pursued 
his career of victory, and arrived on the right flank, and in the 
rear of James's division, which, throwing itself into a circle, 
disputed the battle till night came on. Surrey then drew 
back his forces ; for the Scottish centre not having been 
broken, and their left wing being victorious, lie yet doubted 
the event of the field. The Scotlisli army, Iiowever, felt tbeif 
loss, and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, beforn 
dawn. They lost, perhaps, from eight to ten thousand mec ; 
but that included the very prime of their nobility, gentry, and 
even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but lias an ancestof 
killed at Flodden ; and there is no province in Scotland, even 
at this day. where the battle is mentioned without a sensation 
of terror and sorrow. The English lost also a great number of 
men, perhaps »"'fthin one-third of the vanquished, brt they 
were of inferior note. — See the only distinct detail of the Field 
of Flodden in Pinkerton's History, Book xi. ; all former 
accounts being full of blunders and inconsistency. 

The spot from which Clara views the battle mast be sup- 
posed to have been on a hillock commanding the rear of the 
English right wing, which was defeated, and in which conflict 
Marmion is supposed to have fallen.* 



Note 4 R. 



Brian Tunstall, stainless knight.— P. 14V. 

Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic language of the 
time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Englishmen 
of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in the ancient English 
poem, to which I may safely refer my readers ; as an edition, 
Willi full explanatory notes, has been published by my friend, 
Mr Henry Weber. Tunstall, perhaps, derived bis epithet of 



BijciLiDpment, n short distance fruni Flodden Ril, a tumulus, which, OD re- 
moving, exhibited ii very eintriilar sepulcbro. In the centre, a large urn 
WI19 found, but In a thousand pieces. It had either been broken to piecei 
by the stones fnlling upon it when digging, or hud gone to pieces on the ad- 
misaion of the air, Tliis urn was eurroiindeii by a number of cells formed 
of flat stones, in the shape of graves, but loo small to hold the body in ita 
natural slato. These sepulchral leoesaea coutainod nothing except aohet, 
or dual of the s.'une kind as that in tnii uro.-'' — Sykcs' Local Record* (t 
;dIb. 8vo, 18;i3), vol. ii. pp. 60 and 109. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



179 



UMtUjUed from his white armor and banner, the latter bearing 

while cock, about lo crow, us well as from his unstained ioy- 

Ud knightly faith. His place of residence was Thailand 



KOTE 4 S. 



Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

^ndfell on Flodden plain ; 
And well in death his trusty brand, 
Firm clenched within his manly hand. 

Beseemed the monarch slain. — 1*. 151 

Ther<) can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle 
of Flodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, 
within a lance's length of the Karl of Surrey ; and Uie same 
account adds, that none of his division were made prisoners, 
though many were killed : a circumstance lliat testifies the des- 
peration of their resistance. The Scottish historians record 
a»ny of the idle reports which passed anlong the vulgar of 
UiEir day. Home was accused, by ihe popular voice, not only 
of failing to support the King, but even of having carried him 
oot of the field, and murdered liim. And this tale was revived 
in my remembrance, by an unauthenticated story of a skeleton, 
wrapped in a bull's hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, 
said lo have been found in tlie well of Home Castle ; for 
which, on inquiry, I could never find any bettor authority than 
the sexton of the parish having said, that, // the well were 
cleaned out, he would not be surprised at such a discovery. 
Home was the chamberlain of the King, and his prime favor- 
ite : he had much to lose (in fact did lose all) in consequence 
fcf James's death, and nothing earthly to gain by that event: 
vat the r«Ueat, or inactivity of th^ «ft wing whioh he com- 



manded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even tho 
circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded with spoil, 
from so fatal a contlict, rendered the i)ropagation of any calunp 
ny against him easy and acceptable. Other reports gaveastf 
more romantic turn to the King's fate, and averred that Janu 
weary of greatness after the cnrnage anioni; his nobles, had gf / 
on a pilgrimage, to merit absolution for the death of his fatACf 
and the breach of his oatli of amity lo Henry. In i)articaliii 
it was objected lo the English, that they could never show tf/ 
token of the iron bell ; which, however, he was lilceiy ec>'//' 
to Lave laid aside on the day of battle, as eiicumbering h'j. ptf 
son.Ti exertions. They produce a better evidence, the monarc? t 
Bword and dagger, whicli are still preserved in the HetalJ'i 
College in London. Stowe has recorded a degrading story of 
tiie disgrace with whicii the remains of ihe unfortunate moo* 
arch were treated in his time. An unhewn column marks the 
spot where James fell, still called the King'u Stone. 



Note 4 T. 



The fair cathedral sturm'd and look. — P. 1,51. 

This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been gam 
soned on the part of the King, took place in the Greal Civil 
War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded tha 
assailants, was shot with a musket-ball through the visor of 
his helmet. The royalists remarked, that he was killed by a 
shot fired from ^t. Chad's cathedral, and upon St. Chad's Dar, 
and received his death-wound in the very eye with which, ha 
had said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in Iing« 
land. The magnificent church in question suffered cro^.eUj 
apon this, and other occaaioos ; tlie principal spire being niiaM 
by the fire of the besiegen. 






^l)t Cabg of tl)c Cake: 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



ZNTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

After the success of '' Marmion," I felt inclined 
•o exclaim with Ulysses in the " Odyssey" — 

OvTos fttv St) d£0Xo5 at/'aro? (KTCTtXttxral. 
NSj/ auTE OKOKov aWov, Odys. ^. I. 5. 

*' One venturons game my hand has won to-day — 
Another, gallants, yet remains to play." 

The ancient manners, the habits and customs of 
the aboriginal race by -whom the Highlands of 
Scotland were inhabited, had always appeared to 
me pecuharly adapted to poetry. The change in 
their manners, too, had taken place almost within 
my own time, or at least I had learned many par- 
ticulars concerning the ancient state of the High- 
lands from the old men of the last generation. I 
had always thought the old Scottish Gael highly 
adapted for poetical composition. The feuds and 
pohtical dissensions, which, half a century earlier, 
would have rendered the richer and wealthier part 
of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem, 
the scene of wliichwasJaid in the Highlands, were 
now sunk in the generous compassion wliich the 
English, more than any other nation, feel for the 
misfortimes of an honorable foe. The Poems of 
Ossian had, by their populai'ity, sufficiently shown, 
that if writings on Highland"'6ubjects were qual- 
ified to interest the reader, mere national preju- 
dices were, in the present day, very imlikely to 
ioterfcre with their success. 

I had also read a great deal, seen much, and 
heard more, of that romantic country, where I was 
in the habit of spending some time every autimm ; 
ind the scenery of Loch Katrme was connected 
with the recollection of many a deal- friend and 

1 " These Highland visits were repeated almost every Bum- 
mer for several successive years, and perhaps even the 6rst of 
hem was in some degree connected with his professional bnsi- 
oess. At all events, it was to his allotted task of enforcing the 
esecotion of a legal instrument against some Maclarens, refracto- 
ry tenants of Stewart of Appin, hrother-in-law to Invernahyle, 
that Scott owed his introduction to the ecenery of the Lady of 
the Lake. ' An escort of a sergeant and six men,' he says, 
' was obtained from a Highland regiment lying in Stirling ; 
uid the author, then a writer's apprentice, equivalent to the 
honorable situation of an attorney's clerk, was invested with 
the superintendence of the expedition, with directions to see 
that the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gal- 
lant sergeant did not exceed his part by committing violence 
gr pluD«j«r And Uius it happened, oddly enoagh, that the 



merry expedition of former days.' This poiom, tie 
action of which lay among scenes so beautiful, anti 
so deeply imprinted on my recollection, was a la- 
bor of love ; and it was no less so to recall the 
manners and incidents introduced. The frequent 
custom of James IV.. and particidarly of James V, 
to walk through their kingdom in disguise, afford- 
ed me the hint of an incident, which never fails to 
be interesting, if managed with the slightest ad- 
dress or dexterity. 

I may now confess, however, that the employ- 
ment, though attended with great pleasure, was 
not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, to 
whom I was nearly related, and with whom I lived, 
during her whole Ufe, on the most brotherly terms 
of aftection, was residing with me at the time when 
the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what 
I could possibly do to rise so early in the morning 
(that happening to be the most convenient time to 
me for composition). At last I told her the sub- 
ject of my meditations ; and I can never forget the 
anxiety and affection expressed in her reply. " Do 
not be so rash," she said, " my dearest cousin.' Tou 
are already popular — more so, perhaps, than you 
yourself will believe, or than even I, or other par- 
tial friend.s, can fairly allow to yoiu- merit. You 
stand high — do not rashly attempt to climb higher, 
and incm' the risk of a fall ; for, depend upon it, a 
favorite wUl not be permitted even to stimibia 
with impunity." I replied to this affectionate ex- 
postulation in the words of Montrose— 

" He either fears his fate too much. 
Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the toacil 
To gain or lose it all. "3 

author first entered the romantic scenery of Loch Katrine, of 
which he may perhaps say he has somewhat extended ths 
reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front 
and rear guard, and loaded arms.' " — Life of Scott, vol. i. 
p. 193. 

a " The lady with whom Sir Walter Scott held this conver- 
sation was, no doubt, his aunt. Miss Christian Rutherford ; 
there was no other female relation dead when this Intxodnctioa 
was written, whom I can suppose him to have consulted on 
literary questions. Lady Capulet, on seeing the corpse of 
Tybalt, exclaims. — 

' Tybalt, my cousin I oh my brother's child I' " 

LocEH&RT, vol. ill. p. 251. 

s Lines in praise of wom'm. — Wishart'a Memoirs of Mom- 
trose, p. 497. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



181 



" If I fail," I said, for the dialogue is strong in 
Wy recollection, " it is a sign that I ought never to 
nare surceeded, and I will write prose for life : 
you shall see no change in my temper, nor will I 
eat A smgle meal the worse. But if I succeed, 

' Up with the bonnie olue bonnet. 
The dirk, tind the tealher, .and a* !' " 

Afterwards, I showed my affectionate and anx- 
ious critic the first canto of the poem, which rec- 
onciled her to my imprudence. Nevertheless, 
although I answered thus confidently, with the 
obstinacy often said to be proper to those who bear 
my surname, I acknowledge that my confidence 
was considerably shaken by the waining of her 
excellent taste and tmbiased friendsliip. Nor was 
I much comforted by her retractation of the im- 
favorable judgment, when I recollected how likely 
a natural partiality was to effect that change of 
opinion. In such cases, affection rises like a hght 
on the canvas, improves any favorable tints which 
it formerly exhibited, and tlirows its defects into 
the shade. 

I remember that about the same time a friend 
Btai-ted in to " heeze up my hope," hke the " sports- 
man with his cutty gun," in the old song. He was 
bred a farmer, but a man of powerful understand- 
ing, natural good taste, and warm poetical feeling, 
perfectly competent to supply the wants of an 
imperfect or irregular education. He was a pas- 
sionate admirer of field-sports, which we often pur- 
sued together. 

As this friend happened to dine with me at 
Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of read- 
bg to him the first canto of " The Lady of the 
Lake," in order to ascertain the effect the poem 
was Ukely to produce upon a person who was but 
too favurable a representative of readers at large. 
It is, of course, to be supposed that I determined 
rattier to guide my opuiion by what my friend 
might appear to feel, than by what he might tliink 
fit to say. His reception of my recitation, or pre- 
lection, was rather singular. He plaCed liis hand 
across his brow, and listened with great attention 
tlu-ough the whole account of the stog-htmt, till 
the dogs threw themselves into the lake to follow 
their master, who embarks with EUen Douglas. 
He then started up with a sudden exclamation, 

' The Jolly Beggar, attribnteil to Kin; James V.— Herd's 
CcUntion, 1770. 

* '* I believe the shrewd critif; here introduced was th • poet's 
Hcellent consin. Charles Scott, now laird oi Knowe-soulh. 
The story of tlie Irish postillion's Uot he owed to Mr. Moore." 
— Lift of Scon, vol. iii. p. 253. • 

* '* Mr. Robert Cadell, who was then a young man in train- 
ng for his profession in Edinburgh, retains a strong impression 

, If the interest which the Lady of the Lake excited there for 
wo cr lliree months before it was on the counter. ' James 
SollanlvDe,' he says, ' read the cantos from lime to time to 



struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a 
voice of cen.sure calculated for the occasion, that 
the dogs must have been totally ruined by being 
permitted to take the w.ater after such a severe 
chase. I own I was much encouraged by the spe- 
cies of revery which had possee.^ed so zei^loai a 
follower of the sports of the iiuiient Nimrod, who 
had been completely siu'prised out of all doubt* 
of the reahty of the tale. Another of his r emarka 
gave me less pleasure. He detected the identity 
of the King with the wandering knight, Fitz-Jamea, 
when he winds his bugle to summon his attendants. 
He was probably thinking of the hvely, but some- 
what Ucentious, old ballad, in wliich the denoue- 
ment of a royal intrigue takes place as follows : 

" He took a bugle frae his side. 

He blew both loud and shrill. 
And foor-and-twonty belled knights 

Came skipping ower the hill ; 
Then he took out a little knife. 

Let a' his daddies fa'. 
And he was the brawest gentleman 

That was amang them a'. 

And we'll go no more a-roving," &0.1 

This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent in 
his camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled 
me ; and I was at a good deal of pains to efface 
any miu'ks by which I thought my secret could be 
traced before the conclusion, when I reUed on it 
with the same hope of producing effect, with which 
the Irish postboy is said to reserve a "trot for the 
avenue."* 

I took uncommon pains to verify the accuracy 
of the local cu'comstances of tliis story. I recol- 
lect, in particular, that to ascertain whether I was 
telling a probable tale, I went into Perthshire, to 
see whether King James could actually have rid- • 
den from the banks of Loeb Venuachar to Stirling 
Castle within the time supposed m the Poem, and 
had the pleastu-e to satisfy myself that it was quite 
practicable. 

After a considerable delay, ■■ The Lady of the 
L.ake" appeared in May, 1810; and its success was 
certainly so extraordinary as to induce me for the 
moment to conclude that I had at last fixed a nail 
in the proverbially inconstjiit wheel of Fortune, 
whose stabiUty in behalf of an iiuiividua! whl> nad 
so boldly courted her favors for three successive 
tunes, had not as yet been shakeru' I had at 

select coleries, us they advanced at press. Common fame waj 
loud in their favor ; a gr«at poem wa.s on all hands anticipa^ 
ted. 1 do not recoU.^ct that any of all the author's works wai 
ever looked for with more intense anxiety, or that any one of 
them excited a more extraordinary sensation when it did »[»• 
pear. The whole country rang with the praises of the poet — 
crowds set off to view the scenery of Loch Katrine, till then 
comparatively unknown ; and as the book came oat just befor* 
the season for excorsions, every house and inn in that neigh- 
borhood was crammed with a constant succession of visitor* 
It is a well-ascertained fact, that from the date of the pablic» 



L. 



182 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



tained, perhaps, that degree of public reputation 
At whicli prudence, or certainly timidity, would 
have made a halt, and discontinued efforts by 
which I was far more likely to diminish my fame 
than to increase it. But as the celebrated Jolm 
Wilkes is said to have explained to his late Ma- 
jesty, that he himself, amid his full tide of popu- 
!nrity, was never a Wilkite, so I can, with honest 
trutl-, exculpate myself from having been at any 
time a partisan of my own poetry, even when it 
\» as in the highest fashion with the million. It 
must not be supposed, that I was either so im- 
gi'ateful, or so superabundantly candid, as to de- 
spise or scorn the value of those whose voice had 
elevated me so much higher than my own opinion 
told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, the 
more grateful to the public, as receiving that from 
partiality to me, which I could not have claimed 
from merit ; and I endeavored to deserve the par- 
tiaUty, by continuing such exertions as I was ca- 
pable of for their amusement. 

It may be that I did not, in this continued course 
of scribbling, consult either the interest of the pub- 
lic or my own. But the former had effectual means 
nf defending themselves, and could, by their cold- 
aess, sufEciently check any approach to intrusion ; 
and for myself, I had now for several years dedi- 
cated my hours so much to literary labbr, that I 
should have felt difficulty in employing myself 
otherwise ; and so, like Dogberry, I generously 
bestowed all my tediousness on the public, com- 
forting myself with the reflection, that if posterity 
should think me undeserving of the favor with 
wliich I was regarded by my contemj^oraries, 
" tliey could not but say I had the crown," and had 
enjoyed for a time that popularity wliich is so 
much coveted. 

I conceived, however, that I held the distinguish- 
ed situation I had obtained, however unwortliily, 
rather like the champion of pugilism,' on the con- 
dition of being always ready to show proofs of my 
Bkill, than in the manner of the champion of chiv- 
alry, who performs liis duties only on rare and sol- 

tion of the Lady of the Lake, the post-horse duty in Scotland 
lose in an extraordinary degree ; and indeed it continued to do 
10 regularly lor a number of years, the author's succeeding 
works lieeping up the enthusiasm for onr scenery wliicli he had 
Uiui originally created.' 

'* I owe to the same correspondent the following details ; — 
•The quarto edition of 2050 copies disappeared instantly, and 
was followed, in the course of the same year, by four editions 
ic octavo, viz. one of 3000, a second of 3250, and a third and 
a fourth each of GOOD copies ; thus, in the space of a few 
months, the extraordinary numher of 20,000 copies were dis- 
oosed of. In the next year (1811) Ihete was another edition of 
JOOO; there was one of 2000 in 1814; anotherof 2000 Tii 1815; 
Bue of 2000 again in 1819 ; and two, making between them 



emn occasions. I was iu any case conscious that 
could not long hold a situation which the caprice, 
rather than the judgment, of the public, had be- 
stowed upon me, and preferred being deprived oi 
my precedence by some more worthy rival, to 
sinking into contempt for my indolence, and losing 
my reputation by what Scottish lawyers call the 
negative proscription. Accordingly, those who 
choose to look at the Introduction to Rokeby, in tho 
present edition, wUl be able to tnce the steps by 
which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist ; 
as the ballad says, Queen Eleanor smik at Charing- 
Cross to rise again at Queenhithe. 

It only remains for me to say, that, during my 
short pre-eminence of popularity, I faithfully ob- 
served the rules of moderation which I had re- 
solved to follow before I began my course as a 
man of letters. If a man is determined to make a 
noise in the world, he is as sm-e to encounter abuse 
and ridicule, as he who gallops furiously tlu-ougli a 
village, must reckon on beuig followed by the curs 
in full cry. Experienced persons know, that in 
stretching to flog the latter, the rider is very apt 
to catch a bad fall ; nor is an attempt to chastise a 
maUguant critic attended with less danger to the 
author. On this principle, I let parody, burlesque, 
and squibs, find their own level ; and whUe the 
latter hissed most fiercely, I was cautious never to 
catch them up, as school-boys do, to throw them 
back against the naughty boy who fired them off, 
wisely remembering that they are, in such cases,- 
apt to explode in the handling. Let me add, that 
my reign'' (since Byron has so called it) was mark- 
ed by some instances of good-nature ;13 well as pa 
tience. I never refused a literary person of merit 
such services in smoothing liis way to the public as 
were in my power ; and I had the advantage, 
rather an imcommon one with our irritable race, 
to enjoy general favor, without incmring perma- 
nent ill-will, so far as is known to me, among any 
of my contemporaries. 

W. S. 

ABBOTTSFoaD, April, 1830. 

2500, appeared in 1825. Since which time the Lady of the 
Lake, in collective editions of his poetry, and in separate isanes, 
must have circulated to the extent of at least 20,000 copief 
more. So that, down to the month of July, 1836, the legiti 
mate sale in Great Britain has been not less than 50,004 
copies.' " — Life of ScoU, vol. iii. p. 248. 

i " In twice five years the ' greatest living poet,' 
Like to the champion in the fisly ring, 
Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it, 
AltJiough 'tis an imaginary thing," &c. 

£>on Juan, canto xi. st- $5. 

8 " Sij Walter reign'd before ir^e," &c. 

Don Juan, canto xi. st. 57. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



les 



QL\)t tah^ of tl)e Cake 



MOST NOBLE 



JOHN JAMES MARQUIS OFABERCORN, 

(frc. (tc. etc. 

THIS poem' is inscribed BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 



The Scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly i'.i the Vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western HigK 
^ands of Perthshire. The time of Action inclndes Six Days, and tlie trayisactions of each Day occupv 
a Canto} 



1 Published by Jolm Ballantyne & Co. in 4tO., with en- 
graved frontispiece of Saxon's portrait of Scott, X2 Ss. 
May. 1810. 

3 " Never, we think, has the analogy between poetry and 
painting been more strikingly exemplified llian in the writings 
of Mr. Scott. He seesevery tiling with a painter's eye. Wiiat- 
evcr he represents lias a character of individuality, and is 
drawn with an accuracy and minuteness of lUscrimination, 
which we are not accastomed to expect from verbal description. 
Much of this, no doubt, is the result of genius ; for there is a 
quit-k and comprehensive power of discernment, an intensity 
And keenness of observation, an almost intuitive glance, which 
nature alone can give, and by means of which her favorites are 
enabled to discover characteristic differences, where the eye of 
dulness sees nothing but uniformity; but soineiliing also mast 
be referred to discipline and exercise. The liveliest fancy can 
only call forth those images which are already stored up in the 
memory ; and all that invention can do is to unite these into 
new combinations, which must appear confused and ill-defined, 
if the impressions originally received by the senses were deficient 
in strength and distinctness. It is because Mr. Scott usoally 
delineates those objects with which he is perfectly familiar, 
that his touch is so easy, correct, and animated. The rocks, 
the ravines, and the torrents, which he exhibits, are not the im- 
perfect sketches of a hurried traveller, but the finished studies 
of a resident artist, deliljerately drawn from diiferent points of 
new ; aa^h has its true shape and position ; it is a portrait ; it 
tt&s its aame by which the spectator is invited to examine the 
•lacttess of the resemblance. The figures which are com- 
bined with the landscape are painted with the same fidelity. 
Like those of Salvator Rosa, they are perfectly appropriate to 
the spot on which they stand. The boldness of feature, the 
lightness and compactness of form, the wildness of air, and the 
careless ease of attitude of these mountaineers, arc as congenial 
to their native Highlands, as the birch and the pine which 
darken their glens, the sedge which fringes their lakes, or the 
heath which waves over their moors." — Quarterly Review^ 
^ay, 1810. 

** It is honorable to Mr. Scott's geniaa that he has been able 
to iatereat the public so ieeply with this third presentment of 



the same chivalrous scenes ; bat we camiot help thinking, thai 
both his glory and our gratification would have been ^ealer, 
if he had changed his hand more completely, and actnatlv given 
is a true Celtic story, with all its drapery and accompanimenti 
in a corresponding style of decoration. Such a subject, we 
are persuaded, has very great capabilities, and only wanT>i to be 
introduced to jiublic notice by such a hand as Mr. i^cott's, to 
make a still more powerful impression than he has already ef 
fected by the resurrection of the tales of romance. There ar 
few persons, we believe, cfany degree of poetical susceptibilit) , 
who have wandered amo.'?™ the secluded valleys of the High- 
lands, ami contemplated the singular people by whom they are 
still tenanted — with iheir love of music and of song — their hardy 
and irregular life, so unlilte the unvarying toils of the Saxon 
mechanic — their devotion to their chiefs — their wild and loft; 
traditions — their national enthusiasm— the melancholy grand- 
eur of the scenes they inhabit — and\he multiplied superstitions 
which still linger among them — without feeling, that there is 
no existing people so well adai)ted for the purposes of poetry, 
or so capable of furnishing the occasion of new and striking in- 
ventions. 

" IVc are persuaded, that if Mr. Scott's powf^ful and 
creative genius were to be turned in good earnest to such a 
sulijcet, something might be produced still more imjrrfssiwt. 
and originai than even this age has yet witnessed "—Jef- 
frey, Edinburgh Review, No. xvi. for 1810. 

" The subject of The Lady is a common Highland irropllon, 
bat at a point where the neighborhood of the Lowlands atfords 
the best contrast of manners — where the scenery afibrds the no* 
blest subject of description — and where the wild clan is ?o near 
to the Court, that tlieir robberies can be connected with the 
romantic adventures of a disguised king, an exiled lord, and a 
higii-born beauty. The whole narrative is very fine. There 
are not so many splendid passages for quotation as in the two 
former poems. This may indeed silence the objections of ths 
critics, but I doubt whether it will promote the popularity oi 
the poem. It has nothing so good as the Address to Scollanti 
or the Death of Marmion." — Mackintosu, in his niarv 
1811, see his TJfe, vol. ii. p. 82. 

" The Lay, if I may venture to state the creed cow « 



184 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAlSTO I 



®l)t Cabg of tl)£ Cal«. 



CANTO FIRST. 



CJe ©Jane. 

Habf of the ^orth ! that mouldering long hast hung 

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's 
?pring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,' 

Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 

O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ! 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. 

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 

Nof thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid the festive crowd, 
WTien lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 

Ai'oused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause, was heard aloud^ 

Thine ardent symphony sublime and liigh ! 
Fan- dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 

For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was Kr.ighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 
matchless eye. 

wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
O wake once more ! though scarce my skUl com- 
mand 

Some feeble echoing of tliine eai-lier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 
Yet if one heart throb liigher at its sway. 

The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake ag-ain I 



I. 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill. 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
And deep liis midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenirtney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 



lished, is, 1 slionltl say, generally considered as the most nata- 
lal and original, Marmion as the most powerlul and splendid, 
the Lady of the Lake as the most interesting, romantic, pictur- 
esque, and graceful of his great poems."— Lockhart, vol 
tii, p. ^6. 
1 MS — " And on the fitful breeze thy numbers Hung, 
Till envious ivy, witli her verdant ring, 
Mantled and muffled each melodious string, — 
O Wizard Harp, still must thine accents sleep 1" 



Had kindled on Benvoirlic'i''" hoad. 

The deep-mouth'd bloodl-jund's heavy IbJ 

Resounded up the rocky way,' 

And faint, from farther distance borne, 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

IL 

As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
" To arms ! the foeman storm the wall," 
The antler'd monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
But, ere his fleet career he took. 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and high, 
Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky ; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuif 'd the tainted gale, 
A moment listen'd to the cry. 
That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appear'd. 
With one brave boimd the copse he clear'd. 
And, stretching forward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

III. 
YeU'd on the view the opening pack , 
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awaken'd mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, 
Clatter'd a hundred steeds along. 
Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
A lumdred voices join'd the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest BeuvoirUch's echoes knew.* 
Far from the tumiilt fled the roe. 
Close in her covert cower'd the doe. 
The falcon, fiom her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
TiU far beyond her piercuig ken 
The hm-ricane had swept the glea 
Faint and more faint, its failing din 
Rettu'n'd from cavern, cliff, and linn. 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone wood and mighty liill. 

IV. 
Less loud the sounds of silvan war 
Disturb'd the'heights of Uam-Var, 



a MS.- 



' At each according pause thou spokest aloud 
Thine ardent sympathy." 



3 MS. — "The bloodhound's notes of heavy baas 
Resounded hoarsely up the pass." 

* Benvoirlich, a mountain comprehended in the cluster of tn- 
Grampians, at the head of the valley of the Garry, a rivei 
which springs from its base. Uriaes toanetevationof SS.******** 
above tlie level of the sea. 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THK LAKB 



18ft 



And roused the cavern, where 'tis told, 
A giant made his den of old ;' 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway hung the sun. 
And many a gaUaut, stay'd perforce, 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 
And of the trackers of the deer, 
Scarce half tlie lessening pack was neai' ; 
So shrewdly on the mountain's side 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 



The noble stag was pausing now, 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, far beneath, 
Tlie varied realms of fair Menteith. 
With anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 
And ponder'd refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard* or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood gray. 
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold ch6fs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope return' d,' 



' See Appendix, Note A. 

a " About a mile to the westward of the inn of Aberfoyle, 
liocharx] opens to the view. A few hondretl yards to the east 
of it, the Aveiidow, which had jnst issoed from the lake, tum- 
bles its waters over a rtigjred precipice of more than 'thirty feet 
n height, forming, in the rainy season, several very magnificent 

"The firot opening of the lower lake, from the east, is nn- 
eommonly pictare?qae. Directing the eye nearly westward, 
Beolomond raises its pyramidal mass in the background. In 
nearer pro-ipect, you have gentle eminences, covered with oak 
tnd birch lo the very summit ; the bare rock sometimes peep- 
ng tlirough amongst liie clumps. Immediately under the eye, 
the lower lake, stretching out from narrow beginnings to a 
breadth of about half a mile, is seen in foil prospect. On the 
right, the banks are skirted with extensive oak woods which 
cover the mountain more than half way up. ^ 

" Advan'Jng to Uie westward, the view of the lake is lost for 
aboct a mile. The upper lake, which is by far the most ex- 
teDBive. is separated from the lower by a t<tream of about 200 
yards in length. The most advantageous view of the upper 
.ake preser.:s itself from a rising ground near its lower extrem- 
ity, where a footpath strikes off to the south, into the wood 
that overhangs tins connecting stream. Looking westward, 
Ssnlomond is seen in the background, nsing, at the distance of 
BX miles, in the form of a regular cone, its sides presenting a 
fentle elope to the N.W. and S.E. On the right is the lofty 
iDounlair, of Benoghrie. running west towards the deep vale in 
which Lochcon lies concealed from the eye. In the forpi'roond, 
Lochird stretches out to the west in the fairest prospect ; its 
.ength three miles, and its brfadth a mile and a half. On the 
right, it i.> skirted with woods; the northeni and western ex- 
tremity of the lake is diversitied with meadows, and corn-fields, 
and farm noasas. On the left, few marks of cultivation are to 
be seen. 

" Farther on, the traveller passes along the verge of the lake 

■Dder a !c-'geof rock, from thirty to fifty feet high ; and, stand- 

np imracjiately under this rock, towards iti western extremity, 

w has a double echo, of uncommon distinctness. Upon pro- 

24 



With flying foot ^ho heath he spum*d, 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

VL 

'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the himt through Cambus-more ;• 
What reins were tighteu'd in despair. 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ■} 
Who flagg'd upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith,— • 
For twice that day, from shore to shore, 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
riiat reach'd the lake of Veunachar ;' 
And when the Brigg of Tm"k was won,' 
The headmost horseman rode alone 

VII. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
That horseman pUed the scourge and steel , 
For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soiL 
Wliile every gasp with sobs he drew. 
The laboring stag straui'd full in view, 



nonncing, with a firm voice, a line of ten syllables, it is r» 
tarned, first from the opposite side of the lake ; and when tba* 
is finished, it is repeated with equal distinctness from the wooc 
on the east. The day must be perfectly calm, and the lake at 
smooth as glass, for otherwise no human voice can be rettimec 
from a distance of at least a quarter of a mile." — Graham'* 
Sketchi-s of Perthshire, 2d edit. p. 182, &c. 

3 M^. — " Fresh vigor with the thought returu'd, 

With flying hvof the heath he spnrn'd." 

■* Cmnbus-more, within about two miles of Callender, on the 
wooded banks of the Keltie. a tributary of the Teitli, is the sea* 
of a family of the name of Buchanan, whom the Poet fre- 
quently visited in his younger days. 

6 Benledi is a magnificent mountain, 3009 feet in height, 
which bounds the horizon on the northwest from Callender. 
The nanip. according to Celtic etymologists, signifies the Moun- 
tain of OoU. 

6 Tu'o mountain etreams — the one flowing from Loch Voil, 
by the paf^s of Leny ; the other from Loch Katrine, by lyoch 
Achray and Loch Vcnnachar, unite at CallendEr; and the 
river thus formed thenceforth takes the name of Tcith. Hence 
the designation of the territory of Menteith. 

^ " Loch Vennachar, a beautiful expanse of water, of abon* 
five mites in length, by a mile and a half in breadth." — Gra 
HAM. 

*^" About a mile above Loch Vennachar, the approach 
(from tbo east) to the Brigg, or Bridge of Turk (the scene 
of the death of a wild-boar famous in Celtic tradition), leads 
to the suinuiit of an eminence, where there bursts upon the 
traveller's eye a sudden and wide prospect of the windings </ 
the river that issues' from Loch Achray, with that sweet lake 
itself in front ; the gently rolling river pursues its serpentine 
course through an extensive meadow ; at the west end of the 
Lake, an the side of Aberfoyle, is situated the delightful farm 
of Achray, the level field, a denomination justly due lo it, 
when considered in contrast with the rugged recks and moon- 
tains which surround it. From this eminence are to tie seep 
also, on the right hand, the entrance to GleofiulaA, and io um 
distancti Benvenue."' -Gkabam. 



186 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Two dog3 of black Saint Hubert's breed, 

Uiimatch'd for courage, breath, and speed,' 

Fast on liis flying traces came 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch. 

Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch ; 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 

Nor farther might the quai'ry strain. 

Thus up the margin of the lake, 

Between the precipice and brake, 

O'er stock and rock then- race they take. 

VIII. 
The Hunter mark'd that mountain high, 

The lone lake's western boundary. 
And deem'd the stag must turn to bay, 
■ Where that huge rampart barr'd the way ; 
Already glorying in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with Ms eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death-halloo, 
Muster'd his breath, his wliinyard drew ; — ' 
But thunderiag as he came prepared. 
With ready ai'm and weapon bared. 
The wily quarry shunn'd the shock, 
And turu'd him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dasliing down a darksome glen. 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 
In the deep Trosach's' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, wjiile close couch'd, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head. 
He he.TJ-d the baftled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass amain. 
Chiding the rocks that yell'd again. 

IX. 

Close on the hounds the hunter camo, 

To cheer them on the vanish'd game ; 

But, stumbling in the rugged dell. 

The gallant horse exliausted fell 

The impatient rider strove in vain, 

To rouse liim with the spur and rein. 

For the good steed, his labors o'er, 

Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 

Then, touch'd with pity and remorse, 

He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse. 

" I httlt thought, when first thy rein , 

I elack'd upon the banks of Seine, 

That Highland eagle e'er should feed 

On thv fleet hinbs, my matchless steed 1 

Woe worth the cliase, woe worth the day, 

That costs thy life, my gallant gray 1" 

' See Appendix, Note B. = Ibid. Note C. 

B ■' Tlie term Trosack signifies . ; rough or bristled (erri- 
IDry." — GRAHA.M. 
' MS. — " And on tlie hnnter liied his pace. 

To meet some comrades of ti's cAase." 



X. 

Then through the dell his horn resounds, 
From vain piu'suit to call the hounds. 
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled 

pace. 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to then- master's side they press' d, 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow thi-oat 
Prolong'd the sweUing bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream, 
The eagles answer'd with their scream 
Roimd and around the soimds were cast. 
Till eclio seem'd an answermg blast ; 
And on the himter hied hia way,* 
To join some comrades of the day ; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
lO wondrous were the serenes it show'd. 

XL 

The western waves of ebbing day 
EoU'd o'er the glen then- level way ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spu'e, 
Was bathed in floods of living file. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below, 
Where twined the path in shadow liid. 
Round many a rocky pyramid, 
Shootmg abruptly from the deU 
Its thuuder-spUiiter'd jiinnacle ; 
Rotmd many an insulated mass, 
The native bulwarks of the pass,' 
Huge as the tower' which builder* vain 
Presmnptuous piled on Sliuiar's plain.' 
The rocky summits, split and rent, 
Forni'd turret, dome, or battlement. 
Or seem'd fantastically set 
With cupola or minaret, 
WUd crests as pagod ever deck'd. 
Or rsosque of Eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-boni castles bare,' 
Nor lack'd.they many a banner fair; 
For, from their shiver'd brows dLsplay'u, 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 
All twinkling with the dewdrop's sheen,' 
The brier-rose fell ij streamers green. 
And creeping sluubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west-wmd's stmimer sighs. 

xn. 

Boon nattu'e scatter'd, free and wild, 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's chill 

s MS. — "Tlie mimic cast'CToftlie paaa." 

s The Tov. er of Baitf..— Geitjao, li. 1-9. 

' MS.—" Nor were these mighty bi varka bare." 

8 MS.^" Bright fflistentr^ with the . •vdrop's ahm 



3ANT0 1. THE LADY OF THE LAKK. J 8-^ 


Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 


XIV. 


Hawthorn and hazel mingh there ; 


And now, to i3.sue from the glen. 


The primrose pale and violet flower, 


No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 


Found in each chff a narrow bower ; 


Unless he climb, with footing nice, 


Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side. 


A far projecting precipice.* 


Emblems of punishment and pride. 


The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 


Group'd their dark hues with every stain 


The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 


The weather-beaten crags retain. 


And thus an airy point he won, 


With boughs that quaked at every breath, 


'Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 


Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 


One burnish'd sheet of hving gold. 


Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 


Loch Katrme lay beneath him roll'd,' 


Cast anchor ua the rifted rock ; 


In all her length far winding lay. 


And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 


With promontory, creek, and bay. 


His sluitter'd trunk, and frequent flung,' 


And islands that, empurpled bright. 


Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high. 


Floated amid the Uveher Ught, 


His boughs athwart the nari'ow'd sky. * 


And mountains, that like giants stand. 


Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 


To sentinel enchanted land. 


Where glist'ning streamers waved and 


High on the south, huge Benvenue" 


danced, 


Down on the lake in masses tiirew 


ine wanderer's eye could barely view 


Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurrd. 


The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 


The fragments of an earlier world ; 


So wondrous wdd, the whole might seem 


A wildering forest feather'd o'er 


The scenery of a fairy dream. 


His ruin'd sides and summit hoar,' 




While on the north, through middle air, 


XIII. 


Ben-an' heaved high liis forehead bare.' 


Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 




A narrow inlet, still and deep, 


XV. 


Affording scarce such breadth of brim,' 


From the steep promontory gazed'" 


As served the wUd-duck's brood to swim. 


The stranger, raptured and amazed. 


Lost for a space, tlirough tliickets veermg. 


And, " What a scene were here," he cried. 


- But broader when again appeai'ing, 


" For princely pomp, or chm'chman's pride I 


Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 


On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 


Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 


In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 


And farther as the hunter stray'd, 


On yonder meadow, far away. 


StiU broader sweep its channels made. 


The turrets of a cloister gray ; 


The shaggy mounds no longer stood. 


How blithely might the bugle-horn 


Emerging from entangled wood,' 


Chide, on the lake, the Ungering morn ! 


But, w we-encircled, seem'd to float. 


How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 


Like castle girdled with its moat ; 


Chime, when the groves were still and mute 1 


Tet broader floods extending still 


And, when the midnight moon should lave 


Divide them from their parent hill, 


Her forehead in the silver wave, 


Till each, retiring, claims to be 


How solemn on the ear would come 


An islet in an inland sea. 


The holy matm's distant hum. 


MS.- -" His scathed trunk, nnd freqnent flang. 


While on the north to middle air." 


Wliere seem'd the cliffs to meet on lligh, 


8 According to Graham, Ben-an, or Bennan, is a mere It 


^^ His rugged arms athwart the slty. 

^^ Highest of all. where white peaks glanced, 

Where ticinkting streamers waved and danced." 


minutive of Ben — Monntaiti. 


" Perhaps the art of landscape-painting in poetry has ne»rei 
been displayed in higher perfection than in these stanru, to 


'MS. — ' Atfordin„' scarce snch breadtli of flood. 


which rigid critwism might possibly object that the picture il 


As served to float the wild-dock's brood.' 


somewhat too minute, and that tl'e contem|)Iation of it de- 


MS. — *' Emerging dry-shod from the wood." 


tains the traveller somewhat too long from the main porpost 


4 See Appendix, Note D. 


of his jiilgrimage. hut which it would be an act of the greatest 


» Loch Ketturin is tlie Celtic prononcialion. In his Notes 


injustice to break into fragments, ami present by pteceme*!. 


ioTbe Fair Maid of Perth, the author iias signified his belief 


Not so the magnificent scene which bursts upon the bewil- 


(hat the lake was named after tJie Cailerins, or wild robbers. 


dered linnter as he emerges at length from the dell, and cona- 


who haunted its shores. 


mands at one view the beautiful expanse of Loch Katrtrc."— 


* Benvenue — is literally *he little mountain — i. e. as con- 


Critical Review, August, 1830. 


futed witli Benledi and Benlomond. 


'" MS. — *' From the kigk p omonlory gazed 


' MS. — " llisruin'd sides and/raj^ents hoar, 


The stranger, uwc-struck and amazed 



18£ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTd i 



Wliile the deep peal's commanding tone 
(Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 
A sainted hermit from his cell, 
To drop a bead with every knell — 
And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 
Should each bowdder'd stranger call 
To friendly feast, and lighted hall' 

XVI. 

" Blithe were it then to wander here I 
But now, — beslirew yon nimble deer, — 
Like that same hernnt's, thin and .spare, 
The copse must give my evening fare ; 
Some mossy bank my coudi must be. 
Some rusthng oak my canopy.' 
Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 
Give Uttle choice of resting-place ; — 
A summer night, in greenwood spent, 
Were but to-morrow's merriment : 
But hosts may in these wilds abound. 
Such as are better miss'd than found ; 
To meet with Higliland plunderers here, 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — ' 
I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 
May call some straggler of the train ; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide, 
Ere now this falchion has been tried." 

xvn. 

But scarce ag.iin his horn he wound,* 

When lo ! forth starting at the sound. 

From underneath an aged oak, 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A damsel guider of its way, 

A httle skifif shot to the bay," 

That round the promontory steep 

Led its deep line in graceful sweep. 

Eddying, in almost viewless wave. 

The weeping willow-twig to lave, 

&.nd kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touch'd this silver strand. 

Just as the Hunter left his stand. 

And stood comeal'd amid the brake. 

To view tliis Lad; of the Lake. 

Tlie maiden paused, as if again 

She thought to catcli the distant strain. 

With head up-raised, and look intent. 

And eye and ear attentive bent. 

And locks flung back, and lips apart, 

• MS.— " To hospitable feast and hall." 
''ins. — " ^ntl hollow trunk of some old tret, 

Jilij chamber for the night must 6c." 
8 See Appendix, Note E. 

* MS. — " The bugle shrill a^ain he wonnd, 

^nd lo ! forth starting at the sotmtK" 
MS.—" A little skiff shot to the bay. 
The Hanter left his airy etaod, 



Like monument of Grecian art, 

In listening mood, she seem'd to stand. 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIIL 
And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace' 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
Of finer form, or loveUer face I 
What though the sun, with ardent frown. 
Had sUghtly tinged her cheek witli brown.—* 
The sportive toil, which, short and Ught, 
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, 
Served too in hastier swell to show 
Short gUmpses of a breast of snow : 
What though no rule of courtly grace 
To measured mood had train'd her pace, — 
A foot more light, a step more true, 
Ne'er from the lieath-flower dash'd the deT 
E'en the shght harebell raised its head, 
Elastic from her airy tread : 
What though upon her speech there hung 
The accents of the moimtain tongue, — '' 
Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear. 
The Ustener held his breath to hear 

XIX. 
A Cliieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
Her satin snood,*' her silken plaid. 
Her golden broocli, such bnth betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets liid. 
Whose glossy bhack to shame might bring 
The jilumage of the raven's wing ; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair, 
Mtmtled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch tlie folds. combined 
Above a he.irt more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy. 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, m her mirror blue. 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true. 
Than every free-born glance confess'd 
The guileless movements of her breast; 
Whether joy danced m her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claim'd a sigh. 
Or filial love was glowing tliere, j» 

Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, Vf 

Or tale of injury caU'd forth 
The indignant sphit of the North. 
One only passion mireveal'd. 

And when the boat had toueh'd the fl&n4 
Conceal'd he stood amid the brake. 
To view this Lady of the Lake." 

• MS. — " A finer form, a fairer *ace. 

Had never marble Nymph or Grace, 
That boasts tbe Grecian chisel's trace. 

' MS. — " The accents of a stranger tongue." 

^ See Note on Canto IlL stanza 5. 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



181 



With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
O need I tell that passion's name 1 

XX. 

Impatient of the silent horn, 
Now on the gale her Toice was borne : — 
" Father 1" she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
A. while she paused, no answer came, — ' 
Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the 
name 
Less resolutely utter'd fell. 
The echoes could not catch the sweU. 
" A stranger I," the Huntsman said. 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarm' d, with hasty oar, 
Push'd her Ught shallop froiu the shore. 
And when a space was gain'd between. 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing,' 
So turn to prune his ruffled wing.) 
Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed. 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye. 
That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXL 

On hia bold visage middle age 
Had slightly press'd its signet sage , 
Yet had not quench'd the open truth 
And fiery vehemence of youth ; 
Forward and froUc glee was there. 
The will to do, the soul to dare. 
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 
Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 
His limbs were cast in manly mould, 
For hardy sports or contest bold ; 
And though in peaceful garb array'd, 
And weaponless, except his blade. 
His stately mien as well impUed 
A high-born heart, a martial pride, 
As if a Baron's crest he wore. 
And sheathed in armor trode the shore. 
Slighting the petty need he show'd. 
He told of his benighted road : 
His ready speech flow'd fair and free, 
^h^phi-ase of gentlest courtesy ; 
Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, 
Less used to sue than to command. 

MS. — " A space she paused, no answer came, — 
' Alpine, was thine the blast V the name 
Less resolutely utter'd fell. 
The echoes coald not catch the swell. 
' Nor foe nor friend,' the stranger said. 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The startled maid, with hasty oar, 
Puh'd her light shallop from the shore." 



XXIL 

A while the maid the stranger eyed. 
And, reassured, at length replied, 
That Highland halls were open stiU' 
To wildcr'd wanderers of the hiU. 
" Nor think you imexpected come 
To you lone isle, our desert home ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew 
This morn, a couch was puU'd for ycv 
On yonder moimtain's purple head 
Have ptarmi^n and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 
To fiu-nish forth your evening cheer." — • 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your coiu"tesy has err'd," he said ; 
" No right have I to chiim, misplaced. 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ev6r drawn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic strand,' 
I foimd a fay in fairy land I"- 

XXIIL 
" I well believe," the maid replied. 
As her light skiff approach'd tlje side, — 
" I well beheve, that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore 
But yet, as far as yesternight. 
Old Allan-Bane foretold yom- pHght, — 
A gray-hau'd sire, whose eye intent 
Was on the vision'd future bent.' 
He saw yom- steed, a dappled gray. 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way , 
Painted exact your form and mien. 
Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, 
That tassell'd horn so gayly gilt. 
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 
That cap with heron plumage trim, 
And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 
He bade that all should ready be, 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy. 
And deem'd it was my father's horn. 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne." 

XXIV. 
The stranger amUed : — " Since to yonr liome 
A destined errant-knight I come, 

3 MS. — " Bo o'er the lake tho awan would spno^. 
Then torn to prone its ruffled wing." 

» M8.— ' 

« MS.—' 



' Herfather*8 halt was open still." 
' Till on this lake's enchanting strand," 



« MS.—" fs often on the future bent."— Seo Aroenan 
Nulu e 



190 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto 4 


Announced by prophet sooth and old, 


The ivy and Idaean vme, 


Doom'd, doubtless, for acliievement bold. 


Tlie clematis, the favor'd flower 


ril Ughtly front each high emprise, 


Which boasts the name of virgin-bower 


For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 


And every hardy plant could bear 


Permit me, first, the task to guide 


Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. 


Torn" f:iiry frigate o'er the tide." 


An instant in this porch she staid. 


The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 


And gayly to the str;mger said. 


The toil unwonted saw him try -, 


" On heaven and on thy lady call. 


For seldom sure, if e'er before, 


And enter the enchanted hall !" 


His noble baud had grasp'd an oar :' 




Vet with main strength his strokes he drew. 


XXVIL 


And o'er the lake the shaUop flew ; 


" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 


With heads erect, and wliimpering cry. 


My gentle guide, in following thee." 


The hounds behmd their passage ply. 


He cross'd the threshold— and a clang 


Nor frequent does the bright oar break 


Of angry steel that instant rang. 


The dai-k'ning mirror of the lake, 


To his bold brow his spirit rush'd. 


Until the rocky isle they reach. 


But soon for vain alarm he blush'd. 


4nd moor then- shallop on the beach. 


When on the floor he saw tlisplay'd. 




Cause of the din, a nuked blade 


, XXV. 


Dropp'd from the sheath, that careless flimg 


The stranger view'd the shore around ; 


Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 


'Twas all so close with copsewood bound, 


For all around the walls to grace. 


Nor track nor pathway might declare 


Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 


That human foot frequented there, 


A target there, a bugle here. 


Until the mountain-maiden show'd 


A battle-axe, a huntiug-sj^ear. 


A clambering unsuspected road. 


And broadswords, bows, and arrows store. 


That winded through the tangled screen. 


With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 


And open'd on a narrow green. 


Here grins th* wolf as when he died,' 


Where weeping birch and willow round 


And there the wild-cat's brindled liide 


With theii' long fibres swept the ground. 


The frontlet of the elk adorns, 


Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 


Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 


Some chief had framed a rustic bower.' 


Pennons and flags defaced and stain'd. 




That blackening streaky of blood retain'd, 


XXVL 


And deer-skins, dappled, dim, and white, 


It was* lodge of ample size. 


With otter's fur and seal's imite. 


But strange of structure and device ; 


In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 


Of such materials, as. around 


To garnish forth the silvan halL 


The workman's hand had readiest found. 




Lopp'd off their boughs, their hoar trunks bared. 


XXVIII. 


And by the hatchet rudely squared. 


The wondering stranger round him gazed. 


To give the walls theu- destined height. 


And next the fallen weapon raised : — 


The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 


Few were the arms whose sinewj' strength 


While moss and clay and leaves combined 


Sufliced to stretch it forth at length. 


To fence each qrevice from the wind. 


And as the brand he poised and swayed. 


The Ughter pine-trees, over-head. 


" I never knew but one," he said, 


Then- slender length for rafters spread. 


Wliose stalwart arm might brook to wielu 


And wither'd heath and rushes dry 


A blade like this in b.attle-field." 


SuppUed a russet canopy. 


She sigh'd, then smUed and took the word : 


Due westward, fronting to the green. 


" Tou see the guardian champion's sword : 


A rural portico was seen. 


As hght it trembles in his hand. 


Aloft on native pUlars borne, 


As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 


Of mountain fir, with b.ark unshorn. 


My sire's taU form might gi-ace the part 


Where Ellen's hand liad taught to twine 


Of Ferragus or Ascabai't ;* 


. MS. — *' This gentle hand had graep'd an oar : 


There hung the wild-cat'a brindled hide, 


Yet with main strength the oars he drew." 


Above the elk's brantli'd brow and skull. 


" Bee Appendix, Note G. 


And frontlet of the forest bail." 


US — " Here grina the ipolf as when he died, 


« See Appendix, Note H. 



BAStO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



19) 



But in the absent giant's hold 
Are women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 
Tbe distress of the mansion came, 
Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 
Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court. 
To whom, though more than kindred knew. 
Young EUen gave a mother's due.' 
Meet welcome to her guest she made. 
And every courteous rite was paid, 
That hospitality could claim, , 

Though all unask'd liis birth and name ' 
Such then the reverence to a guest. 
That feUest foe might join the feast. 
And from liis deadUest foemans door 
Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er, 
it length his rank the stranger names, 
" The Knight of Snowdouja, James Fitz-Jamea ; 
Lord of a barren heritage, 
Wliich his brave sires, from age to age. 
By their good swords had held with toil ; 
Hid sire had fallen in such turmoil. 
And he, God wot, was forced to stand 
Oft for his right with blade in hand. 
This mornuig, with Lord Moray's train. 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer. 
Lost his good steed, and wander'd here." 

XXX. 

Fain would the knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire. 
Well show'd the elder lady's mien,' 
That courts and cities she had seen : 
Ellen, though more her looks display'd' 
The simple grace of silvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Show'd she was come of gentle r.ace. 
'Twere strange, in ruder rank to tind. 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame Maigaret heard with sdence grave; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay, 
Tum'd all inquiry Ught away : — 
" Weird women we I by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast, 

S18 — '*Tcwhom. though more remote her claim. 
Young Ellen gave a mother's name." 
' See Appendix, Note I. ^^ 
» MS. — " Well ahow'd thffbther's eaajllnien." 
* MS. — " Ellen, though more her looks betrayed 
The sirapl; heart of mountain maid, 
In speech and gesture, form and grace, 
Show'd she was come of gentle race : 
'Twas strange, in birth so mde, to finOV 
Bnch face auch manners, and such mind. 



On wandering knights oiu- spells we cast ; 
While viewless nunstrels touch the otring, 
'Tis thus om' charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and stiU a harp unseen 
Fill'd up the symphony betwton.* 

XXXL 
Sona. 
" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking 
Dream of battled fields no more, . 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall. 

Hands imseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every setise in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
Dream of fighting fields no more : 
Sleep tlie sleep that knows not breaking. 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

" STo rude sotmd slmll reach thine ear,' 

Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trimip nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Tet the lark's shrUl fife may come 

At the day-breals from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming Irom the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder soimds shall none be near ; 
Guards nor warders challenge IiA'e, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 
She paused — then, blushing, led the lay' 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song. 
Till to her hps in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

Sonfl contfnueli. 

" Himtsman, rest I thy chase is done, 
Wlule our slimib'rous spells assail ye,* 

Dream not, with the rising smh. 
Bugles here shall sound rev.eUl^. 

Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep 1 thy hounds are by thee lying; 

Eacn anriou5 hint the stranger gave. 
The mother heard with silence grave." 

6 See Appendix, Note K. 

« MS.^" J^oon of hunger, night of waking. 

No rude sound shall rouse thine ear." 
' MS. — " She paused — but waked again the lay." 
* Slumber sweet our spells shall deal ya 



•MS 



-\ 



Let oar slambroaa epells 



I avail ye, 
' b0giule T« 



192 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. uanto t 


Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, 


And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 


How thy gallant steed lay dying. 


The phantom's sex was changed and gone. 


Huntsman, rest ! thy c'hase is done, 


Upon its head a helmet shone ; 


Think not of the rising sun. 


Slowly enlarged to giant size, 


For at dawDuig to assail ye. 


With darken'd cheek and tlu-eatening eyes. 


Here no bugles sound reveille." 


The grisly visage, stern and hoar, 




To EUen still a likeness bore. — 


XXXIII. 


He woke, and, panting with aSiight, 


The hall was clear'd — the stranger's bed 


Recall'd the vision of the night." 


Was there of movmtain heather spread, 


The hearth's decaying brands were red, 


/There oft a hundred guests had lain, 


And deep and dusky lustre shed. 


And dream'd their forest sports again.' 


Half showing, half concealing, all 


But vainly did the heath-flower shod 


The uncouth trophies of the hall. 


Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 


Mid those tlie stranger fix'd his eye. 


Not Ellen's spell had lull'd to rest 


Where that huge falchion himg on high, 


The fever of his troubled breast. 


And thoughts on thoughts, a countless tkfong, 


In broken dreams the unage rose 


Rush'd chasing cotmtless thoughts along. 


Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 


Until, the giddy wliirl to cure. 


His steed now flounders in the brake, 


He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 


Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 




Now leader of a broken host. 


XXXV. 


His standard falls, his honor's lost. 


The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom,* 


' Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 


Wasted around their rich perfui^e : 


Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 


The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm, 


Again retum'd the scenes of youth. 


The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 


Of confident undoubting truth ; 


Tlie silver hght, with quivering glancB, 


Again his soul he inte rchanged 


Play'd on the water's still expanse, — 


With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 


Wild were the heart whose passions' sway 


They come, m dim procession led, 


Could rage beneath the sober ray I 


The cold, tie faithless, and the dead ; 


He felt its calm, tliat warrior guest. 


As wai-m ea«h hand, each brow as gay, 


While thus he communed with his breast : — 


As if they parted yesterday. 


" Why is it, at each turn I trace 


And doubt distracts liun at the view. 


Some memory of that exiled race ? 


were liis senses false or true 1 


Can I not momitain-niaiden spy. 


Dream'd he of death, or broken vow. 
Or is it all a vision now !' 


But she must bear tlie Douglas eye ? 


Can I not view a Higliland branii, 




But it must match the Douglas hand ? 


XXXIV. 


Can I not frame a fever'd dream. 


At length, with EUan m a grove 


But stiU the Douglas is the tlieme? 


He seem'd to walk, and speak of love ■ 


I'll dream no more— by manly mind 


She listen'd with a blush and sigh, 


Not even in sleep is will resign'd. 


His suit was warm, his hopeis were high. 


My midnight orisons said o'er. 


He sought her yielded hand to clasp, 


I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 


MS. — " And dream'd their mountain chase a^ain." 


The woods, the mountains, and the warbling maze 


Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear. 


Of the wild brooks !" — Castle of Indolence, CanUi /. 


From these foul demons sliield the midnight gloom ; 


s '* Such a strange and romantic dream as may be natttrallj 


Angels of fancy and of love, be near. 


expected to flow from the extraordinary events of the past day 


And o'er the blank of sleep diiTuse a bloom : 


It might, perhaps, be quoted as one of Mr. Scott's most success 


Evoke the sac;ed shades of Greece and Rome, 


ful etforts in descriptive poetry. Some few lines of it are indeed 


And let them virtue with a look impart : 


unrivalled for delicacy atid melanciioly tenderness." — Critica, 


But chief, awhile, O ! lend ns from the tomb 


Review. 


Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart, 
And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt woe the heart. 


I the bosom of the lake, 
• MS.-" Play'don ) j ,^^|^ 0t,;ne-s st.ll expan«! ; 


• Or are yon sportive ? — bid the mom of youth 


The birch, the wild-rose, and the broom. 


Rise to new light, and beam afresh the days 


Wasted around their rich perfume 


Of innocence, simplicity, and truth ; 


The birch-trees wept in balmy dew ' 


To cares estranged, and manhood's thorny ways. 


The aspen slept on Benvenue ; 


Wbat transport, to retrace our boyish plays. 


Wild were the heart whose passions' pc wof 


Our easy b?iss, when each thing joy supplied ; 


Defied the inflaence of the honr." 




' ' / ^/tl/fA 



f^ff/.i 



DANTO n. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 193 


blis niiiliiight orisons he told, 


And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 


A prayer with every bead of gold, 


Pine for liis Highlimd home ; 


Coiisigii'd to lieaveu liis cares and woes, 


Then, warrior, then be thine to show 


And Slink in imdistui-b'd repose ; 


The care that soothe.^ a wanderer's woe ; 


Until the lieuth-cock shrilly crew, 


Remember then thy liap erewhile, 


And morning dawn'd oi. Benvenue. 


A striinger in the lonely isle. 




" Or if on hfe's uncertam main 
Mishap sliall m.ar thy sail ; 




(Lljc fabjj'of tijc Cal«. 


If fiuthful, wise, and brave ia vain, 
■Woe, want, and exile thou sustiiin 




Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed. 




CANTO SECOND. 


On tliankless courts, or friends estranged. 
But come where khidred worth shall &mHe, 




JTtie l:sIantJ . 


To greet thee hi tlie lonely isle." 


I. 

At morn the black-cock trims Iiis jetty wing, 


IV. 

As died the sounds upon the tide. 


'Tis morning prompts the Uimet's bUthest lay. 


The shallop reach'd the mainland side, 


All Nature's cliildren feel the matin sprmg 


And ere his onward way he took. 


Of life reviving, with reviving day ; 


Tlie stranger cast a lingermg look. 


And wliile yon Uttle bark glides down the bay. 


Where easUy his eye might reach 


Waftuig the Strang r on his way again. 


The H.arpor on the islet beach. 


Morn" s genial influence roused a minstrel gray. 


RecUned against a blighted tree. 


And sweetly o'er the lake was heard tlTv' strain. 


As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 


Mix'd with the sounding hai-p, wliite-hair'd 


To minstrel meditation given. 


AJlan-Bane !' 


His reverend brow was raised to heaven. 




As from the rishig sun to claim 


II. 


A sparkle of inspumg flame. 


S>0ixa- 


His liand, recUned upon the wire, 


' Not faster yonder rowers' might 


Seeni'd watclihig the awakening tire ; 


Flings from then- o.ors the sprav 


So still he sate, as those who wait 


Not faster yonder rippling brig}- 1 


Till judgment speak the doom of fate; 


That tracks the sh.aUop's co'ir' e j" ight. 


So still, as if no breeze might dare 


Melts in the lake away. 


To Uft one lock of hoary liair ; 


Than men from memory ,T' /'. 


So still, as Ufe itself were fled. 


The benefits of for-ae"- d"/.- , 


In the last soimd his harp had sped. 


Then striuiger. gol go-xl ,p^Fj y.e wliile. 




N->r tViink again of '..ne ice'.y i«le. 


V. 




Upon a rock with lichens wild. 


" High place to tne« in r jyal court, 


Besidt hun Ellen sate and smilf d. — 


High place hi battle line. 


Smiled slie to see the stately drake 


Good hawk and homia for silvan sport, 


Lead forth liis fleet upon the lake. 


Wliere beauty sees the brave resort,'' 


Wliile her vex'd spaniel, from tlie beach 


Tlie honor'il meed be thine 1 


Bay'd at the prize beyond Ins reach ! 


Tme be thy sword, tliy friend sincere. 


Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 


Tliy lady constant, kind, and dear. 


Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose ?— 


And lost m love and friendsliip's smile, 


Forgive, forgive. Fidelity 1 


Be memory of the lonely isle. 


Perchance the maiden smiled to see 




Ton pai-thig lingerer wave adieu. 


IIL 


And stop and turn to wave anew ; 


Sonfl contfnueB. 


And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 


• But if beneath yon southern sky 


Condemn the heroine of my lyre. 


A plaided stranger roam, 


Show me the fair would scorn to spy. 


Whose drxjpmg crest and stifled sigh, 


And prize such conquest of her eye 1 


' See Apperdii, Note L. 


• MS.—" At tourneys where the brave reK»t ' 



194 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAsro n 



While yet he loiter'd on the spot, 

It Reem'd as Ellen niark'd him not ; 

But when he tiu-n'J liini to the glade, 

One courteous parting sign she made ; 

And after, oft the knight would say. 

That not when prize of festal day 

Was dealt him by the brightest fair, 

Who e'er wore jewel m her hair, 

feo highly did his bosom swell. 

As at that simple mute farewell. 

Now with a trusty mountain-guide, 

And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 

He parts — the maid unconscious still, 

Watch'd liim wind slowly round the liill ; 

But when his stately form was liid. 

The guardian in her bosom chid — 

"Thy Malcohn 1 vain and selfish maid !" 

'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, — 

" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 

On the smooth plu-ase of southern tongue ; 

Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye, 

Another step than thine to spy.' 

Wake, AUan-Bane," aloud she cried, 

To the old Minstrel by her side, — 

" Arouse thee from thy moody dream ! 

J'll give thy liarp heroic theme. 

And warm thee with a noble name ; 

Pour ftitli the glory of the Grterae \"' 

Scarce from her Up the word had rush'd, 

When deep the conscious maiden blush'd ; 

For of his clan, in hall and bower. 

Young Malcolm GrsEme was held the flower. 

VII. 

The Minstrel waked his harp — tliree times 

Arose the woU-known martial chimes, * 

And thrice their high heroic pride 

In melancholy murmurs died. 

" Vainly thou bid'st, noble maid," 

Clasping his wither'd hands, he said, 

" Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 

Tliough all unwont to bid in vain. 

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my liarp, my strings has spann'd ! 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of woe; 

And the proud march, which victors tread. 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 

C well for me, if min'i alone 

I'hat dii-ge's deep prophetic tone ! 

If, as my timeful fathers said, 

This harp, wliich erst Saint Modan sway'd,' 

Can thus its master's fate foretell. 

Then welcome be the minstrel's kneU ! 



* MS. — " The loveliest Lowland fair to spy.'*. 

* See .Appendix, Note M. ^ Ibid. Note N. 



vm. 

" But ah I dear lady, thus it eigh'd 

The eve thy sainted mother ched ; 

And such tlie sounds which, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth. 

Appalling me who gave them birtli, 

And, disobedient to my call, 

Wail'd loud through BothweU's bauner'd 

haU, 
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven,' 
Were exiled fiom their native heaven - 
Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe, 
My master's house must undergo. 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair. 
Brood m these accents of despair. 
No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling 
Triumph or raptm-e from thy string ; 
One short, one final strain shall flow. 
Fraught with unutterable woe. 
Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie 
Thy master cast him down and die I" 

IX. 

Sootliing she answer'd him, " Assuag<n 

Mine'honor'd friend, the fears of age ; 

All melodies to thee are known. 

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown. 

In Lowland vale or Highland glen, 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. 

At times, unbidden notes should rise. 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties. 

Entangling, as they rush along. 

The war-march witli the funeral song ? — 

Small ground is now for boding fear ; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My she, m native virtue great. 

Resigning lordship, lauds, and state. 

Not then to fortune more resign'd. 

Than yondfer oak might give the wind; 

The graceful foliage storms may reave. 

The noble stem tliey eamiot grieve. 

For me," — slie stoop'd, and, looking rotind, 

Pluck'd a blue hare-beU from tlie ground,— 

" For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An miage of more splendid days, 

Tliis little flower, that loves the lea. 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks lieaven's dew as blitlie as rose* 

That in the king's owa garden grows ; 

And when I pLice it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is boimd to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreath'd in her dark locks, and smiled 



* See Appendix, Note O. 

* MS. — " No blither dew-drop cheers the r08« ' 



ANTO u. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 196 


X. 


Disown'd by every noble peer,' 


der KiDile, her speech, with winning sway, 


Even the rude refuge we have here ? 


Wiled the old harper's mood away. 


Alas, tliLs wild marauding Chief 


With such a bok as hurmits tlirow, 


Alone might hazard our relief. 


When aiigels stoop to soothe their woe, 


And now thy niiuden charms expand, 


He gazed, till foud regret and pride 


Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 


Thrill'd to a tesu-, then thus replied: 


Full -soon may dispensation sought. 


" Lovehest iuid best ! thou little know'st 


To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 


Tho riUik, the honors, tliou hast lost 1 


Then, though an e.vile on the hill, 


might I Live to see thca grace. 


Thy father, as the Douglivs, still 


In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place. 


Be held in reverence and fear ; 


To see my favorite's step advimce,' 


And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear, 


The lightest in the courtly dance, 


That thou mightst guide with silken threat!, 


The cause of every gallant's sigh. 


Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 


And leading star of every eye, 


Yet, loved maid, thy mirth refrain 1 


And theme of every minstrel's art, 


Thy hand is on a lion's mane." — 


The Lady of tlie Bleeding Heart T* -— -^•"-' 




1 


XHI. 


XI. ' 


" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 


" Fair di'eams are these," the maiden cried, 


Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 


(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd ;) 


" My debts to Roderick's house I know • 


" Yet is this mossy rock to me 


All that a mother could bestow. 


Worth splendid chair and canopy ■' 


To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 


Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 


Since first an orphan in the wild 


In courtly dance than bUthe strathspey. 


She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child ; 


Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 


To her brave cliirftain son, from ire 


To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 


Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 


And then for suitors proud and liigh, 


A deeper, hoUer debt is owed ; 


To bend before my conquering eye, — 


And, could I pay it with my blood, 


Thou, flattering lxu"d ! thvself wilt sav. 


Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 


That glim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 


My blood, my life, — but not my hand. 


The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride. 


Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 


The terror of Loch Lomond's side, 


A votaress in Maronnan's cell f 


Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 


Rather through realms beyond the sea. 


A Lennox foray — for a day." 


Seeking the world's cold charity. 




Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word. 


XIL 


And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, 


The ancient bard his glee rcpress'd : 


An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 


" Ul hast thou chosen them for jest ! 


Than wed the man she cannot love." 


- For who, tliiTiugh all tliis western wild, 


•j— XIV. 


Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, .and smiled 


In Holy- Rood a knight he slew ;' 


"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses graj,— 


I saw, when back the du-k he di-ew, 


That pleading look, what can it say 


Courtiers give place before the stride 


But -what I own ? — I grant liim brave. 


Of the undaunted homicide ;' 


But wild .as BrackUun's thundering wave ;" 


And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hana 


And generous — save vindictive mood. 


Full sternly kept liis mountain land. 


Or jealous transport, chafe his blood : 


Who else diu-ed give — ah 1 woe the day,* 


I grant him true to friendly band, 


Tliat I such hated truth should say — 


As his claymore is to his hand ; 


The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 


But ! that very blade of steel 


> This conplet is not in the MS. 


Thai hound him to thy mother's name ? 


The well-knov/n cognizance of the Donglas famij 


Who else dared give," itc. 


MS. — " This mossy rock, my friend, to me 


' See Appendix, Note Q. " » Ihid, Note R. 


Is worth gay chair and canopy." 


0" Ellen is most exquisitely drawn, and could not haw 
been improved by contrast. She is beautiful, frank, affec 


See Appendix, Note P. ^ 


tionate, rational, and playful, combining the innocence of 


MS. — " Coartiers give place witli heartier stride 


child with the elevated sentimenU and coarage of a beroioa. 


Of the retiring liomicide." 


— Quarierty Review. 


MS.—" Who else dared ^'fq the kindred claim 


10 See Appendix, Note S 



196 SOOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii 


More mercy for a foe would feel : 


Yet, by my minstrel's faith, T heard — 


1 grant him liLci .il, to fling 


And hark again ! some pipe of war 


Among his chm the wealth they bring, 


Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 


When back by lake ami glen they wind. 




And in thy Lowliuid leave behind, 


XVI. 


Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 


Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 


A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 


Fom- darkening specks upon the tide, 


riie hand that for my father fought, 


That, slow enlarging on the view, 


1 honor, as liis daughter ought ; 


Fom" m<ann'd and masted barges grew. 


But can I clasp it reeking red. 


And, bearuig downwards from Glengyle, 


From peasants slaughter'd in their shed ? 


Steer'd full upon the lonely isle ; 


No ! wildly while his vu'tues gleam, 


The point of BrianchoU they passed. 


They make his passions darker seem, 


And, to the windward as they cast, 


i-iid flash along his spu-it liigh, 


Against the sun they gave to shine 


i-.ike lightning o'er tlie midnight sky. 


The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd Pine. 


Wliile yet a child, — .and childi-en know, 


Nearer and nearer as they be.ar. 


Instinctive tauglit, tlie friend and foe, — 


Spear, pikes, and axes flash in air. 


I shudder'd at his brow of gloom. 


Now might you see the tartans brave, 


His shadowy pl.aid, and sable plume ; 


And jilaids and plmnage dance and wave : 


A maiden grown, I ill could bear 


Now see the bonnets sink and rise. 


His haughty mien and lortUy air : 


As his tough oar the rower plies ; 


But, if tliou jom'st a suitor's claim. 


See, flashing at each stm-dy stroke, 


In serious mood, to Roderick's u.ome, 


The w.ave ascendhig into smoke ; 


I thrili with anguish ! or, if e'er 


See the proud pipers on the bow. 


A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 


And mark the gaudy streamers flow 


To change such odious theme were best, — 


From their loud chanters^ down, and sweep 


■Wtat think'st thou of our stranger guest ?" — 


The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 




As, rusliing through the lake amain. 


XV. 


They plied the ancient Highland strain. 


" Wliat tliink I of him ? — woe the while 




That brought sucli wanderer to om- isle ! 


XVII. 


Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 


Ever, as on they bore, more loud 


For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,' 


And louder rung the pibroch proud. 


What time he leagued, no longer foes. 


At first the sound, by distance tame, 


His Border spears with Hotspm*'s bows. 


MeUow'd along the waters came. 


Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 


And, Ungering long by cape and bay, 


The footstep of a secret foe.^ 


Wail'd every h.arsher note away ; 


If courtly spy hath harbor'd here, 


Then bursting bolder on the ear. 


Wlaat m.ay we for the Douglas fear ? 


The clan's shrill Gathering they could 


What for tliis island, deem'd of old 


bear ; 


Chm- Alpine's last and surest hold ? 


Those thrdling sounds, that call tlie might 


If neither spy nor foe, I pray 


Of old Clan- Alpine to the figlit.' 


What yet m.ay jealous Roderick say ? 


Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 


— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, 


Tlie mustering hundreds shake the glen, 


Bethmk thee of the cUscord dread 


And, hurrymg at the signal tlread. 


That kindled, when at Beltane game 


The b<atter'd eartli returns their tread. 


Thou led'st the d.ance with Malcolm Grfeme ; 


Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 


Still, though thy sij-e the peace renew'd, 


Express'd their merry marching on, 


Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 


Ere peal of closing battle rose, 


Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are these ?' 


With mingled outcry, slu-ieks, and blows ; 


My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 


And mimic din of stroke and ward. 


No weeping birch, nor asj^ens wake, 


As broad-sword upon target jarr'd ; 


Nor breath is dimpUng in the lake, 


And groaning pause, ere yet ag.ain. 


StiU is the canna's' hoary beard. 


Condensed, the battle yell'd amain ; 


1 See Appendii, Note T. ^ Ibid. Note V. 


procession, are given with inimitable spirit and power of ai 


" The moving picture — the etTect of the sounds — and the 


pression."— Jeffrey. * Cotton-grass. 


nd chtractcr and strong peculiar nationality of the whole 


6 The pipe of the bagpipe. « See Appendix, Note V. 



r 

CANTO II. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 197 


The rapid charge, the rallying shout, 


Glen Luss and Ross-iUiu, they are smoking in ruin 


Retreat borne lieaillnng into rout, 


And the best of Loch Lomomi he dead on her sida 


And bursts of triumph, to dechire 


Widow and Sa.\on maid 


Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 


Long shaU lament oin* raid, 


Nor ended thus the strain; but slow. 


Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe 


Sunk in a niomi prolong'd and U)W, 


Lenno.x and Leven-glen 


And changed the conquering cUuion sweU. 


Shake when they hear agen, 


For wild lament o'er those that fell. 


'■ Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, lie 1 ieroe 1" 


XVIII. 


Row, vassals, row, for tlie pride of the Highland! 


The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and liill 


Stretch to yom- oars, for the evcr-gi^sen Pine ! 


Were busy with tlieir echoes still ; ' 


1 that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, 


And, when they slept, a vocal strain 


Were wreathed in a garland aroimd liim to twine 


Bade then- hoarse chorus wake again, 


that some seedling gem. 


■While loud a hundred clansmen raise 


Worthy such noble stem, 


'I'heir voices in tlieir Chieftain's praise. 


Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow 


Each boatman, bending to his oar. 


Loud shouUl Clan- Alpine then 


With measured sweep the burden bore. 


Rmg from the deepmost glen, 


In such wild cadence, as the breeze 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho 1 ieroe 1'" 


Makes through December's leafless trees. 




The chorus first could Allan know. 


XXL 


" Roderick Vich Alpine, ho 1 iero !'' 


With aU her joyfid female band. 


And near, and nearer as they row'd. 


Had Lady Margaret sought the strand 


Distinct the niiirtial ditty flow'd. 


Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 




And high their snowy arms they tlu-ew, 


XIX. 


As echouig back with shrill acclaim. 


33oat £ong. 


And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ;* 


While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 


Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances I 


Tlie darling passion of his heai't. 


Houor'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine 1 


The Dame call'd Ellen to the strand, 


t,ong may the tree, in his banner that glances, 


To greet her kinsmim ere he land ; 


Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 


" Come, loiterer come ! a Douglas thou, 


Heaven send it happy dew. 


And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ?" — 


Earth lend it sap anew. 


Reluctantly and slow, the maid 


Gayly to bom-geon, and broadly to grow, 


The unwelcome summoning obey'd. 


■Wliile every Higldand glen 


And, when a distant bugle rung. 


Sends our .shout back agen. 


In the mid-path aside she sprung : — 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho 1 ieroe !'" 


" List, AUan-Bane ! From mauJand cast, 




I hear my father's signal blast. 


Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain. 


Be our.s," she cried, '* the .skiff to guide, 


Blooming at Beltane, m winter to fade ; 


And waft liim from the mountain side." 


When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the 


Then hke a sunbeam, swift and bright, 


mountain,. 


She darted to her sliallop light. 


The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 


And, eagerly wliile Roderick scann'd. 


Moor'd in the rifted rock. 


For her dear form, his mother's bani 


Proof to the tempest's shock. 


The islet far behind her lay. 


Finner he roots him the ruder it blow ; 


And she liad landed in the bay. . 


Menteith and Breadalbane, then. 




Echo liis pr.aise agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 7 


i-v.^^ XXIL 

Somefeelings are to mortals given. 




With less of earth in them than heaveu 


XX. 


And if there be a human tear 


froudly om- pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, 


From passion's dross refined and dear. 


And Bannocliar's groans to om* slogan replied ; 


A tear so limpid and so meek. 


' See Appendii, Note W, ' Ibid. Note X. 


poem has seldom, if ever, been introdoceo with finer efllKt, •' 


■ " However we may dislike the geograpliical song and ciio- 


in a manner better calculated to excite the cxpectaticni of .hf 


^u, huif Englisli and lialf Erep, which is sung in praise of the 


reader, than on the present occasion." — Critical Review 


••miiof, we mapl aliow tliat, iu other respects, the hero of a 


* MS.—" The choras to the chieftain's /am* '• 



198 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO It 



It would not stain an angel's cheek, 


The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 


TiB that "which pibus fathers shed 


The loved caresses of the maid 


Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 


The dogs with crouch and whimper paid ;• 


And as the Douglas to his breast 


And, at her whistle, on her hand 


His darhng Ellen closely press'd, 


The falcon took her favorite stand, 


Such lioly drops her tresses steep'd, 


Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye, 


Tliough 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd. 


Nor, though unliooded, sought to fly. 


Nor Tvliile on Ellen's faltering tongue' 


And, trust, while in such gitise she stood. 


Her nlial welcomes crowded hung, 


Like fabled Goddess of the wood,' 


Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof) 


That if a father's partial thought 


Still held a graceful youtli aloof ; 


O'erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught, 


No ! not till Douglas niuned liis name, 


Well might the lover's judgment fail 


Although the youth was Malcoka Grsme. 


To balance with a juster scale ; 




For with each secret glauce he stole. 


XXIII. 


The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 


Allan, with wistful look the while, 




Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle ; 


XXV. 


His master piteously he eyed, 


Of stattu-e tall, and slender frame, 


Then gazed upon tlie Chieftain's pride. 


But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 


Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away 


The belted plaid and tartan hose 


From liis dinim'd eye tlie gathering spray ; 


Did ne'er more gracefiU linibs disclose ; 


And Douglas, as his hand he laid 


His flaxen hair of sminy hue, 


On Malcolm's shoulder, Idndly said. 


Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. 


" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 


Trauj'd to the chase, his eagle eye 


In my poor follower's gUstening eye ? 


The ptarmigan in snow cotUd spy ; 


m teU thee :— he recalls the day, 


Each pass, by moimtain, lake, and heath. 


When in my praise he led the lay 


He knew, through Lermox and Menteith; 


O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud, 


Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe. 


Wliile many a minstrel answer'd loud. 


When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 


When Percy's Norman pennon, won 


And scarce tliat doe, tliough wing'd with feai 


In bloody field, l:)efore me shone. 


Outstripp'd in speed the momitaineer ; 


And twice ten kniglits, the least a name 


Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, 


As mighty as yon Cliief may claim. 


And not a sob liis toil confess. 


Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 


His form accorded with a mind 


Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 


Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 


Was I of all that marshall'd crowd, 


A blither heart, till Ellen came, 


rhough the wtmed crescent own'd my might. 


Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 


And in my train troop'd lord and knight, 


It danced as lightsome in his breast, 


Though Blantyre liynm'd her hoUest lays. 


As play'd the feather on his crest. 


And BothweU's bards flung back my praise. 


Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, 


As when tliis old man's silent tear, 


His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, 


And this poor maid's affection dear. 


And bards, who saw his features bold. 


A welcome give more kind and true, 


When kindled by the tales of old. 


Than aught my better fortimes knew. 


Said, were that youth to manhood growi^ 


forgive, my friend, a father's boast, 


Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 


1 it out-beggars aU I lost !" 


Be foremost voiced by moimtain fame. 




But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. 


XXIV. 




Delightful praise ! — Like summer rose. 


XXVI. 


That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 


Now back they wend their watery way, 


The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd. 


And, " my she 1" did Ellen say, 


For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 


" Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 


The flush of shame-faced joy to hide. 


And why so late retm-n'd ? And why"— 


MS — " Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongne 


Although the youth was Malcolm Grsnw. 


Her filial greetiv^s eager hong. 


Then withjlush*d cheek and downcast eye, 


MajU'd not that awe (afTection's proof) 


Their greeting was confused and sAy." 


Still held yon gentle 70ath aloof; 


* MS. — " The dogs with whimpering notes repaid/* 


No I not till Don^flu named his name, 


> MS. — ' Like fabled huntress of the wood." 



OANlO II. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



lt>« 



The rest was in her speaking eye. 
•My child, the chase I fullow far, 
Tis niiniickry of noble war ; 
And with tliat galhiat pastime reft 
Were ali of Douglas I have left. 
£ met young Malcolm as I stray'd, 
Far eastward, ia GlenfiiUi's' shade, 
Nor stray'd I safe ; for, all around. 
Hunters and horsemen scour'J the ground. 
This youth, tliough stil' a royal ward, 
Risk'd life and land t» be my guard. 
And thi"ough the passes of tho wood. 
Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make. 
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Eudrifk glen. 
Nor peril aught for me agen." 

XXVII. 
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 
Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
Yet, not in action, word, nor eye, 
Fail'd aught in hospitahty. 
In talk and sport they whiled away 
The raormiig of that summer day ; 
But at high noon a courier Ught 
Held secret parley with the knight. 
Whose moody aspect soon declared, 
That evil were the news he heard. 
Deep thought seem'd toiling in liis head ; 
Tet was the evening banquet made. 
Ere he assembled round the flame 
His mother, Douglas, and the G rajme. 
And Ellen, too ; then cast around 
His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground. 
As studying phrase that might avail 
Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd, 
Then raised his haughty brow, and said : — 

xxvm. 

"• Short be my speech ; — nor time affords. 
Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 
Kinsman and father, — if such name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim 
Mir.e honor'd mother ; — Ellen — why. 
My cousin, turn away thine eye ? — 
A-id Grasnie ; in whom I hope to know 
Pull soon a noble friend or foe. 
When age shall give thee thy command, 
And leading in thy native land, — 
list all ! — The King's vindictive pride 
Boasts to hiive tamed the Border-side,' 
Where cliiefs, with hound and hawk who came 
To share their monarch's silvan game. 

See Appendix, Note Y. 

MS — " The dales where clans were wont to bide," 



Tliemselves in bloody toils were snared ; 

And when the banquet they prepared. 

And wide their loyal portals flung. 

O'er their own gateway strugglmg himg. 

Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead. 

From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 

Where the lone stre.ams of Ettrick glide, 

And from the silver Teviot's side ; 

The dales, where martial chxns did ride,' 

Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne, 

So faithless and so ruthless known. 

Now hither comes ; his end the same, 

The same pretext of silvan game. 

Wliat grace for Highland Chiefs, judge y» 

By fate of Border chivalry.' 

Yet more ; amid Glentinlas green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 

This by espial sure I know ; 

Yom- counsel in the streight I show " 

XXIX. 
Ellen and Margaret fearfully 
Sought comfort in each other's eye. 
Then turn'd their ghastly look, each one, 
This to her sire — that to her son. 
The hasty color went and came 
In the bold cheek of Malcohn Graeme ; 
But from his glance it well appear'd, 
'Twas but for EUeu that he fear'd ; 
While, sorrowful, but undismay'd, 
The Douglas thus liis counsel said : — 
'* Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar. 
It may but thunder and pass o'er ; 
Nor will I here remain an hoiu". 
To draw the Ughtning on thy bower ; 
For well thou know'st, at this gray head 
The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 
For thee, who, at thy Khig's command. 
Canst aid hun with a gallant band, 
Submission, homage, humbled pride. 
Shall turn the J!onarch's wrath aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and I wiU seek, apart. 
The refuge of some forest cell ; 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. 
Till on the moimtain and the moor. 
The stern pursuit be pass'd and o'er." — 

XXX. 

" No, by mine honor," Roderick said, 

" So help me, heaven, and my good bladaf 

No, never I Blasted be yon Pine, 

My fathers' ancient crest and mine. 

If from its shade in danger part 

> See Appeni^, Note £ 



800 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


The lineage of the Bleeding Heart 1 


One instant rush'd the throhbiDg blood. 


Hear my blunt speech : Grant me tliis maid 


Then ebbing back, with sudden away. 


To wife, thy coimsel to mine aid ; 


Left its domain as wan as clay. 


To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 


" Roderick, enough ! enough !" he cried, 


WiU friends and aUies flock enow ; 


" My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 


Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 


Not that the blush to wooeV dear, 


Will bind to us each Western Chief. 


Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 


When the loud pipes my bridal tell. 


It may not be— forgive her. Chiefs 


The links of Forth shall hear the knell, 


Nor hazard aught for our reHef 


The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 


Against liis sovereign, Douglas ne'er 


And, when I Ught the nuptial torch. 


Will level a rebelHous spear. 


A thousand villages in flames. 


"Twas I that taught his youthful hand 


Shall scare the slumbers of King James I 


To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 


— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 


I see him yet, the prmcely boy 1 


And, mother, cease these signs, I pray ; 


Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 


I meant not all my heart might say. — 


I love him still, despite my wrongs. 


Small need of im-oad, or of fight. 


By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 


When the sage Douglas may unite 


seek the grace you well may find. 


Each mountain clan in friendly band. 


Without »• cause to mine combined." 


To guard the passes of their Land, 




Till the foil'd king, fi'om patUess glen," 


XXXIIL 


Shall bootless tiu^u him home agen." 


Twice tlu-ough the hall the Chieftain strode , 




The waving of his tartans broad. 


XXXI. 


And darken'd brow, where wounded pride 


There are who have, at midnight hour. 


With he and disappomtment vied. 


In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 


Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy Ught, 


And, on the verge that beetled o'er 


Like the ill Demon of the night. 


The ocean-tide's incessant roar, 


Stooping his puiion's shadowy sway 


Dream'd calmly out then- dangerous dream,' 


Upon the iiighted pilgrim's way : 


Till wakeu'd by the morning beam ; 


But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 


When dazzled by the eastern glow, 


Plunged deepest its envenomed smart. 


Such startler cast liis glance below. 


And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 


And saw unmeasured depth around. 


At length the h.and of Douglas wrtmg. 


And heard unuitermitted sound. 


While eyes, that mock'd at tears before. 


And thought the battled fence so frail. 


With bitter drops were ruiming o'er. 


It waved like cobweb in the gale ; — 


The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope 


Amid liis senses' giddy wheel. 


Scarce m that ample breast had scope. 


Did he not desperate impulse feel. 


But, struggling with his spirit proud. 


Headlong to plunge himself below. 


Convulsive heaved its checker'd sliroud. 


And meet the worst liis fears foreshow ? — 


While every sob — so mute were all — 


Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound. 


Was heard tUstiiictly tlu-ough the hall. 


As sudden ruin yawn'd around. 


The son's despah, the mother's look. 


By crossuig terrors wildly toss'd, 


111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 


StiU for the Douglas fearing most. 


She rose, and to her side there came. 


Could scarce the desperate thought witlistand, 


To aid her piu'ting steps, the Grsme 


To buy his safety with lier hand. 


1 




XXXIV. 


XXXII. 


Then Roderick from the Douglas broke- 


Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 


As flashes flame through sable smoke. 


In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 


Kindling its wreatlis, long, dark, .and low 


And eager rose to speak — but ere 


To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 


His tongue could hurry forth liis fear. 


So the deep anguish of desptUr' 


Had Douglaj mark'd the hectic strife. 


Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 


Where death seem'd combating with hfe ; 


With stalwart grasp Ms hand he laid 


For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 


On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 


MS. — " Till the foil'rl king, from liill and glen." 


3 MS.— "The deep-toned anguisii of despair 


MS. — " Dream'd calmly out ths ; dea lerate dream.' 


FtoBh'd, in fierce jealousy, to air 



oANTo 11. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 20 j 


" Back, beardless boy 1" he sternly said. 


Though with his boldest at his back 


" Back, uiiiilou I hold'st thou thus at naught 


Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 


The lesson I so lately t.aught ? 


Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay, 


This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 


Naught here of partmg will I say. 


Tliaiik thou for punislunent delay'd." 


Earth does not hold a lonesome glen, 


Eiigei as greyhound on his game. 


So secret, but we meet agea — 


Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grasme.' 


Chieftain 1 we too shall find an hour." — 


■• Perish my name, if aught afford 


He said, and left the silvan bower. 


Its Chieftain safety save his sword !" 




Thus as they strove, their desperate hand' 


XXXVI. 


Griped to tlie dagger or the brand. 


Old Allan foUow'd to the strand 


And death had been — but Douglas rose, 


(Such was the Douglas's command), 


And thrust between the strugglmg foes 


And anxious told, how, on the morn. 


His gi:uit strength :— " Chieftains, forego 1 


The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn. 


I hold the first who strikes, my foe. — ' 


The Fiery Cross shoidd cu-cle o'er 


M,-idmen, forbear yoiu- frantic jar ! 


Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor 


What ! is the Douglas fall'n so f;u-, 


Much were the peril to the Graeme, 


Elis daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil 


From those who to the signal came ; 


Of such dishonorable broil !" 


Far- up the lake 'twere safest land. 


Sullen and slowly they unclasp,* 


Himself would row him to the strand. 


As struck with shame, their desperate grasps 


He gave his counsel to the wind, 


And eacli upon his rival glaied. 


WhUe Malcobii did, unheeding, bind, 


With foot advanced, imd bladt half bareJ. 


Round duk and pouch and broadsword roll'd. 




His ample plaid in tighten'd fold. 


XXXV. 


And stripp'd his hmbs to such array 


Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 


As best might suit the watery way, — 


Margai'et on Roderick's mantle hung, 




And M:ilcohu heard liis Ellen's scream. 


XXXVII. 


As, falter'd through terriiic dream. 


Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee. 


Then Roderick plmiged m sheath his sword, 


Pattern of old fidehty !" 


And veil'd his wrath in scornful word. 


The Minstrel's liand he kindly press'd, — 


" Rest safe tiU morning ; pity 'twere 


" ! could I point a place of rest 1 


Such cheek should feel the midnight air !' 


My sovereign holds in ward my land, 


Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell. 


My imcle leads my vassal band ; 


Roderick will keep the lake imd fell. 


To tame his foes, his friends to aid. 


Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, 


Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 


The pageant pomp of earthly man. 


Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 


More would he of Clan-Alpme know, 


Who loves the Cliieftain of liis name, 


Thou canst our strength and passes sliow. — 


Not long shall honor'd Douglas dwell. 


Malise, what ho I" — his henchman came ;" 


Like hvmted stag in mountain cell ; 


■' Give om- safe-conduct to the Graeme." 


Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare, — 


young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold, 


I may not give the rest to an- 1 


" Fear nothing for thy favorite hold ; 


Tell Roderick Dhu I owe him naught, 


Tlie spot, an angel deign'd to grace, 


Not the poor service of a boat, 


Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the place. 


To waft me to yon moimtain-side." 


Thy churlish courtesy for those 


Then plunged he in the fl.ashing tide.'' 


Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 


Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, 


Af safe to me the mountain way 


And stoutly steer'd him from the shore , 


A' midnight as in blaze of day, 


And AUan strain'd hia anxious eye, 


» '* There is eometlnng foppish and out of chiiracter in Mal- 


" I hold the first who strikes, my foe." 


colm's rising to lead out Ellen from her own parlor ; and the 


— JVoIe to the seconi editUlk 


lort of WTestling-match that takes place between the rival 
thieflains on the occasion, is humiliating and indecoroaa." — 

jKPPRBr. 

a MS. — " Thus as they strove, each better hand 


< MS. — '• Sullen and slow the rivals bold 

Loosed, at his best, their desperate bold, 
But either still on other glared," &0. 


Grasped for the dagger or the brand." 


s See Appendix, Note 2 A. 


* The Author has to apologize for the inadvertent appropria- 


» See Appendix, Note 2 B. 


taa «' a whole line from '.he tragedy of Douglas, 


^ MS. — " He spoke, and plunged into the tid«." 



202 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto la 


Far 'mid the lake his form to spy. 


The movmtain-shadows on her breast 


Darkening across each puny wave, 


Were neither broken nor at rest ; 


To which the moon her silver gave, 


In bright uncertainty they lie. 


Fast as the cormorant could skim, 


Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 


The swimmer pUed each active limb; 


The water-Uly to the light 


rhen landing in the moonlight dell. 


Her chahce rear'd of silver bright ; 


Loud shouted of his weal to telL 


The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 


The Minstrel heard the far halloo. 


Begenim'd with dew-drops, led her fawn; 


And joyful fi-om the shore withdrew. 


The gray mist left' the mountain side, 




The torrent show'd its glistening pride ; 
Invisible in flecked sky. 




®Ijc £aba of tl)c Cake. 


The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 




Good-morrow gave from brake and brush : 

In answer coo'd the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.' 


CANTO THIKD. 




Suje eSatSetfnfl. 


IIL 


I 


No thought of peace, no thought of rest, 


FiME rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,' 


Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast 


Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 


With sheathed broadsword in his hand. 


And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, 


Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 


Of then- strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 


And eyed the rising sun, and laid 


How are they blotted from the things that be I 


His hand on his impatient blade. 


How few, all weak and wither'd of their force. 


Beneath a rock, his vassals' care' 


Wait on the verge of dai'k eternity. 


Was prompt the ritual to prepare. 


Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse. 


With deep and deathful meaning fraught ; 


To sweep tliem from our sight ! Time rolls his 


For such Antiquity had taught 


ceaseless course. 


Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 




The Cross of Fire should take its road, 


Yet live there still who can remember well. 


The shrinking band stood oft aghast 


How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 


At the impatient glance he cast ; — 


Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, 


Such glance the moimtain eagle threw, 


And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 


As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 


And fast the faithful clan around him drew, 


She spread her dark sails on the wind, 


What time the warning note was keenly wound, 


And, high in middle heaven, reclined. 


What time aloft their kindred barmer flew. 


With her broad shadow on the lake, 


While clamorous war-pipes yeU'd the gathering 


Silenced the warblers of the brake. 


sound, 




And while the Fiery Otosa glanced, like a meteor, 


IV. 


round." 


A heap of wither'd boughs was piled, 




Of juniper and rowan wild. 


IL 


Mingled with shivers from the oak. 


The summer dawn's reflected hue 


Rent by the hghtning's recent stroke. 


To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 


Brian, the Hermit, by it stood. 


Mildly and soft the western breeze 


Barefooted in his frock and hood. 


Just kiss'd the Lake, just stirr'd the trees. 


His grisled beard and matted hair 


And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, 


Obsciu-ed a visage of despair ; 


Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 


His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er, 


1 *' Tlf^re are no separate introductions to the cantos of this 


Invisible in fleecy cloud, 


poem ; but each of them begins with one or two stanzas in the 


The lark sent down her matins lond ; 


measure of Spense-, usually containing some reflections con- 


The brht mist left,' &c. 


nected with the jibject about to be entered on ; and written, 


* " The green hols 


"or the most part, with ^eat tenderness and beauty. The fol 


Are clothed with early Ulossoms ; through the glass 


V>wing, we thinlc, is among the most strilling." — Jeffrey. 


The liuicif-eyed lizard rustles, ana the bill* 


s Sec Appendii, Note 2 C. 


Of snmtQQ-^irds ring we!-;on*^ a* ye pass." ChiliU Hartlm 


* MS.— ' The doe awolte, and to the lawn, 


• MS.- " Han' bj- hi" vassalp' ea'-ly care 


BegemmM with dewdrops, led her fawn ; 


Tne mystic riiu.il prepare "' 



CANTO 111. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20S 



The scars of frantic penance bore. 

That monk, of savage form and face,' 

The uupending danger of hia race 

Had drawn from deepest solitude, 

Far ill Benliarrow's bosom rude. 

Not his the mien of Christian priest. 

But Druid's, from the grave released, 

Wliofce harden'd heart and eye might brook 

On hum;ui sacrifice to look ; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mix'd m the charms he mutter'd o'er. 

The hallow'd creed gave only worse" 

And deadlier emphasis of curse ; 

No peasant sought that Heiinit's, prayer, 

His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care, 

The eager huntsman knew his baund, 

And in mid chase call'd off his iiound ; 

Or if, in lonely glen orstrath, 

The desert-dweller met his path. 

He pray'd, and sign'd the cross between, 

While terror took devotion's mien.' 

V. 
Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 
His mother watch'd a midnight fold. 
Built deep within a dreary glen. 
Where scatter'd lay the bones of men, 
In some forgotten battle slain. 
And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain. ' 
It might have tamed a warrior's heart,' 
To view such mockery of his art 1 
The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand, 
Whidi onc« could bm-st an iron band ; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone. 
That bucklei'd heart *o fear unknownj^ 
A feeble and a timoroijg guest, 
The field-i"»re fran.od her I'lwly aest ; 
There the slow L.l:nd-wi/r;a lefi. 'lis slinie 
On the fleet lin^bs thai, mockd <\t time ; 
And there, too, lay tiio leader's skjii!," 
Still wreathed with chaplet, flush'd ana i" dl, 
For heath-bell with her purple bioom, 

8m Appendis, Nove 2 D. 

MS. — " While the bles3'd creed gave only worsj.*" 

MS. — " He pray'd with many a cross between, 

And terror look devotion's mien." 
^w Aupenlis, Note 2 E. 

TV/>'* is something of pride in the perilous honr. 

Whale'er be the shape in which denlh may Iowe» 

F:r >"tnie is tin re to say who bleeds, 

A^t. J jpov's rye on daring deeds I 

Bat when all is past, it is humbling to tread 

O'er Uie weltering field of the tombless d^ad, 

And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the -'r. 

Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 

All regarding man as their prey, 

All rejoicing in his decay." — Byron — Siege t.f Cormth. 
' Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaMt 

la that a temple where a god may dwell ? 

Why, even the worm at last disdains her shattered oell 1 



Supplied the bonnet and the plimie.' 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sate, slirouded in her mantle's shade : 
— She said, no shepherd sought her side, 
No hunter's hand her snood imtied, 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hiiir 
The virgin snood ditf Alice wear ;' 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport, 
Her maideu girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night. 
Or holy church or blessed rite, 
But lock'd her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, unconfess'd. 

VI. 

Alone, among his yoting compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heai't-broken boy, 
Estranged from sympathy and joy, 
Bearing each taimt which careless tongue 
On his mysterious lineage flung. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight palo. 
To wood and stream liis hap to wail. 
Till, fi-antic, he as truth received' 
What of liis birth the crowd beUeved, 
And sought, in mist and meteor fire, 
To meet and know liis Phantom Sire I 
In vain, to soothe his wayward fate. 
The cloister oped her pitying gate; 
In vain, the learning of the age 
Unclasp'd the sable-letter'd page ; 
Even in its treasures he coiUd find 
E«6d for the fever of liis mind. 

,' '^ager he read whatever tells 
'Of magic, cabala, and spells. 
And every dark pursuit alUed 
■To curious and presumptuous pride ; 

'^Till' with fired brain and nerves o'er 

strung, 

And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 

Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, 

And hid him from the haunts of men. 

Look on its broken arch, its rain'd waU, 
Its chambers ijesolate, and portals foul ; 
Yet this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul ; 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyelesj hole, 
The gay recess of wisdom and of wit. 
And passion's host, that never brook'd control . 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit !" 

Cliilde HjrOia. 

7 " These reflections on an ancient field of battle afford till 
mo0t remarkable instance of false taste in all Mr. Scott'fl 
writings. Yel the brevity and variety of the images nerva 
well to show, that even in his errors there are trace* sf a 
powerful genius." — Je'FRET. 

8 See Appendix, Note 2 F. 

^ MS. — " Till, dnven to pnrensy, he betteved 
The legend of his birth received.'* 



iOi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ni. 



."■: 


And strange and mingled feelings woke, 


The desert gave liim visions wild, 


Wliile his anathema he spoke. 


Such as might suit the sjiectre's child.' 




Where with black clil's the ton-ents toil, 


IX. 


He watch'd the wheehug eddies boil, 


" Woe to the clansman, who shall view 


Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 


Tliis symbol of sepulclu-al yew. 


Beheld the River Demoif rise ; 


Forgetfid that its branches grew 


Tbc mountain mist took form and limb, 


Where weep the heavens their hoUest dew 


Of noontide hag, or gubhn grha; 


On Alpine's dwelling low I 


The midnight wind came wUd and dread, 


Deserter of liis Cliieftain's trust. 


Swell'd with the voices of the dead ; 


He ne'er shall uiingle with their dust. 


Far on the future battle-heath 


But, from his sues and kindred thrust. 


His eye beheld the ranks of death : 


Each clansman's e-xecration just' 


Thus the Inue Seer, from mankind hm-l'd, 


Shall doom liim wrath .and woe." 


Shaped forth a disembotlied world. 


He paused ; — the word the vassals took, 


One lingering sympathy of mind 


With forward step and fiery look. 


Still bnuntl him to the mortal kind ; 


On high then- naked brands they shook. 


The only parent he could claim 


Their clattermg t.argets wildly strook; 


Of ancient Alpine's hueage came. 


And first in murmm' low,* 


Late had he heai'd, in prophet's dream. 


Then, like the billow in his course. 


Tlie fatal Ben-Sliie's boding scream ■' 


That far to seaward finds liis source. 


Sounds, too, had come iu midnight blast, 


And flings to shore his muster'd force. 


Of ch.trging steed's careermg fivst 


Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse. 


Along Benharrow's sliingly side. 


" Woe to the traitor, woe !" 


Where mortal horseman ne'er might 


Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew. 


ride ;' 


The joyous wolf from covert drew. 


The thunderbolt had spht the pine, — 


The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 


All augnr'd ill to Alpine's Une. 


They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 


He girt his loins, and came to sliow 




The signals of impending woe, 


X. 


And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 


The shout was hush'd on hike and fell. 


As bade the Chieftaui of liis clan. 


Tlie monk resumed liis mutter'd spell : 




Dismal and low its accents came, 


VIII. 


The wliile he sfcatbed the Cross with flame ; 


'Twas all prepared ; — and from the rock. 


And the few words that reach'd the air. 


A goat, the patriarch of the ilock. 


Although the hoUest name was there,'' 


Before the kindling pile was laid. 


Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 


And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 


But when he shook above the crowd 


Patient the sickening victim eyed 


Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 


The life-blood ebb iu crimson tide. 


" Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 


Down liis clogg'd beard and shaggy limb. 


At this dread sign the ready spear I 


TUl dai'kness glazed his eyeballs dim. 


For, as the flames this symbol seat, 


The giisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 


Her home, the refuge of his fear. 


A slender crosslet form'd with care, 


A kindred fate shall know ; 


A cubit's length in measure dufi ; 


Far o'er its roof the volmued fliuuo 


The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 


Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaiu- 


Whoee parents in Inct O^dhach wave* 


While maids and matrons on his name 


Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, 


Shall call down wretchedness and shanj* 


And answering Lomond's breezes deep. 


And infamy and woe." 


Soothe many a cliieftain's endless sleep. 


Then rose the cry of females, shrUl 


The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high. 


As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill, 


With wasted hand and haggard eye. 


Denouncing misery and dl. 


» See Appendii, Nole 2 G. 


4 See Appendix, Note 2 K. 


> MS — " The fatal Ben-Hliie's dismal scream ; 


6 MS. — " Our warrii.rs on liis worthless bust 


Anti seen her wrinkled form, the eign 


Shall speak disgrace and woe.*' 


Of woe and death to Alpine's line." 


MS.—" Their clattering targets koriHy strook ; 


—See Appendix, Note 2 H. 


Ami tirst thai wufter'd low.*' 


• foe Arpendii, Note 3 1. 


'■ MS. — " Although the holy name was there." 



• 

CANTO III. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 20» 


Mingled with cliiUIhond's babbling trill 


Were aU unbroken and afloat. 


Of curses staniinerVl slow ; 


Dancing in foam anil ripple still 


Answering, with imprecation dread, 


Wlicn it had near'd the mainland hill ; 


** Sunk be lus home in embers red I 


And from the silver beach's side 


And cursed be the meanest shed 


StUl was the prow tlu-ee fathom wide, 


That e'er shall Iiide the houseless head, 


When Ughtly bounded to the land 


We doom to want and woe !" 


Tlie messenger of blood and brand. 


A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 




Coir-Uriskin, tliy goblin cave ! 


XIIL 


And the gray pass where birches wave. 


Speed, Malise, speed 1 the i\:j, deer's hide 


On 13eala-nam-bo. 


On fleeter foot was never tied. 




Speed, Mahse, speed ! such cause of haste 


XI. 


Thine active sinews never braced. 


• Then deeper paused the priest anew. 


Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 


And hard liis laboring breath he drew, 


Burst down like torrent from its crest , 


While, with set teeth .and clenched hand. 


With short and springing footstep pass 


And eyes that gUiw'd like fiery brand. 


The trembling bog and false morass ; 


He meditated curse more dread. 


Across the brook like roebuck bound. 


And deadher on the clansman's head. 


And thread the brake hke questing hound : 


Who, summon'd to liis Cliieftain's aid, 


The crag is liigh, the scaur is deep, 


The signal saw and disobey'd. 


Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: 


The crosslet's points of sparkling wood 


Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow, 


He quench'd among the bubbling blood. 


Yet by tlie fountain pause not now ; 


And, as again the sign he rear'd. 


Herald of battle, fate, and fear,* 


Hollow imd hoarse his voice was heard : 


Stretch onward in thy fleet career 1 


" When flits this Cross from man to man, 


The womided hind thou track'st not now. 


Vich- Alpine's summons to his clan. 


Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, 


Burst be the ear that fails to heed 1 


Nor pUest thou now thy fiymg pace. 


Palsied the foot that shuns to speed I 


With rivals in the mountain race ; 


May ravens tear the careless eyes. 


But, dimger, death, and wamor deed. 


Wolves mjjie the coward heart their prize 1 


Are in thy coiu-se — speed, Malise, speed 1 


As sinks that blood-stream in the earth. 




So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth 1 


XIV. 


As dies in hissing gore the spark. 


Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 


Quench thou his light, Destruction dark. 


In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 


And be the grace to him denied. 


From winding glen, from upland brown. 


Bought by this sign to all beside 1" 


They pour'd each hai'dy tenant down. 


He ceased ; no echo gave agen 


Nor slack'd the messenger his pace ; 


The murmur of the deep Amen.' 


He .show'd the sign, he named the place, 




And, pressing forw<fl-d like the wind, 


XII. 


Left clamor and surprise behind.' 


Then Roderick, with hnpatient look. 


Tlie fisherman forsook the strand, 


From Brian's hand the symbol took : 


The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 


" Speed, Mahse, speed !" he said, and gave 


With changed clieer, the mower blithe 


Tlie crosslet to his henchman brave. 


Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe ■ 


'• The muster-place be L:uirick mead^" 


The herds without a keeper stray'd. 


Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed 1" 


The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 


Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 


The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away. 


A barge across Loch Katrine flew; 


The hunter left the stag at bay 


High stood the henclim.an on the prow ; 


Prompt at the sign.al of alarmS; 


So rapidly the barge-men row. 


Each son of Alpine rush'd to aims. 


The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat, 


So swept the tumult and aflfr.iy 


< MS. — " The slowly muttered deep Amon." 


Thon Iracli'st not now the stricken doe, 


* MS. — " Murlagan is the spot decreed." 


Nor ma.'den coy through greenwood hough. 


• See App<'iidi\, Note 2 L. 


E. " The des-ription of the starting of the ' tiery cross' bean 


MS. — " Dre.id messenger of fate and fear, i 


more marlis of labor tlian most of Mr. Scott's poetry, and 


Heraldof danger, fate, and fear, ( 


bordeis, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration ; yet '4 


Slretuli onward in thy fleet career! 


shows great power." — Jeffrey. 



206 ~ SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 


Along the margin of Achray. 


The autumn winds rusliing 


Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 


Waft the leaves that are i^sr«i*t 


Thy banks should echo sounds of fear I 


But our flower was m flushing, 


The rocks, tlie bosky tliickets, sleep 


When blighting was nearest. 


So stilly on thy bosom deep. 




The lark's lilithe carol, from the cloud, 


Fleet foot on the coiTei,* 


Seen:- for the scene too gayly loud.^ 


Sage counsel in cumber, 




Red hand in the foray, 


XV. 


How sound is thy slumber ! 


bpeed, MdJiae, speed ! the lake is past, 


Like tlie dew on the mountain, 


Dunrraggan's huts appear at last, 


Like the foam on the river. 


And pepp, like moss-grown rocks, lialf seea 


Like the bubble on the fountain 


Hall' hidden in the copse so gi'een ; 


Thou art gone, and forever !* 


There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, 


» 


Their Lord shall speed the signal on. — 


XVIL 


As stoops tlie hawk upon his prey. 


See Stumah,' who, the bier beside, 


ITie henchman sliot liim down the way. 


His master's corpse with wonder eyed. 


— What woful accents load the gale I 


Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo 


The funeral yell, the female wail !'^ 


CoiUd send Uke lightning o'er the dew. 


A gallant hmiter's sport is o'er. 


Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 


A valiant warrior fights no more. 


As if some stranger step he hears. 


Who, ill the battle or the chase. 


'Tis not a mom-ner's muffled tread. 


At Roderick's side shall fill liis place 1 — 


Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 


Within the hall, where torches' ray 


But headlong haste, or deadly fear. 


Supplies the excluded beams of day. 


Urge the precipitate career. 


lies Duncan on his lowly bier, 


AU stand aghast : — unlieeding all, 


And o'er him streams liis widow's tear. 


The henchman bursts into the hall ; 


His striphng son stands mournful by, 


Before the dead man's bier he stood; 


His youngest weeps, but knows not why. 


Held forth the Cross besmear'd with blood ; 


The village maids and matrons round 


" The muster-place is Lam-ick mead ; 


The dismal coronach resound.' 


Speed forth the signal 1 clansmen, speed I" 


XVI. 


XVIII 


ffiotonacl). 


Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,' 


He is gone on the mountain. 


Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 


He is lost to the forest, 


In haste the stripling to his side 


Like a smnmer-dried fountain, 


His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 


When our need was the sorest. J 


_But when he saw his mother's eye 


The font, reappearing, 


i Watch liim in speechless agony, 


From the rain-drops shall borrow. 


Back to her open'd arms he flew. 


But to us comes no cheering. 


Press'd on her hps a fond adieu — 


To Duncan no morrow 1 


" Alas 1" she sobb'd, — " and yet, be gone, 


The hand of the reaper 


And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son 1" 


Takes the ears that are hoary, 


One look he cast upon the bier. 


But the voice of the weeper 


Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear. 


Wails manhood in glory. 


Breathed deep to clear liis laboring breast. 


I MS.- -'* Seems all too livtly and too loud.** 


imperceptible by the linrried eye of the reader ; but wlien tin 


* MS. — " 'Tis woman's scream, 'tis childhood's wail." 


sliort Iin?s are yoked in pairs, any dissonance in the jingle, Of 




interruption of the construction, cannot fail to give offence 


> See Appendix, Note i M 


We learn from Horace, that in the course of a long work, I 


Or corri. The hollow side of the liill, wjiere game usual- 


poet may legitimately indulge in a momentary slumber; bol 


l7 .es. 


we do not wish to hear him snore." — Quarterly Reviea. 


6 " Mr. Scott is such a master of versification, that the moat 


c Fnithfut. The name of a ilog. 


implicated metre does not, for an instant, arrest the progress 


' MS. — " Angus, the/r.st of Duncan's line 


of his imagination; its difficulties usually operate as a salu- 


Sprung forth and seized the (atal sign. 


tary excitement to his attention, and not onfreqoently suggest 


Jlnd then upon his kinsman's bier 


jO him new and unexpected graces oi expression. If a care- 


Fell MaJtse's suspended tear. 


less rhyme, or an ill-constructed phrase occasionally escape him 


In haste the stripling to his side 


»raidst the irreggJu torrent o( his stanza, the blemish is often 


ilia father's targe and falchion tied." 



BAKTO m. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. ' 20* 


And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest, 


Until the opposing bank he gain'd. 


Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, 


And up the chapel pathway strain'd 


First he essays liis tire and speed, 




He vimish'd, mid o'er moor and moss 


XX. 


Sped forwara with the Fiery Cross. 


A blithesome rout, that morning tide, 


Suspended A^as the widow's tear. 


Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. 


"ffhile yet \u\ footsteps slic could hear ; 


Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 


And when she mark'd the hendiman's eye 


To Norman, heir of Armandave. 


Wet with unwonted sympathy, 


Auii, issumg from the G-othic arch, 


" Kuisman," she said, " liis race is run. 


llic bridal now resumed theu- march. 


fliat sliould have sped thine errand on ; 


In rude, but glad procession, came 


The oak has faU'u, — the sapling bough 


Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 


Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 


And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, 


Yet trust I well, liis duty done. 


Which snooded maiden would not hear ; 


The orphan's God will guard my son, — 


And children, that, unwitting why. 


And you, in many a danger true. 


Lent the gay shout their shriUy cry ; 


At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, 


And minstrels, that iai measures vied 


To arms, and guard that orphan's head I 


• BeAire the young and bonny bride. 


Let babes and women wad the dead." 


Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 


Then weapon-clang, and martial call. 


The tear and blush of morning rose. 


Rcsoimded tlirough the funeral haU, 


With virgm step, and bashful hand. 


■Wliile from the walls the attendant band 


She held the 'kerchief's snowy band ; 


Snatch'd sword and targe, with hiu-ried hand ; 


The g.allant bridegroom by her side, 


And short and flitting energy 


Behold liis prize with victor's pride. 


Gliuiccd from the mourner's sunken eye, 


And the glad mother in her ear 


As if the sounds to warrior dear 


Was closely wliispering word of cheer. 


Might rouse her Dimcan from his bier. 




But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 


XXI. 


Grief claim'd his right, and tears their coirrse. 


Who meets them at the churchyard f^itr I 


* 


The messenger of fear and fate 1 


XIX. 


Haste in liis hurried accent lies, 


Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 


And grief is swimming in his eyes. 


It glanced like lightnmg up Strath-Ire." 


All dripping from the recent flood. 


O'er dale and liill the sunmions flew, 


Panting and travel-soil'd he stood. 


Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 


Tlie fatal sign of fire and sword 


The tear that gather'd m his eye 


Held forth, and spoke the appointed wora 


He left the momitair. breeze to dry ; 


" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 


Until, where Tcith's young waters roll. 


Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed I" 


Betwixt him and a wooded knoll," 

That graced the sable strath with green. 


'■ And must he change so soon the hand,* 


Just liiik'd to liis by holy band, 


Tlie chapel of St. Bride was seen. 


For the fell Cross of blood and brjmd ? 


Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 


And must the day, so bhthe that rose. 


But Angus pr.used not on the edge ; 


And promised rapture m the close, 


Tliougli the d.ark waves danced dizzily. 


Before its setting hour, divide 


Though reel'il his sympathetic eye. 


The bridegroom from the phglited bride S 


He dash'd amid the torrent's roar ; 


fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 


, His right h.and high the crosslet bore. 


Clan- Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust, 


His left the pole-axe gi-asp'd, to guide ^ 


Her summons dread, brook no delay ; 


And stay his footing m the tide. 


Stretch to the race — away 1 away ! 


Hi! stumbled twice — the foam splash'd high, 




M ith luiiu-ser swell the stream raced by ; 


xxn. 


And had he faU'n, — forever there, 


Yet slow he laid his pliiid aside. 


Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! ■ 


^nd, Imgering, eyed his lovely bride. 


But still, iis if in parting life. 


Until he saw the startmg teiir 


Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife. 


Speak woe he might not stop to cheer , 


I3ee Appendix, Note 2 N. 


Graced the dark strath wttli nnfriua gnun " 


MS. — " ,^»(' vliere a sttfp and wooiled knoll 


8 MS. — '• Ard must he tJien exchange the haod '* 



208 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO Ut 



Then, trusting not a second look, 
In haste he sped him up the brook, 
Nor backward glanced, till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. 
— Wliat in the racer's bosom stirr'd ! 
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd, 
And memory, with a torturmg train' 
Of all his morning visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, came 
The manly thirst for martial fame ; 
Tht stormy joy of mountaineers, 
Ere yet they rush upon the speara; 
And zeal for Clan and Cliieftain burning. 
And hope from well-fought field returning. 
With war's red lienors on liis crest, 
To chisp his Mary to his breast. 
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and 

brae, 
Like fii-e from flint he glanced away. 
While high resolve, and feehng strong. 
Burst into voluntary song. 

XXIII. 
.Song. 
The heath tliis night must be my bed, 
Tlio bracken" curtain for my head, 
My lullaby thewarder'a tread. 

Far, far, from love~and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stiUy laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid 1 

It wlU not waken me, Mary I 
I may not, dare not, faucy now^ 
Tlie grief tliat clouds thy lovely brow, 
I dare not tliink upon t!iy vow, 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know ; 
When bmsts Clan- Alpine on the foe. 
His heart must be Uke bended bow, 

His foot lilie arrow free, Mai'y. 

A time will come with feeling fraught. 
For, if I fall m battle fought, 
Tliy hapless lover's dymg thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.* 
And if return'd from conquer'd foes, 
How blithely wiU the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose, 

To my young bride and me, Mary 1 



I MB.—" And memory orovrrni me torturing train 
Of all liis morning visions vain ; 
But mingled with impatience came 
The manly love of martial fame." 

1 Bracken. — Fern. 

9 MS. — " 1 may not, dare not, image now." 
MS.— " A lime will come lor love and faith, 

ForshoDld thy bridegroom yield his breatli. 



XXIV. 
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,* 
Rushing, in conflagration strong. 
Thy deep ravines and deUs along, 
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, 
And reddening the dark lakes below; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so fttr. 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.' 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The suUen margin of Loch Voil, * 

Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source 
Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
Tlience southward turn'd its ranid road 
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broaa. 
Till rose m arms eacli man might claim 
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name. 
From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on liis brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each eequester'd glen, 
Muster'd its httle horde of men. 
That met as torrents from the height 
In liighland d.ales their streams unite, 
Still gatliering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 
Each train'd to arms since Ufe began. 
Owning no tie but to his cl<^n, 
No oath, but by liis cliieftaiu's hand. 
No law, but Roderick Dhu's conmiand.' 

XXV. 
That summer mom had Roderick Dhu 
Survey'd the skirts of Benvenue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath 
To view tlie frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce ; 
Still lay e.ach martial Grssme and Bruce, 
In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait, 
No banner waved on Cardross gate, 
On Ducliray's towers no beacon shone, 
Nor scared the herons from Loch Con ; 
AU seem'd at peace. — Now, wot ye why 
The Cliieftain, with such anxious eye, 
Ere to tlie muster he repair, 
Tins western'frontier scaim'd with care ? — 
In Beuvenue's most darksome cleft, 

'Twill cheer bini in the hour of death. 
The boasted right to thee, Mary." 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 O. 

6 " The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is b«ff«4 
on and obeyed, is represented with great spint and felicity."-* 
Jeffrey. 

' See Appendix, Nolo 2 P 



oANTO irx. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20S 



A fail, though cruel, pledge was left ; 
For Douglas, to his promise true, 
That morning from the isle withdrew, 
And in a deep scquestcrVl dell 
Had sought a low ami lonely ceU. 
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ;' 
A softer name the Saxons gave. 
And c.all'd the grot the Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 
It was a wild and strange retreat, , 
As e'er was trod by outlaw'.s feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest, 
Yawn'd like a ga.'^h on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had staid t'ldl many a rock, 
Hm-l'd by primev.al earthquake shock 
From Bonvenue's gray summit wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled. 
They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot. 
And form'd the rugged silvan grot.' 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade. 
At noontide there a twihght made. 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
■ Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
No murmm' waked the solemn still. 
Save tmkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
A sullen sound would upw:U'd break. 
With dasliing hollow voice, tha,t spoke 
The incess.ant war of wave and rock. 
Syspeuded cliffs, with hideous sway, 
Seem'd noddiiig o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In such the wild-cat leaves her young ; 
Tet Douglas and his daughter fair 
Sought for a space tneu' safety there. 
Gray Superstition's wliisper drejid 
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort, 
And satyrs' hold their silvan court, 
By moonhght tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 
Now eve, with western shadows long, 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 

' See Appendix, Note 2 a. 

' " After landing on tbe sltirta of Benvenue, we reach the 
eave (or more properly the cove) of the gohiins, hy a steep and 
narrow detile of :i few hundred yards in length. It is a deep 
circular ampltithoatre of at least 600 yards of extent in its 
upper diameter, gradually narrowing towards the base, hem- 
med in all round by steep and towering rocks, and rendered 
inj|>enetrable to the rays of the sun by a close covert of luxu- 
riant trees. On the ^outh and west it is bounded by the pre- 
cipitous shoulder of Benvenue, to the height of at least 500 
27 



When Roderick, with a chosen few, 

Repass'd the heights of Benvenue. 

Above the Goblin-cave they go, 

Through the wild-.p,iss of Beal-nam-bo r* 

The prompt retauiers speed before. 

To launch the shallop from the shore, 

For cross Loch Katrine lies his way 

To view the passes of A chi'ay. 

And place his clansmen in array. 

Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 

Unwonted sight, liis men beiiind. 

A single page, to bear his sword. 

Alone attended on his Icd'd ;' 

The rest then- way tlu-ough thickets break, 

A'nd soon await him by Ihe lake. 

It was a fair and gtill.ont sight. 

To view thein from the n lighboring height, 

By the low-levcU'd simbcams light ! 

For strength and statm'e, from the clan 

Each warrior was a chosen man. 

As even afar might well be seen. 

By their proud step a'nd martial mien. 

Tlieir feathers dance, their tartans float. 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 

A wild and warlike group they stand. 

That well became such mouutaiu-strand 

xxviii. ■ 

Their Cliief, with step reluctant, stil! 
Was hngering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turn'd apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was 'out with that dawning morn, 
That Roderick Dim had proudly sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild roar.* 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he wlio stems a stream with sand. 
And fetters flame with flaxen band. 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Cliief, hke restless ghost. 
Still hovering near his treasm-e lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to Itis eye. 
Still fondly strains his anxious eiy. 
The accents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling treea 
But hark 1 what mingles in the strain * 

feet ; towards the east, the rock appeal^ at some former per<Dd 
to have tumbled down, strewing the whole course of its fall 
with immense fragments, which now serve only to give shelter 
to foxes, wild-cats, and badgel-s." — Dr. GEl.\nAM. 

3 The Uriah, or Plighland satjT. See Note on the prevfou 
Canto. 

See Appendix. Ncte 2 R. - Ibid. Note S 8 

6 MS. — *'To drown his ^ritf in war's wilrl roar. 
Nor think of hoc and EUen mow* " 



21C 



SCOTT'S POEnCAL WORKS. 



CaiSTO IV 



It is the harp of Allan-Bane, 

That wakes its measure slow and high, 

Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 

Wliat melting voice attends the strmgs ? 

'Tis Ellen, or an angel sings. 

XXIX. 
ffismn to tSe Vfrafit. 
Ave Maria ! maiden mUd I 

Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
Thou canst hear though from the ^rild, 

Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 

Though banish'd, outcast, and reviled — 
Maiden 1 hear a maiden's prayer ; 
Mother, hear a .suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria I 

Ave Maria ! undefiled ! 

The flinty couch we now must share* 
Shall seem with down of eider piled. 

If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air^ 

Shall breathe of b.ilm if thou hast smiled ; 
Then, Maiden ! heiu- a maiden's prayer ; 

Mother, hst a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria ! 

ive Maria ! stainless styled 1 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 
From tills their wonted haunt exiled. 
Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to om- lot of care, 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 
And for a father hear a child ! 

A ve Maria I 

XXX. 

Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As list'ning still. Clan- Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword. 
Until the page, with humble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then while his plaid he i ound him cast, 
"IL is tht last time — 'tis the last," 
He mutter'd thrice, — " the last time e'er 
Thiit angel voice shall Roderick hear!" 
It was a goadmg thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain-side 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
Aud instant 'cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in tliat silvery bay, 

' MS. — " The flinty conch my sire most share,* 
' MS.- '* TIiB n Qrky ^•otto's nojiotu air." 



And eastward held then- hasty way, 
Till, with the latest beams of hght, 
The band arrived on Lanrick height. 
Where muster'd, in the vale below.' 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial shr w, 

XXXL 

A various scene the clansmen made, 

Some sate, some stood, some slowly str'y'd • 

But most with mantles folded round. 

Were couch'd to rest upon the ground, 

Scarce to be known by curious eye, 

FVom the deep heather where they lie. 

So well was match'd the tartan screen 

With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 

Unless where, here and there, a blade, 

Or lance's point, a glimmer made, 

Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade 

But when, advancmg through the gloom, 

Tliey saw the Chieftam's eagle plume, 

Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide. 

Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 

Thrice it arose, and lake and feU 

Three times return'd the martial yell ; 

It died upon Bochastle's plain. 

And Silence claim'd her evening reign. 



^e S.a'b^ of tl)e £al«. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



STSe ^copjiets. 

I. 

" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears 
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew. 
And love is loveliest when emb.ihn'd in tears. 
wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, 
Emblem of hope and lore through future years 1'^ 
Tims spoke young Norman, heir of Aa-m.-mdare, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad 
wave. 

n. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 
AU while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray, 
His axe and bow beside liim lay, 

3 MS, — *' Where broad extending far below 

MuE.terM Clan-Alpine's martial s'low,' 
* MS. — " An<i raiiture df arest when obscnred bv feaji.'* 



eASTO rv. 



THE LADY OF THJE LAKE. 



211 



For on a pass 't-vnirt lake and wood, 


Our sires foresaw the events of war.' 


A -nakeful sentinel he stood. 


Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 


Hark ! on the rock a footstep rung, 




And iastiint to his arms he sprung. 


MALISE. 


" Stand, or thou diest ! — Wliat, Malis3 ? — soon 


" All ! well the gallant brute I knew ! 


Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 


The choicest of the prey we had. 


By thy keen step and glance I know. 


■When swept our merry-men Gallangad.' 


Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." 


His liide was snow, liis horns were dark, 


(^For while the Fiery Cross liied on, 


His red eye glow'd like fiery spark ; 


On distant scout had ilalise gone.) 


So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 


■ Where sleeps the Chiel i'' the henchman 


Sore did he cmnber our retreat, 


said. — 


And kept our stoutest kernes in awe, 


" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 


Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 


To Ids lone couch I'll be your guide." — 


But steep and flinty was the road. 


Then call'd a slmnberer by liis side. 


And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad, 


And stu'r'd liim with his slackened bow — 


And when we came to Denuau's Row, 


" Up, up, Glentarkui ! rOuse thee, ho I 


A child might scatheless stroke his brow."— 


We seek the Cliieftain ; on the track, 




Keep eagle watch till I come back." 


V. 




NORMAN. * 


in. 


*' That bull was slain ; his reeking hide 


Together up the pass they sped : 


They stretch'd the cataract beside. 


" What of the foeman ?" Norman said. — 


Whose waters then- wild tumult to.sa 


•' Varying reports from near and far ; 


Adown the black and craggy boss 


This certain, — that a band of war 


Of that huge chS', whose ample verge 


Has for two days been ready boune. 


Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.' 


At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 


Couch'd on a slielve beneath its brink. 


King Jaii.es, the wlule, with princely powers. 


Close where the thundering torrents sink. 


Holds revelry in Stii-ling towers. 


Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 


Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 


And ilrizzled by the ceaseless spray. 


Speak on our glens in thmider loud. 


Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream. 


lniu"ed to bide such bitter bout. 


The wizard waits prophetic dream. 


Tlie warrior's plaid may beai* it out ; 


Nor distant re.st3 the Chief; — but hush! 


But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 


See, gliding slow tlirough mist and bush, 


A shelter for thy bonny bride ?" 


The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 


" 'What 1 know ye not that Roderick's care 


To gaze upon om- slumbering bands. 


To the lone isle hath c:aused repair 


Seems he not, Mdisc, like a ghost. 


Each ULaid and matron of the clan. 


That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host ? 


And every child and aged man 


Or raven on the blasted oak. 


Unfit for arms ; and given his charge, 


That, watching wliile the deer is broke,* 


Nor skilf nor shallop, boat nor barge. 


His morsel claims with sullen croak ?" 


Upon these lakes shall float at large. 




But all beside the islet moor. 


MAUSE. 


That such deiu- pledge may rest secure ?" — 


— " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me. 




Tliy words were evil augury; 


IV. 


But .still I hold Su- Roderick's blade 


' 'Tia well advised — the Cliieftain's plan' 


Clan- Alpine's omen and her aid, 


Bespeaks the father of his clan. 


Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hol^ 


But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 


Yon ficud-begotten monk can tell. 


Apart from all his followers true ?" 


Tlie Chieftain joins him, see — and now. 


*' It is, because last evening-tide 


Together they descend the brow." 


Brian an augury hath tried. 




Of that dread kind which must not be 


VI.' 


Unless m dread extremity, 


And, as they came, with Alpme's Lord 


The Taghairm call'd ; by which, afar. 


The Hermit Monk held solemn word : — 


MS. — " 'Tis well advrsed — a pmdcDt plan. 


' See Appendix, Note 2T. ' Ibid. Note 2 IJ. 


^ Worlliy the father of his clan." 


< Ibii. Note 2 V. ' tbid. Note 2 \V. 



212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IT 



" Roderick ! it ia a fearful strife, 
For man emlo-n-'i:! -with mortal life, 
Who«e shrnu i of sentient clay can still 
Feel feTerisli pang ami fainting chill, 
WTiose eye can stare in stony trance, 
MTiose liaii- can rouse like waiTior's lance, — 
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd, 
The curtain of flie future world. 
Yet, witness every quaking limb. 
Sly sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim. 
My soul witli h.arrowiiig anguish torn, — 
This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — 
Tlie sh.ape3 that sought my fearful couch. 
An human tongue may ne'er avouch ; 
No mortal man. — save lie, who, bred 
Between the living and the dead. 
Is gifted beyond nature's law, — • 
Had e'er sm^vived to say he saw. 
At length the fatal answer came. 
In chaiacters of living flame ! 
Not* spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll. 
But borne and branded on my soul ; — 
Which spills tue foeemost foeman's life,' 
That p^vrty conquers in the strife 1" — ^ 

VIL 

" Tlianks, Brian, for thy zeal and care I 
Good is tliine augury, and fair. 
Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood, 
But firs) our broadswords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Self-offer'd to the auspicious blow : 
A spy has sought my land this morn, — 
--No eve shall witness his return ! . 
My followers guard each pass's mouth. 
To east, to westward, and to south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his g\iide.' 
Has charge to lead liis steps aside, 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown. 
He liglit on those shall bring him down.' 
— But see, who comes liis news to show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ?" — 

VIII. 
" At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 
Two Barons proud their banners wave. 
[ saw the Moray's silver star, 
And mavk'd the sable pale of Mar." — 

1 MS. — '* Which foremost spiila a foeman's life.'* 

> See Appendix, Note 2 X. 

' MS.--" The clansman, vainly deem'tl his guide." 

• MS. — " He light on those shall stab him down." 

.,„ , ,.r, .1 ,, t ' This sun ) 

MS. — " ' When move they on 1' ? „ , J at noon 
( ' To-day S 

'Tis said will see tliem march from Donne.' 

. n, , { makes i . , .; 

* To-morrow tlien ] } meetmi? stem. 

/ sees ) 

• Fni bfittlc boune — ready for battle 



" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on ?" — " To morrow's noon^ 

Will see them here for battle boune." — ' 

" Then shall it see a meeting stern !— 

But, for the place — say, coiddst thou learn 

Naught of tlie 11-iondly clans of Earn ? 

Strengthen'd by them, we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not ? — Well ! Clan- Alpine's mej 

Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen ; 

Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'U fight, 

AH in our maids' and matrons' sight. 

Each for liis hearth and household fire, 

Father for cliild, and son for sire — 

Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear ! 

A messenger of doubt or fear ? 

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 

Untax Betiledi from his stance. 

Than doubt or terror can pierce through 

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu 1 

'Tis stubborn as his tru.sty targe. — '' 

Each to his post ! — all know their charge." 

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 

The broadswords gleam, tlie banners dance 

Obedient to tlie Chieftam's glance. 

— I turn me from the martial roar, 

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 

IX. 

Where is tlie Douglas ?— he is gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
Wliile vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are pour'd on her unlieeding ear. — 
" He will return — Dear lady, trust! — 
'W^ith joy return ; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afai", 
Some refuge from impending war. 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the appro.acliing storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a hght, 
Floating the live-long yesternight, 
Sliifting like flashes dai'ted forth' 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I mark'd at morn how close they ride, 

' MS. — " 'Tis stubborn as liis Hin-k/nnd targe." 

s MS.—" Thick as tlie (lashes darted forth 

By morrice-dancers of tiie north ; 

A I . .1 - S barges ride. 

And saw at mom their < ,. ," 

( little fleet, 

- Close moor'd by the lone islet's side 

Since this rude race dare not abide 

Upon their native mountain side, 

'Tis fit tliat Douglas should provide 

For his dear child some safe abode. 

And soon be comes to point the road.' 



CJLSTO IV. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 21i 


Thick moorVl by the lone islet's side, 


Tliink of the stranger at the isle. 


hike wikl-tlue'ks couching m the t*en. 


And tliink upon the harpings slow, 


WLeii stoops the hawk vipon the gleri. 


That presaged tliis approacliing woe , 


Siuec this rude race (hue not abide 


Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 


The peril on the ni;iinlaml side, 


Believe it when it augurs cheer. 


Shall not thy uoble father's care 


Would we had left this dismal spot ' 


Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?" — 


HI luck still haunts a fairy gr' t. 




Of such a wondrous tale I knc r — 


X. 


Dear lady, change that look of woe. 


ELLE.V. 


My hai-p was wont thy grief to cheer." — 


" No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind' 




My wakeful terrors could not blind. 


ELLEN. 


When in such tender tone, yet grave. 


" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear. 


Douglas a parting blessing gave. 


But cannot stop the burstmg tear." 


The tear that glisten'd'in liis eye 


The Minstrel tried liis simple art. 


Drown d not Ins purpose tix'd on high. 


But distant fai- was Ellen's heart 


My soul, though feminine anil weidi. 




Can image his ; e'en as the lake, 


XII. 


Itself distui-b'd by sliglitest stroke,' 


aSallaU." 


Reflects the invulnerable rock. 


He hears report t)f battle rife. 


ALICE BRAND. 


He deems himself the cause of strife. 


Merry it is in the good greenwood. 


1 saw him redden, when the theme 


When the mavis' and merle* are singing, 


Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream 


■When the deer sweeps by, aud the hounds ara 


Of Malcolm Grseme, in fetters bound. 


in cry, 


Which I, thou siiidst, about him wound. 


And the hunter's horn is ringing. 


Think'st thou he trow'd tliine omen aught J 




Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 


" Alice Brand, my native land 


For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 


Is lost for love of you ; 


(Let me be just) th.at friend so true ; 


And we must hold by wood and wold. 


In danger botli, and in our cause ! 


As outlaws wont to do. 


Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 




Why else that solemn warning given, 


" Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright 


' If not on eiirth, we meet in heaven !' 


And 'twas all for tliine eyes so blue, 


Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's f;me, 


That on the night of our luckless flight, 


If eve return him not again. 


Thy brother bold I slew. 


Am I to hie, and make me known ? 


, 


Al-as ! he goes to Scotland's throne, 


" Now must I teach to hew the beech 


Buys liis friend's safety "with Iiis own ; — 


The hand that held the glaive. 


He goes to do — what I had done. 


For leaves to spread om" lowly bed. 


Had Douglas' daughter been his son !' — 


And stakes to fence our cave. 


.XI. 


" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 


" Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay 1 


Tliat wont on harp to stray. 


If aught should his return delay. 


A cloak must sheer from the slaughter'd 


He only iKixned yon holy fane 


deer. 


As fittmg pl.ice to meet again. 


To keep the cold away." — 


Be sure he's safe ; and for the Gramme, — 




Heaven's blessing on his gallant name 1 — 


" O Richard 1 if my brother died. 


My vision'd sight may yet prove true. 


'Twas but a fatal chance ; 


Nor bode of ill to him or you. 


For darkhng was the battle tried. 


When did my gifted draBm beguile ? 


And fortune sped the lance." 


MS -" No. Allan, aa ! His words so kind 


a See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 


Were bat pretexts my feare to blind. 


< Thmah. ■' Blackbiid. 


Wiien in such solemn lone, and grave. 




Dooglls a parting blessing gave." 


c MS. — " 'Twas bat a midnigbt chance ; 


US ^isnU distnrb'd by slightest sbock. 


For blindfold was the battle plied. 


keflects the adamantine rock." 


And fofnne held Ihe lanco." 







214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IT 



" If pall and vair no more I wear, 


" And if there's blood upon his hand. 


Kor thou the crimson sheen, 


'Tis but the blood of deer." — 


As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray, 




As gay the forest-greea 


" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood t 




It cleaves unto his hand. 


" And, Kiehard, if om- lot be hard. 


The stain of thine own kindly blood. 


And lost thy native land, 


The blood of Ethert Brand." 


Still AUce has her own Richard, 




And he liis Alice Brand." 


Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 




And made the holy sign, — 


XIII. 


" And if there's blood on Richard's bond. 


Ballal) contfnueti. 


A spotless h^nd is mine. 


'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 




So blithe T.ady Alice is singing ; 


" And I conjure thee, Demon el^ 


On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 


By Him whom Demons fear. 


Lord Richard's axe is rmging. 


To show us whence thou art thyselii 




And what thine errand here !" — 


tip spoke the moody Elfin King, 




Wlio won'd within the hill, — ' 


XV. 


Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church. 


JSallat) contfnue'O. 


His voice was ghostly shrill. 


" 'Tis merry, 'tis meriy, in Fairy-land, 




When fairy birds are singing. 


" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 


When the court doth ride by their monarch'! 


Our moonlight circle's screen!" 


side, 


Or who comes here to chase the deer. 


With bit and bridle ringing : 


Beloved of our Ellin Queen ?' 


> 


Or who may dare on wold to wear 


" And gayly shines the Fairy-land, — 


The fairies fatal green ?' 


But all is glistening show,' 




Like the idle gleam that December's beam 


" Up, TJrgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 


Can dart on ice and snow. 


For thou wert christen'd man ;' 




For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 


" And fading, like that varied gleam. 


For mutter'd word or ban. 


Is our inconstant shape. 




Who now like knight and lady seem. 


" Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 


And now like dwarf and ape. 


The curse of tlie sleepless eye ; 




TiU he wish and pray that his life would part, 


" It was between the night and day, 


Nor yet find leave to die." 


Wlien the Fairy King has power. 




That I sunk down in a sinful fi-ay. 


XIV. 


And, 'twixt hfe and death, was snatch'd away 


JSitUati continueti. 


To the joyless Elfin bower.' 


'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 




Though the birds hare still'd their singing ; 


" But wist I of a woman bold, 


rhe"evening blaze doth AMce raise, 


Who thrice my brow durst sign. 


And Richard is fagots bringing. 


I might regain my mortal mold. 




As fair a form as thine." 


¥p Urgan starts, thiit liideous dwarf, 




Before Lord Richard stands, 


She cross'd him once — she crosa'd him twic&- 


And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself. 


That lady was so brave ; 


** I fear not sign,'' quoth the grisly elf, 


The fouler grew his goblin hue. 


" That is made with bloody hands." 


The darker grew the cave. 


But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 


She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ; 


That woman, void of fear, — 


He rose beneath her hand 


> Bee Appendix, Note 2 Z. 


» See Appendix, Note 3 A. * Ibid. Note i B. 


^ MS. — " Our fairy ringleCs screen." 


5 Ibid. Note 3 C « Ibid Note 3 D ■ Ibid Note 3 & 



CANTO IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAICE. 



21b 



The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 


Too much, before, my selfish ear 


Her brother, Ethert Brand 1 


Was idly soothed my praise to hear.* 




That fatal bait hath lured thee back. 


Merry it is in good greenwood. 


In deathful hour, o'er danger'^'is track 


When the mavis and merle are singing. 


And how, how, can I atone 


but merrier were they in Dunfermline gray. 


The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 


When all the beUa were ringing. 


One way remains — I'll teU lum all — 




Yes, struggUng bosom, forth it shall 1 


XVI. 

Juat as the minstrel sounds were staid. 


Thou, whose light folly bears the blame. 


Buy thine own pardon with thy shame t 


A stranger climb'd the steepy glade 


But first — my father is a man 


His martial step, liis stately mien. 


Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban ; 


His hunting suit of Lincoln-green, 


The price of blood is on his head. 


His eagle ghmce, remembrance claims — 


With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 


'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. 


Stm wouldst thou speak ? — then hear the truth 


EUen beheld as in a dream. 


Fitz-James, there is a noble youth, — 


Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream : 


If yet he is ! — exposed for me 


" stranger ! in such hour of fear. 


And mine to dread extremity — 


What evil liap has brought thee here ?" — 


Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 


" An evil hap Iiow can it be. 


Forgive, be generous, and depart !" 


That bids me look again on thee ? 




By promise bound, my former guide 


• XVIIL , 


Met me betimes tliis morning tide. 


Fitz-James knew every wily train 


And marshaU'd, over bank and bourne. 


A lady's fickle heart to gain ; 


The happy path of my return." — 


But here he knew and felt them vain. 


" The happy path ! — what 1 said he naught 


There shot no glance from Ellen's eye. 


Of war, of battle to be fought, 


To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 


Of guai'ded pass '.'' — " No, by my faith I 


In maiden confidence she stood, 


Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." — 


Though mantled m her cheek the blood, 


" haste thee, Allan, to the kern. 


And told her love with such a sigh 


— Yonder liis tai-tans I discern ; 


Of deep and hopeless agony, 


Learn thou liis purpose, and conjure 


As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom. 


Tliat he will guide the stranger sure 1 — 


And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 


What prompted thee, imhappy man i 


Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye. 


The meimest serf m Roderick's clan 


But not with hope fled sympathy. 


Had not been bribed by love or fear. 


He proffer'd to attend her side. 


Unknown to Iiim to guide thee here." — 


As brother would a sister guide. — 




" ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart I 


XVIL 


Safer for both we go apart. 


" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be. 


haste thee, and from Allan learn, 


Since it is worthy care from thee ; 


If thou mayst trust yon wily kern " 


Yet lUe I hold but idle breath. 


With hand upon his forehead laid. 


When love or honor's weigh'd with death. 


The conflict of his mmd to shade. 


Tlion let me profit by my chance. 


A parting step or two he made : 


And speak my purpose bold at once. 


Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain, 


I come to bear thee from a wild. 


He paused, and tum'd, and rame again. 


Where ne'er before such blossom smiled ; 




By this soft h.-md to lead thee far 


XIX. 


Fi'^i frantic scenes of feud and war. 


" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 


Near Bocliastle my horses wait ;' 


It chanced in fight that my poor sword 


They bear us soon to Stu-Ung gate. 


Preserved the fife of Scotland's lord. 


ril place thee in a lovely bower. 


This ring thfi grateful Monarch gave,' 


I'll guard thee like a tender flower" 


And bade, when I had boon to crave. 


" hush. Sir Knight, 'twere female art, 


To bring it back, and boldly claim 


To say I do not read thy heart ; 


The recompensi! that I would name. 


MB. — ** By Cambusmore my lioi^es wait." 


' MS. — •■ T(us ricg of gold the monarch can ' 


1 MS - Was 1(1/ V fond thy praise to hear. ' ' 





S16 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO r? 



Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 

But one who lives by lance and sword, 

Whose castle is his helm and sliield. 

His lordship the embattled iield. 

What from a prince can I demand, 

Who neither reck of state nor land ? 

Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ;' 

Each guard and usher knows the sign. 

Seek thou the king without delay ;'' 

This signet shall secure thy way ; 

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be. 

As ransom of his pledge to me." 

He placed the golden cii'clet on. 

Paused — kiss'd her hand — and then was gone. 

The aged Minstrel stood aghast. 

So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 

He join'd his guide, and wending down 

The ridges of the mountain brown, 

Across the stream they took their way. 

That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 

XX. ' 

All in the Trosach's glen was still. 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill ; 
Sudden liis guide whoop'd loud and high — 
" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry i" — 
He stammer'd forth — " I shout to scare^ 
Ton raven &-om his dainty fare." 
He look'd — he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave steed :■ — " Ah ! gallant gray I 
For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell. — 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die !" 
Jealous and suUen on they fared, 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge. 
When ki ! a wasted female form, 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
In tatter'd weeds and wild array,' 
Stood on a cliff beside the way, 
And glancing round her restless eye, 
Upon the wood, the rock, the -sky, 
Seem'd naught to mark, yet all to sj>y. 
Her brow w.i.s wreath'd with gaudy broom ; 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, wliich the eagles fling 

MS, — " Permit this hand — the ring is tliiiie." 
MS. — " • Seeit thou the King, and on thy knee 

Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be, 

As ransom of liis pledge to me ; 

My name and this sh.!!! malte tliy way.' 

He put the little signet on." 
M8 — " He stammer' (I Ibrlll confused reply • 
' Saxon, / 



' dir Knight, ^ 



1 shouted but 10 scare 



To crag and cliff from dusky wing ; 
Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 
Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she fu-st descried, 
An d shriek'd till all the rocks repUed ; 
As loud she laugh'd when near they drew. 
For then the Lowhmd garb she knew ; 
And then her hands she wUdly wrimg. 
And then she wept, and then<she simg — 
She sung ! — the voice, in better time. 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
And now, though straui'd and roughen'd, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 

XXII. 

So HQ. 
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

They say my brain is warp'd and wrung— 
I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 

I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 
But were I now where Allan^ gUdes, 
Or heard my native Devan's tides, 
So sweetly would I rest and pray 
That Heaven would close my wuitry day 1 

'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid. 
They made me to the chm'ch repair ; 

It was my bridal morn they said. 

And my true love would meet me there. 

But woe betide the cruel guile 

That drown'd in blood the morning smile ! 

And woe betide the fairy dream ! 

I only waked to sob and scream. 

XXIII. 
" Who is this m.aid ? what means her lay I 
She hovers o'er the hollow way, 
And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
As the lone heron spreads liis wing. 
By twUight, o'er a hatmted spring." — 
" 'Tis Blanche of Devan," Miu'doch said, 
" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,' 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 
When Roderick foray'd Devan-.side. 
The gay bridegroom resistance made. 
And felt our Chief's uuconquer'd blade. 
I marvel she is now at large. 
But ofi she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge — 
Hence, brain-sick fooll" — He raised his bow: — 
" Now, if thou strtk'st her but one blow. 

Yon raven from liis dainty fare.' " 
* MS. — •' Wrapp'd in a tatter'd mantle gray." 
s Tlie JiUan and Devan are two beautiful streams, the 
latter celebrated in the poetry of Burns, which descend 
from the hills of Perthshire into tjie great carse or plain of 
Stirling. 



«MS.- 



' A Saxon born, a crazy maid — 
'Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said. * 



CANTO IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



217 



ril pitch thee from the cliif as far 


He came stately down the glen, 


As ever pe,is.ant pitch'd a b.ir !" 


Ever sing hardily, hardily. 


" Thaaks, champion, thanks !" the Maniac cried, 




And ])ress'd her to Fitz-James's side. 


" It was there he met with a wounded doe, 


** See the gray pennons I prepare,* 


She was bleeding deathfully ; 


To seek my true-love through the air ? 


She warn'd him of the toils below, 


I will not lend th.-it savage groom,' 


0, so faithfuUy, faithfully ! 


To break liis fall, one downy plume I 




No ! — deep amid disjointed stones, 


" He had an eye, and he could heed. 


The wolves shall batten on liis bones. 


Evei- sing warily, warily ; 


And then sh.iU his detested plaid. 


He had a foot, and he could speed — 


Bv busli and brier in mid air staid, 


Htmters watch so narrowly."* 


Wave forth a banner fair and free, 




Meet sign;d for their revelry." — 


XXVL 




Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss' d, 


xxrv. 


When EUen's hints and fears were lost • 


Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still !" — 


But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, 


" ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. — 


And Blanche's song conviction brought — 


Mine eve has dried and wasted been. 


Not like a stag that spies the snare. 


But still it loves the Lincohi-gi-een ; 


But lion of the hmit awai-e, 


And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 


He waved at once his blade on high. 


Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 


" Disclose thy treachery, or die l" 




Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,' 


For my sweet William was forester true,' 


But in his race his bow he di'ew. 


He stole poor Bhuiche's heart away 1 


The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 


His coat it wa.s all of the gi-eenwood hue, 


And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast. • 


And so bUthely he trill'd the Lowland lay ! 


Mm-doch of Alpine 1 prove thy speed, 




For ne'er had Alpine's son such need 1 


• It was not that I meant to tell . . . 


With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 


But thou ai-t wise and guessest well." 


The fierce avenger is beliind ! 


Tlien, in a low and broken tone, 


Fate judges of the rapid strife — 


And hurried note, the song went on. 


The forfeit death — the prize is Ufe I 


Still on the Clansman, fearfully, 


Thy kindred ambush hes before. 


She fix'd her apprehensive eye ; 


Close couch'd upon the heathery moor : 


Then turu'd it on the Knight, and then 


Them couldst thou reach ! — it may not 


Her look glanced wildly o'er the glea 


be—' 




Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see, 


XXV. 


The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! 


"The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set. 


— Resistless speeds the deadly tlnust. 


Ever sing merrUy, merrily ; , 


As lightning strikes the pine to dust ; 


Vh ) bows they bend, and the knives they whet. 


With foot and hand Fitz-James must 


Hunters live so cheerily. 


strain. 




Ere he can win his blade agaia 


' It was a stag, a stag of ten,' 


Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye,' 


Bearmg its branches sturdily ; 


He grimly smUed to see iiim die ; , 


MS " With thee these pennons witt I share. 


was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indeed bad 4 


Then seek my '.rue love through the air.* 


prescriptive right to be musical, since the days of Opb«li) 


• M^.— '■ But I'll not lend tliat savage groom. 


downwards ; but it is rather a rash extension of this privile^ 


To break h;3 fall, one downy plume 1 


to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible people M 


Deep, dct^. 'mid yon disjointed stones. 


guided by them."— Jeffrey. 


The woll'sball hatten on his bones." 


<> MS. — " Forth at full speed the Clansman went; 


M8.--"Svveet Wilhara was a woodman true. 


But in his race his bow he bent, 


He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 


Halted — and back an arrow sent " 


His coat was of the forest hue, 


' MS. " It may not he- 


.\nd sweet he sung the Lo;vland lay." 


The fiery Sa.\on gains on llice. 


* Rav ig ten branches on his antlers. 


Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see I 


'" K«. machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting 


Resistless as the lightning's flame, 


^e delif .racce of a distressed hero, than the introduction of a 


The throBt betwixt his shoulder came." 


Jiad *»« lan, who, without knowing or earing about the wan- 


" M.S. — "'Then o'er him hung, with I'atcon eye, 


ttier « 4ni£ him by a soitff, to take care of the ambush that 


And grimly smiled to see Ilia dit» " 



ri8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OASTO r» 



Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the pocn maiden bleeding lay. 

xxvn. y- 

She sate beneath the birchen-tree, ' 
Her elbow resting on her knee ; 
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft. 
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd ; 
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 
Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 
The Knight to stanch the hfestream tried, — 
" Stranger, it is in vain !" she cried. 
" This hour of death has given me more 
Of reason's power than vears before ; 
For, as tliese ebbing vuins decay, 
My phrensied visions fade away. 
A helpless injured wretch I die,' 
And something teUs me in thine eye^ 
That thou wert mine avenger born. — 
Seest thou tliis tress ? — ! still I've woi'n 
This little tresa of yellow hair, 
Through danger, phrensy, and despair I 
It once was bright and clear a« tliine, 
But blood and tears have dinun'd its shine. 
I will not tell thee when 'twas shred. 
Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 
My brain would tm'U ! — but it shall wave^ 
Like plum.ige on thy hehnet brave, 
Till sun and wind aliall bleach the stain. 
And thou wilt bring it me .igain. — 
I waver still. — God ! more bright 
Let reason be.om lier parting light ! — l^ 
! by thy knighthood's honor'd sign, 
And for thy life preserved by mine. 
When thou sbalt see a darksome man, 
Wlio boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, 
With tartan's broad and shadowy plume. 
And liand of blood, .and brow of gloom. 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
And wre.ak poor Blanche of Deviui's wrong I 
They watch for tliee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the piivh . . O God I . . . fareweU." 

XXVIIL 

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-Jamea ; 
Fast pom-'d his eyes at pity's claims 
And now with mingled grief and ire, 
?le Siiw the nmrder'd maid expire. 
" Gud, in my need, be my relief,' 
As I wreak tliis on yonder Chief!" 
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
He blended with lier bridegroom's hair ; 
The mingled braid in blood he dyed. 
And placed it on his bonnet-side : 

• MS. — '■ A guiltless injured wretch I die." 

■ MS. — ' Bui now my champion, — it shall wave." 

' MS — " God, in my need, to me be true, 



"By Him whose word is truth; I ewcar, 

No other favor will I wear. 

Till this sad token I imbrue ,^ 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu I ^ • 

— But hark I what means yon faint hallo I 

The chase is up, — but they shall know. 

The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe." 

Barr'd from the known but guai'ded way 

Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James mu^, »«-»j 

And oft must change his desperate track, 

By stream and precipice turn'd back. 

Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 

From lack of food and loas of strength, 

He couch'd him in a thicket hoar. 

And thought his toUs and perils o'er : — 

" Of all my rash adventures pa.st, 

This frantic freak must prove the last ! 

Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd. 

That all thia Highland hornet's nest 

Woijd muster up in swarms so soon 

As e'er they heard of bands at Doime ? — 

Like bloodlioiuids now they search me out,— 

Hark, to the whistle and the shout 1 — 

If farther through the wilda I go, 

I only fall upon the foe : 

m couch me here till evening gray. 

Then darkling try my dangerous way." 

XXIX. 

The shades of eve come slowly down, 

The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, 

Tlie owl awakens from her deU, 

The fox is beard upon the fell ; 

Enough remains of glimmering light 

To guide the wanderer's atepa aright. 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figm-e to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and car awake. 

He climba the crag and threads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice, there, 

Temper'd the midnight mountain air, 

But every breeze, that swept the wold, 

Benmnb'd Ids drenched hmbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famish'd and cliill'd, through ways rmknowQ 

Tangled and steep, he journey 'd on ; 

TUl, as a rock's huge point he tiu-n'd, 

A watch-fire close before liim bm'n'd. 



/>/ 



XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear,* 
Baak'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 
And up he sprimg with sword m hand, — 
" Thy name and piurpoae ! Saxon, stand I"— 

^ Aj ( wreak this on Rodenck Dhu " 

< MS. — " By the decaying flame was laid 
A warrior in his Highland plaid.* 



CANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



21B 



" A stranger." — " Wliat dost tliou require ?" — 


Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 


" Rest and a guide, aud food and fire. 


As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 


My life's beset, my path is lost, 


From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 


The gale has chiU'd my limbs with frost." — 


" I take thy courtesy, by heaven. 


' Art thou a friend to Roderick ?" — " No." — 


As freely as 'tis nobly given 1" — 


" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?" — 


" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's <'ry 


" I dare ! to hini and all the band' 


Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 


He brings to aid liis murderous hand." — 


With that he shook the gather'd heath. 


" Bold words ! — but, though the beaat of game 


And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 


Tlie privilege of chase may claim. 


And the brave foemen, side by side. 


Though space and law the stag we lend, 


Lay peaceful down, Uke brothers tried, 


Ere hound we shp, or bow we bend. 


And slept imtil the dawning beam* 


Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when. 


Piurpled the mountain and the stream 


The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain P 




Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 




Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" 




' Tliey do, by heaven ! — Come Roderick Dhu, 




And of his clan the boldest two. 


aiie laiin of the lakt 


And let me but till morning rest. 




I write the falsehood on their crest " — 




" If by the blaze I mark aright, 

mi 1 1 i I 1 1 1 I 1 r* fr ' 1 J i\ 


CANTO FIFTH. 


Ihou bear st the belt and spur of Kmght — 




" Then by these tokens mayst thou know 
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 


9rS)e ® ombat 


" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 


L 


A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 


Faie as the earliest beam of eastern light. 




When first, by the bewilder'd pilgrim spied. 


XXXI. 


It smiles upon the dreary brow of night. 


He gave him of his Highland cheer. 


And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, 


■ The harden'd flesh of mountain deer ;' 


And lights the fearful path on mountain-side ; — 


Dry fuel on the fire he laid, 


Fair as that beam, although the fau-est far. 


And bade the Sa.\on share iiis plaid. 


Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 


He tended him like welcome guest, 


Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star, 


Then thus his farther speech address'd: 


Through aU the wreckful storms that cloud tha 


" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 


brow of War. 


A clansman born, a kinsman true : 




Each word against his honor spoke. 


II. 


Demands of me avenging stroke ; 


That early beam, so fau- and sheen. 


Yet more, — upou thy fate, 'tis said. 


Was twinkling through the hazy screen, 


A mighty augury is laid. 


When, rousmg at its glimmer red. 


It rests with me to wind my horn, — 


The warriors left their lowly bed, 


Thou art with numbers overborne ; 


Look'd out upon the dappled sky, 


It rests with me, here, brand to brand. 


Mutter'd theu- soldier matins by, •»* 


Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 


And then awaked their fire, to steal, 


But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 


As short and rude, their soldier meah 


Will I d .part crom honor's Laws ; 


That o'er, the Gael" around him threty 


To assail a wearied man were shame. 


His graceful plaid of varied hue, 


And stranger is a holy name ; 


And, true to promise, led the way. 


Uuidance and rest, and food and fire, 


By thicket green and moimtain gray. 


la vain he never must require. 


A wildering path 1- — they winded now 


Then rest thee here tUl dawn of day ; 


Along the precipice's brow. 


Myself will guide thee on tlie way. 


Commanding the rich scenes beneath. 


O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 


The windings of the Forth and Teith. 


^MS. — "I dare! to hiip zn)' al! tb^pjrdtm 


* MS. — '* And slept nntil the dawning streak 


He brings to aid his mi'Tdftcm arm." 


Purpled the monnlain and the lake." 




5 MS.—" And lights the fearful way along iti side." 


Bee Appendix, Note 3 F. 


'■ The Scottish Highlander calls himself G/ie/, OT GaDi, IM 


dee Aopendix. Note 3 G. 


terms the l.i.wlandera. Sassenach, or Saxons 



220 



SCQTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO t 



And all the rales beneath Jhat lie, 
Till Stirlinjf's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, suuk in couse, their farthest glance 
Gain'J nut the Itugth of horseman's lance. 
'Twas oft so ftcep, the foot Wiis fain 
Assistance from the lumJ to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, biu'sting through, 
Each lian-thorn shed her showers of dew, — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It rivids all but Beauty's tear. 

III. 

At length they came where, stern and steep,' 

The hill .>.ink9 down upon the deep. 

Here Vennaehar in silver flows. 

There, ridge on ridge, Beidedi rose ; 

Ever the lioUow path twined on, 

Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 

An hundred men might hold the post 

With harddiood against a host. 

The riLgged mountain's scanty cloak 

Was dwarfish slirubs of birch and oak,^ 

With shuigles bare, and cliffs between. 

And patches bright of bracken gi'een. 

And lieather black, that waved so high, 

It held tlie copse in rivalry. 

But where the lake slept deep and still, 

Daidi osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 

And oft both path and hiU were torn, 

Wliere wmtry torrents down had borne.' 

And heap'd upon the cmnber'd land 

Its wreck oi gravel, rocks, and sand. 

So toilsome was the road to trace. 

The guide, abating of his pace. 

Led slowly thi-ough the pass's jaws. 

And ask'd Fitz-James, by what strange cause 

He sought these wilds ? traversed by few. 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 

IV. 
" Brave Gael, my pass in danger tried, 

Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 

Ye't, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 

" I dreamt not now to claim its aid.' 

When here, but tlu'ee days since, I came, 

Bewilder'd in piu-suit of game. 

All secm'd as peaceful and .is still. 

As the mist slumbering on yon hilj ; 

Thy dangerous Chief was then afar. 

Nor soon expected back from war. 

Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 

Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." — 

' MS. — " At length they paced the moantain's side. 

And saw beneath the waters wide." 
• MS — ' The rugged mountain's stunted screen 

shrobs ,' 

cause 



Was dwarfish \ 



' with cliifs between.' 



" Yet why a second venture try ?" — 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves om* fi'ee course by such iix'd cause. 
As gives the poor meclianic laws ? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful d.ay ; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, — * 
A falcon flown, a greyhound stray'd. 
The merry glance of momitain maid : 
Or, if a path be dangerou.s known. 
The dimger's self is lure alone." — 

V. 
" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — ^^ 
Yet, ere again ye souglit this spot, 
Say, lieard ye naught of Lowland war, 
Against Chtn-Alpine, raised by Mar i" 
■ — " No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I auglit, but, when they hear 
Tills muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will .ibroad be flung, 
Wliich else in Douue had peaceful hung." — * 
" Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
Their silken folds shoiUd feast the moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in baimer brave. 
But, Strsmger, peacefid since you came, 
Bewilder'd in the mountam gatne. 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich-Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ?" — 
" Warrior, but yester-raorn, I knew 
Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man. 
The cliief of a rebellious clan, 
Wlio, m the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabb'tl a knight : 
Yet fhis alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 

VL 
Wrothful at such arraignment foul. 
Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowL 
A space he paused, then sternly said, 
" And heai'd'st thou why lie drew Ills blade 
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heatli, or Holy-Rood ? 
He rights such WTong where it is given. 
If it were in the comt of heaven." — 



8 MS. — *' I dream'd not now 10 draw my blade." 

* MS. — " My errant footsteps . t. j .j 

,,.,,,,, . . i far and wia« 

A Kniglit s uolu wnnttenngs ' 

MS. — " Thy secret lieep, I ask it not." 

• MS. — " Wliich else in haU had peacefal hung,** 



fANTO V. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 22» 


" Still was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true, 


Is aught but retribution true ? 


Not then claim'd sovereignty his due ; 


Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dha" — 


While Albany, with feeble hand. 




Hela borrow'd truncheon of command,' 


vm 


The young King, mew'd in Stirling 


Answer'd Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought, 


tower, 


Think'st thou no other could be brought ' 


Was stranger to respect and power. 


Wliat deem ye of my path waylaid ? 


But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 


My life given o'er to ambuscade ?" — 


Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 


" As of a meed to rashness due : 


Wrencliing from ruin'd Lowhmd swain 


Hadst thou sent warning fair and true. — 


His herds and harvests rear'd in vain.- — 


I seek my hound, or falcon stray 'd. 


Methinks a soul, like tliine, should scorn 


I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 


The spoils from such foul foray borne." 


Free had.st thou been to come and go: 




But secret path marks secret foe. 


vn. 


Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 


The Gael beheld him gi'un the while, 


Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die. 


And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 


Save to fulfil an augury ."- 


" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 


" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 


I mark'd thee send delighted eye. 


Fresh cause of enmity avow. 


Far to the south and east, where lay, 


To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 


Extended in succession gay, 


Enough, I am by promise tietl 


Deep waving fields and pastures green. 


To match me with this man of pride : 


With gentle slopes and groves between: — 


Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's glen 


These fertile plains, that soften'd vale. 


J In peace ; but when I come agen, 
r I come witli banner, b'rand, and bow, 


Were once the birthright of the Gael'; 


The stranger came with u-on hand. 


As leader seeks liis mortal foe. 


And from our fathers reft the land. 


For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower. 


■WTiere dwell we now ! See, rudely swell 


Ne'er panted for the appointed horn-. 


Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 


As I, until before me stand 


Ask we this siivage hlU we tread. 


This rebel Cliieftain and his band !"— ' 


For fatten'd steer or household baead ; 




Ask we for flocks these sliingles dry. 


IX. 


And well the mountain might reply, — 


" Have, then, thy wish 1" — he whistled shrill. 


To you, as to your sires of yore, 


And he was answer'd from the hiU ; 


Belong the target and claymore I 


Wdd as the scream of the curlew. 


t give you shelter in my breast. 


From crag to crag the signal flew.' 


Vour own good blades must win the 


Instant, through copse and heath, arose 


rest.' 


Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 


Pent in this fortress of the North, 


On riglit, on left, above, below. 


riiink'st thou we wUl not sally forth. 


Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 


To spoil the spoiler as we may. 


From shingles gray their lances start, 


And from the robber rend tlie prey ? 


The bracken bu.sh sends forth the dart," 


Ay, by my soul ! — Wliile on yon plain 


Tlie rushes and the willow-wand 


riie Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 


Are bristUng mto axe and brand, 


While, of ten thousand herds, there .strays 


And every tuft of broom gives life' 


But one along yon river's maze, — 


To plaided warrior arm'd for strife 


riie Gael, of plain and river heir. 


Tliat whistle garrison'd the glen 


ShiUl. with strong hand, redeem his share.' 


At once with full five hundred mtTi, 


Where live the mountain Chiefs who liold. 


As if the yawm'ng liill to heaven, 


rhat plundering Lowland field and fold 


A subterranean host had given.' 


See Apperulix, Note 3 H. " Ibid. Note 3 I. 


That whistle manned the landy glen 


MS.—" This dark Sir Rodericli l , , . . , „ 
_,, . ^.. ^ . J and his band." 
Tins savage Chieflam \ 


With full five hundred armed mcnV 


' The Monthly reviewer says — " \\c now come to the chtj^ 


MS.— " From ctijisr to copse the signal flew. 


d^auvrc of Walter f^cott, — a scene of more vigor, nature, anj 


Instant, through copse and crags, arose." 


animation. th.in any other in all his poetry." Another anony- 


MS.—* The bractten bush shoots forth the dart.'* 


mons critic of the poem is not afraid to quote. wJtli reference 


MS. — \nd eaeli lone tnft of broom gives life 


to the effect of this passage, tlie sublime laniruajie of the Pro- 


r.t vilajded warrior arm'd for st^fe. 


phet Ezekiel : — "Then said he unto inc. Prophesy unto Ih« 



222 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ■» 



Watching Iheir leader's beck and will," 

All silent Ihere they stood, and still. 

Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 

As if an infant's touch could >irge 

Tlieir headlong passage down the verge, 

With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mount;un-side they hung. 

The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's hving side, 

Tltcn iix'd his eye and sable brow 

Full on Fitz-James — " How say'st thou now ? 

These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon,— I ani Roderick Dhu I" 



Fitz-James was brave : — Though to his heart 
The life-blood tlirill'd with sudden start, 
He 'nann'd himself with dauntless air, 
Return'd the Chief his haughty stare, 
His back against a rock he bore, . 
And firmly placed his foot before : — 
J* Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

^rom its firm base as soon as V" 
Sir Roderick mark'd' — and in his eyes 
Respect was mingled with suy)rise. 
And the stern joy which warriors feel 

' In foemen worthy of their steel. 
Short space he stood — then waved his hand : 
Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
Each warrior vanish'd where he stood. 
In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 
In osiers pale and copses low ; 
It seem'd as if their mother Earth 
Had swallow'd up her warhke birth. 
The wind's last breath had toss'd in air, 
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 
The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
Wliere heath and fern were waving wide : 
The sun's last glance was glinted back. 
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,^ 



K" 



kviud, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thas Baith 
.be Lord God ; Come from the four winds, O breath, and 
breathe npoii these slain, that they may live. ' Fo I prophesied 
AS he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they 
Ivcd and stood op upon their tee t, an exceeding great army." 
-^har- sxxvii. v. 9, 1^. 
I MS. — " AH silent, too, they stood, and still, 

Watcliing tlieir leader's beck and will, 
While forward step and weapon show 
They long^to rush upon the foe, 
Like the loose crags, whose tottering mass 
Hung threatening o'er the hollow pass." 
■ Davil de .Ttrathbogie Earl of Athole, when about to en- 
Ijage Sir Andrew Moray at the battle of Kilblene, in 1335, in 
wliich h( was slain, maile an apostropiie of the same kind : — 
" — At a little path was tliere 
All samen they assembled were 
Bven ic the path was Earl Davy 



The next, all unreflected, aJiont 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

XL 
Fitz-James look'd round — yet scarce believed 
The witness that liis sight received ; 
Such apparition well might seem 
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
And to his look the Cliief replied : 
" Fear naught — nay, that I need not say — 
But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 
As far as Coilautogle ford : 
Nor would I call a clapsman's brand 
For aid against one valiant hand,' 
Though on our strife lay every vale 
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.* 
So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."* 
They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave, 
As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
Yet dare not say, that now liis blood 
Kept ou its wont and temper'd flood, 
Ai^ following Roderick's stride, he drew 
lliat seeming lonesome pathway tlirough, 
Wliich yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
With lances, that, to take his life, 
Waited but signal from a guide, 
So late dishonor'd and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, liis eye sought round 
The vanish VI guardians of the ground. 
And still, from copse and heather deep. 
Fancy saw spear imd broadsword peep • 
And in the plover's shrilly strain, 
The signal wliistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far beliind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 



And to a great stone that lay by 
He said By God hi^ face, we iwa 
The flight on us shall samen* ta." 
s MS. — " For aid against one lirave man^s hand ' 
4 "This scene is excellently described. The fr; nknen siri 
high-souled conrage of the two warriors, — the reliance -.vhion 
the Lowlander jdaces on the word of the Highlander lo gaida 
him safely on his way the next nioming, although he hu 
spoken threatening and violent words against Roderick, whose 
kinsman the mountaineer professes himself to be, — these cir- 
cumstances are all admirably imagined and related.'* — MontAif 
Review. 

6 See Appendix, Note 3 K. 

8 MS. — " And still, from copse and Jie?»he' bnsb 
Fancy saw spear and broaaswoid rush." 

• At the same time nr toguinet. 

Note in ike Author's MS. not ajlred to miy fo'Tna^ tdition lif Ihtporm i 



■JANTO V. 



THE LADY uF THE LAKE. 



22» 



Nor rush nor bush of > broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 
The Chief in silence strode before, 
And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore, 
Which, daughter of tliree mighty lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through tlie pUun, and ceaseless mines 
On Bochastle tlie mouldering lines,' 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.' 
And here his course the Cliieftain staid, 
Threw down liis target and liis plaid. 
And to the Lowland warrior said : — 
" Bold Saxon ! to liis promise just, 
Vich- Alpine lias discharged his trust. 
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man. 
This head of a rebellious clan. 
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward. 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel 
See here, all vantageless I stand, 
Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand :' 
For this is CoUantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

XIII. 

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delay'd, 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay, more, brave Cliief, I vow'd thy death : 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for Ufe preserved, 
A better meed have well deserved ; 
Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 
Are there no means i" — " No, Stranger, none ! 
And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — ■ 
The S;ixon cause rests on thy steel ; 
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 
Between the Uving and the dead ; 

• Who spills the foremost foernan's life, 
His pally conquers in the strife.' " — 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 
" The riddle is already read. 
Seek yonder brake beneath the cUff, — 
ThfTd lies Red Murdoch, stark and rftiff. 
riius Fate has solved her prophecy. 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
To James, at Stirhng, let us go, 

• MS - ■" Oa Bochastle the martial lines.'* 

' See Appencli.t, Note 3 L. 3 Ibid. Note 3 M.' 

' MS. — " In lightning flash'd the Chief's dark eye." 
I MS. — " He stoops not, he, to James nor Fate." 

• " The two principal ligurea are contrasted with uncommon 
'■liwy. Filz Janie-.*, who more nearly resembles the French 
^enry tne Fourth "ian the Scottish James V., is gjiy amoi^ 



When, if thou wilt be still his toe. 
Or if the King sliall not agree 
To gi ant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath, and word. 
That, to thy native strengths restored, 
With each ailvantage shalt thou stand, 

Tliat aids thee now to guard thy land." 

« 

XIV. 
Dark Ughtning flash'd from Roderick's aye — * 
" Soars tliy presumption, then, so high. 
Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate !' 
Tliou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
.My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
iMy thought, and liold thy valor Ught 
As that of some vain carpet knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A hraid of his fair lady's hair." — 
'■ I thank thee, Roderick, for the word 1 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworu this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone I- 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stem. 
Of this small horn oue feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which them wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." — /r^ 
Tlien each at once his falchion drew. 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 
Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain. 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed. 
In dubious strife they darkly closed.' 

XV. 
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
Tliat on the field liis targe he threw,'' 
Whose brazen .studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dash'd aside ; 
For, train'd abroad his arms to "wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and waid, 

ous, fickle, intrepid, impetuoDS, affectionate, courteous, grace- 
ful, and dignified. Roderick is gloomy, vindictive, arrogant, 
undaunted, but constant in his affections, and true to his en* 
gagements ; and the whole pass,'ige in which these personages 
are placed in opposition, from their first meeting to their tiaa! 
conflict, is conceived and written with a sublimity which nn# 
been rarely equalled." — Quarterly ItenieV), l^Xli, 
' See Appendix. Note 3 S 



•/24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKfe. 



CANTO T 



To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; 

While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintain'd unequal war.' A 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
And thrice tlie Saxon blade drank blood ; 
No stilted draught, no scanty tide. 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal di-ain, 
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain ; 
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 
Against the winter shower is proof. 
The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
And backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the jjroud Chieftain to his knee.' 

" Now yield thee, or by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade !"- 
" Thy tlu'eats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die.''' 
— Like adder darting from his coil, 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-cat who guards her yomig. 
Full at Fitz-James'a thi-oat he sprung ;* 
Received, but reck'd not of a wound. 
And lock'd liis arras his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maidens hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel. 
Through bars of brass smd triple steel 1 
They tug, they strain ! dovvn, down they go. 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Cliieftain's gripe his tlu-oat compress' d,, 
His knee was plauted in his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward thi-ew, 
Across Iiis brow liis hand he drew. 
From blood and mist to clear his sight. 
Then gleam'd aloft liis dagger bright '-^y 
— But hate and fury iH supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, wliile the dagger gleam'd on high, 
Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eve. 
D<n'\ii came the blow ! but in the heath 
Tlie erring blade found bloodless sheath. L^ 
Tlie struggluig foe may now unclasp 
Tlie fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 

MS. — " Not Roderick thus, tliough stronger far. 
More tall, and more inored to war." 

This couplet is not-in the MS. 

Sec Appeudi.x, Note 3 O. 

MS — " ' Yield tliey alone who fear to die.' 

Like nioimtain-cat who guards her young. 
Full at rflz-James's throat he sprung." 



/ 



Unwounded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.^ 

XVIL 

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life, 

Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ;' 

Next on his foe his look he cast. 

Whose every gasp appear'd his last ; 

In Roderick's gore he dipt the braid, — 

" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid 

Tet with thy foe must die, or Uve, 

The praise that Faith and Valor give." 

With that he blew a bugle-note, 

Undid the collar from his throat, 

Unbonneted, and by the wave 

Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 

Then fault afar are heard the feet' 

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 

The sounds increase, and now are seen 

Four mounted squires in Lincoln-green ; 

Two who bear lance, and two who lead. 

By loosen'd rem, a saddled steed ; 

Each onward held his headlong course, 

And by Fitz-James rein'd up liia horse, — 

With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 

— " Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. — 

You, Herbert and Luffness, ahglit. 

And bmd the wounds of yonder knight ; 

Let the gray palfrey bear his weight. 

We destined for a fairer freight. 

And bring liim on to Stirling straight 

I wiU before at better speed. 

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 

The sun rides high ; — I must be boune, 

To see the archer-game at noo,n ; 

But Hghtly Bayai'd clears the lea. — 

De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 

XVHL 
" Stand, Bayard, stand !" — the steed obey'd 
With areliing neck and bended head. 
And glancing eye and quivering ear. 
As if he loved liis lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stu-rup staid. 
No grasp upon the saddle laid. 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane, 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel. 
An d sthr'd his courage with the steeL 
Bounded the fiery steed in air. 
The rider sate erect and f;iir, 

MS. — " Panting and breathless on the sands. 
But all unwounded, now he stands." 
8 MS. — " Redeemed, unhoped, from deadly Btlith , 

Next on his foe his look he J ' ' 
f threw. 

Whose every breath appear'd his last." a 

' M'-. — *' F'ii7it and afar are heard thj feet." 



CANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



225 



Th <n like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launcli'd, along the plain they go. 
They dash'd that rapid torrent through, 
And up Carhooie's hiU they flew ; 
Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight, 
His merry -men foUow'd as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith 1 they ride, 
And in the race tliey mock thy tide ; 
ToiTy aud Lendrick now are past. 
And Deanstown lies beliind them cast ; 
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,' 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair-Drummontl sees the hoofs strike fire,^ 
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kicr ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground. 
With plash, with scramble, and with boilhd. 
Kight-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth I' 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town. 
Upon their fleet career look'd down. 

XIX. 
As up the flinty path they strain'd* 
Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ; 
A signal to his squire he flung. 
Who instant to his stiiTup sprung:— 
" Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gr/iy, 
Wlio townward holds the rocky way. 
Of stature tall and poor array 't 
Miu-k'st thou tlie firm, yet active stride. 
With which he scales the mountain-side ?* 
Know'st thou from whence he comeSj or 

whom ;" — 
" No, by my word ; — a burly gi'oom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's triuu would nobly grace." — 
" Out, out, De Vau.x ! can fear supply. 
And jealousy, no sharpe'r eye ? 
Afar, ere to the hill he drew, 
That stately fonn and step I knew ; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen, 
Treads not such step on Scottish grcea 
'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle 1' 
The uncle of the banish'd EarL 

• The mi s of Doune Castle, formerly tlie residence of the 
Earls of Menteith. now the property of the Earl of Moray, are 
dtuated at the confluence of the Ardoch and the Teith. 
' MS. — " Blair^Drummond sate their hoofs offire.^* 
' It may be worth noting, that the Poet marks the progress 
of the King by naming in succession places familiar and dear 
to his own early recollections — Blair-Drummond, the seat of 
the Homes of Kaimes ; Kicr, that of the principal family of 
the name of Stirling ; Ochtertyre, that of John Ramsay, the 
w»ll-known antiquary, aud correspondent of Burns; and 
^igforth, tlir.t of the Callenden of Craigforth, almost under 
20 



Away, away, to court, to show 

The near approach of dreaded foe : 

The King must stand upon his guard ; 

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and strai/'ht 

They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 
The Douglas, who had bent his way 
From Cambus-Ken«eth's abbey gray, 
Now, as he clunb'd the rocky shelf, 
Held fiad communion with himself: — 
" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 
A prisoner Ues the noble Grteme, 
And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
The vengance of the royal steel. 
I, only I, can ward their fate, — 
God grant the ransom come not late I 
The Abbess hath her promise given. 
My cluld shall be the bride of Heaven ;— 
— Be pardon'd one repining tear ! 
For He, who gave her, knows how dear. 
How excellent ! but that is by, 
And now aiy business is — -to die. 
— Ye towers ! witliui whose cu'cuit dreatl 
A Douglas by liis sovereign bled ; 
And tltou, O sad and fatal moimd !' 
That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 
As on the noblest of the land 
Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand, — 
The dimgeon, block, and nameless tomb 
Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom I 
— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 
Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ! 
And see ! upon the crowded street. 
In motley groups what masquers meet I 
Baimer and pageant, pipe and drtmi 
And merry morrice-dancers come. 
I gue.ss, by all this quaint array. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day.' 
James will be there ; he loves such show. 
Where the good yeomen bends his bow. 
And the tough wrestler foils liis foe, 
As weU as where, in proud career, 
The high-born tilter shivers speat 
rU follow to the Castle-park, 
And play my prize ; — Iving Jiimos shall niajril 
If age has tamed these sinews stark, 

the walls of Stirling Castle ; — all hospitable roofs, under whioa 

he had spent many of his younger days. — Ed. 
i MS. — " As up the stecpy path they strain'd." 
6 MS. — " With which he gains the mountain-side," 
B The Edinburgh Reviewer remarks on "that unhappy 

couplet, where the King himself is in such distress for a rhym* 

as to be obliged to apply to one of the obscurest saints in thi 

calendar." The reading of the MS. is — 

*' 'Tis James of Douglas, by my word. 
The uncle of the banish'd Ijord." 
' See Appendix, Note 3 P. » I kid. NelaT O 



226 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V. 



Whose force so oft, in happier days, 


Friar Tuck wiih quarterstaff and cowl, 


His boyisli wonder loved to praise." 


Old Scathelocke with liis surly scowl, 




Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, 


XXL 


Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; 


The Castle gates were open flung, 


Their bugles challenge all that will. 


The quivering drawbridge rock'd and rung. 


In archery to prove then- skill 


And echo'd loud the flinty street 


The Douglas bent a bow of might, — 


Beneath the coursers' clattering feet. 


His first shaft ceuter'd in the white. 


As slowly down tlie steep descent 


And when in turn he shot again. 


Fair Scotland's King and ncbles went," 


His second spUt the first in twain. 


WTiile all along the crowded way 


From the King's hand must Douglas taka 


Was ju'oilee ;md loud huzza. 


A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 


And ever James was bending low, 


Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,' 


To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 


Some answering glance of sympathy, — 


Doffing liis cap to city dame, 


No kind emotion made reply 1 


Who smiled and blush'd for pride and shame. 


Indifferent as to archer wight, ■ 


And well the simperer might be vain, — 


Tlie monarch gave the arrow bright 


He chose the fau*est of the train. 




Gravely he greets each city sire, 


XXIIL 


Commends each pageant's quaint attu-e. 


Now,- clear the ring I for, hand to hand, 


Gives to the dancers thanks aloud. 


The manly wrestlers take their stand. 


And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 


Two o'er the rest superior rose. 


Who rend the heavens with their acclaims. 


And proud demanded mightier foes. 


" Long live the Commons' King, King James 1" 


Nor call'd in vain ; for Douglas came. 


Behind the Kmg throng'd peer and knight. 


— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 


And noble dame and damsel briglit. 


Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 


Wliose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay 


Whom senseless home liis comrades bear 


Of the steep street and crowded way. 


Prize of the wrestling match, the King 


— But in the train you might discern 


To Douglas gave a golden ring,' 


Dai-k lowermg brow and visage stern ; 


While coldly glanced his eye of blue. 


There nobles mourn'd then- pride restram'd," 


As frozen drop of wintry dew. 


And the mean burgher's joys disdain'd ; 


Douglas would speak, but in his breast 


And chiefs, who, hostage for then" clan. 


His struggling soid his words suppress'd 


Were each from liome a banisli'd man. 


Indignant then he turn'd him where 


There thouglit upon theu- own gray tower, 


Their arms tlie brawny yeomen bare, 


Tlieir waving woods, their feudal power. 


To hurl the massive bar in air. 


And deem'd themselves a shameful part 


When each liis utmost strength had shown, 


Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 


The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 




From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 


XXIL 


And sent the fragment through the sky, 


Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 


A rood beyond the fai'thest mark ;— 


Tlieu- checker'd bands the joyous rout. 


And stiU in Stirling's foyal park. 


There morricers, with bell at heel. 


The gray-hair'd sires, who know the past* 


And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ;' 


To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 


But chief, beside the butts, there stand 


And morahze on the decay 


B:ld Robin Hood' and all his band,— • 


Of Scottish strength \a modern day.' 


MS.—" fCinff James and ail his nobles went . . 


» The MS. adds ;— 


Ever the King was bending low 


" With awkward stride there city groom 


To bis wbite jennet's saddle-bow, 


Would part of fabled knight assume." 


Doffing iiis cap to burgher dame, 


« See Appendix, Nole 3 R. 


Who smiling hiusk'd (or pride and shame." 


• MS. — " Fondly he watch'd. with watery eye. 


MS- — " Nobles who mourn'd tlieir power restrain'd, 


For answering glance of sympathy, — 


And \he poor burgher's joys disdain'd ; 


But no emotion made reply 1 


Dark chief, who, hostage for his clan, 


Indiflerent as to unknown ^ 

Cold as to unknown yeoman \ *'» • 


Was from his home a banish'd man, 


lyho thought upon his own gray tower, 


The king gave forth the arrow bright 


The waving woods, his feudal bower. 


' See Appcndi.t, Note 3 S. 


Ami deem'd himseJf a shameful part 


1 Ibid. Note 3 T. 


Of pageant Lhat he cut«ed in heart." 


•^ MS. — *' Of mortal strength in modern day," 



OANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



221 



XXIV. 
The vale with loud appUmses rang, 
The Ladies' Rock seut back the clang. 
Tlie King, with look uiiiuoTed, bestow'd 
A purse well fiUM with pieces broa<l.' 
Iniliijn.ant smiled the Douglas proud, 
And threw the gold among the crowd," 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan. 
And sluirper ghmce, the dark gray man ; 
Till " hispers rose among the tlirong. 
That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas blood belong; 
The old men mark'd, and shook the head. 
To sec his hair with silver spread, 
And wink'd aside, and told each son, 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand' 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form, 
Tho\igh wreck'd by many a winter's storm ;* 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, iis is their wont, the crowd. 
Till murmur rose to clamors loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King, 
With Douglas held commimion kind. 
Or call'd the baui.sh'd man to mind ;° 
No, not from those who, at the chase. 
Once held his side the honor'd place. 
Begirt his board, and, in the field. 
Found safety underneath his sliield ; 
For he, whom royal eyes disown. 
When was hia form to courtiers known 1 

XXV. 

The Mon.arch saw the gambols flag. 
And bade let loose a gallant stag. 
Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 
Two favorite greyhounds should pull down, 
That venison free, and Bordeaux wine, 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor tlueat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 
She left the royjil hounds mid-way. 
And da-shing on the antler'd prey. 
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 

MS.— '* A parse weighed down with pieces broad.'* 
MS. — " Scattered the gold among the crowd." 
MS. — " Ere James of Donglas* stalwart hand.** 
MS. — " Though worn by many a winter storm.'* 
Ma — •• Or call'd hia stalely forvi to mind." 
MP — " Clamor'd his comrades of the train." 



Came up, and with his leash unbotmd, 

In anger struck the noble hound. 

— The Dougl.as had endured, that morn, 

Tlie King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 

And last, and worst to sphit proud. 

Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 

But Lufra had been fondly bred, 

To shiu'e liis board, to watch his bed, 

And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 

In maiden glee with garlands deck ; 

They were such pl.tymates, that with nane 

Of Lufra, Ellen's miage came. 

His stifled wrath is brimming high, 

Li darken'd brow and flashing eye ; 

As waves before the bark divide. 

The crowd gave way before liis stride : 

Needs but a buifet and no more. 

The groom lies senseless in his gore. 

Such blow no other h:md could deal, 

Though gauntleted m glove of steel. 

XXVL 
Then clamor'd loud the royal train,' 
And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 
But stem the Baron's warning — " Back I' 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack I 
Beware the Douglas. — Yes 1 behold, 
King James ! the Douglas, doom'd of old. 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends. 
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends."— 
" Thus is my clemency repaid ? 
Presmnptuous Lord!" the monarch said; 
" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 
Thou, James of BothweU, wert the man. 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know . 
But shall a Monarch's presence brook" 
Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 
What ho ! the Capt.ain of oiu' Guard . 
Give the offender fitting ward. — 
Break off the sports !" — for ttunult rose, 
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 
" Break off the sports 1" he said, and frown'(^ 
" And bid our horsemen clear the groimd." 

XXVIL 
Tlien uproar wild and misarray 
Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen prick'd among the crovd, 
Repell'd by threats and msult loud ;" 

' MS. — " Bat stem the warrior's warning — * Back V * 
8 MS. — " Bat in my conrt. injarioas blow. 

And U-arded thus, and thus ont-dared ' 
What ho I the Captain of oar Guard !" 

MS.—" Their threats repell'd by msolt loud ' 



228 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ▼ 


To earth are borne the old and weak, 


Bless'd him who staid the civil strife ; 


The timorous fly, the women ahiiek ; 


And mothers held their babes on high. 


■Witli flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 


The self-devoted Chief to spy. 


The hardier urge tumultuous war. 


Triumphant over wrongs and ire. 


At once round Douglas darkly sweep 


To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 


The royal epe.'u-s in circle deep, 


Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 


And slowly scale the pathway steep; 


As if behind some bier beloved. 


While on the rear in thunder pour 


With trailing arms and drooping head, 


The rabble with disordered roar. 


The Douglas up the hill he led. 


"With grief the noble Douglas saw 


And at the Castle's battled verge. 


The Commons rise against the law. 


With sighs resign'd his honor'd charge. 


And to the leading soldier said, — 




" Su- John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 


XXX. 


That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 


The offended Monarch rode apart. 


For that good deed, permit me then 


With bitter thought and swelling heart, 


A word with these misguided mea 


And would not now vouchsafe again 




Through StnUng streets to lead his train. 


XXVIII. 


" Lennox, who would wish to rule 


" Hear, gentle friends I ere yet for me, 


This changeling crowd, this common fool f 


Ye break the bands of fealty. 


Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim, 


My Hfe, my honor, and my cause. 


With which they shout the Douglas' name S 


I tender fi"ee to Scotland's laws. 


With Uke acclaim, the vulgar tlu'oat 


Are these so weak as must require 


Strain'd for King James their morning note ; 


The aid of your misguided ire i 


With hke acclaim they haU'd the day 


Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 


When first I broke the Douglas' sway ; 


Is then my selfish rage so strong, 


And like acclaim would Douglas greet, 


My sense of public weal *o low. 


If he could hurl me from my seat. 


That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 


Who o'er the herd would wish to reign. 


Those cords of love I should unbind. 


Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain 1 


Which knit my country and my kind ! 


Vain as the leaf upon the stream," 


Oh no ! BeUevc, in youder tower 


And fickle as a changeful dream ; 


It will not soothe my captive hour. 


Fantastic as a woman's mood. 


To know those spears our foes should dread. 


And fierce as Fhrensy 's fever d blood. 


For me in kindred gore are red ; 


Thou many-headed monster tiling," 


To know, in fruitless brawl begun. 


who would wish to be thy king ! 


For me, that njother wails her son ; 




For me, that widow's mate expires ; 


XXXI. 


For me, tliat orphans weep their eires ; 


" IJut soft ! what messenger of speed 


That patriots mourn insulted laws. 


Spurs hitlierward liis panting steed ? 


And curse the Douglas for the cause. 


I guess liis cognizance afar — 


let your patience ward such ill, 


What from om- cousin. John of Mar ?" — 


And keep your right to love me still I" 


" He prays, my liege, yom' sports keep bouild 




Within the safe and guarded ground : 


XXIX. 


For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 


The crowd's wild fury sunk again' 


Most sure for evil to the throne, — 


In tears, as tempests melt in raiji. 


The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 


With Ufted hands and eyes, they pray'd 


Has summon'd his rebeUious crew ; 


For blessings on his generous head. 


'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 


Who for liis country felt alone, 


These loose banditti stand array'd. 


And prized lier blood beyond his own. 


The Earl of Mar, tliis mom, from Donne, 


Old men, upon the verge of life, 


To break their muster march'd, and soon 


"-"in 

* MS.—" The crowd's wild fary ebb'd amain 


Which would increase his evil. He that depends 


Id lean, as tempesu sink in rain." 


Upon your favors, swims with fins of lead, 


< MS. — " Vain as the sick man's idle dream.'* 


And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust t* 




With every minute you do change a mind ; 




A nrl r^nll liin^ Tinlila tTint vi7fio nmu trntl^ nitA 


Deserves your hate ; and your aHections are 


f\iiu Call iiini nouie, inai wds now your u*iW( 
Him vile thai was your garland." 


A sick man's ai)i<etite. wl>o desires most that 


Coriolanus. Act. I. SecM 1 



OANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



22* 



Your grace will hear of battle fought ; 
But earnesily the Earl besought, 
rill for 6uch ilanger he provide, 
Witl; scanty train you will not ride." — ' 

XXXIL 

" Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should h.ive earlier look'd to tliis : 
I lost it in tliis bustling day. 
— Retrioe with speed thy former way; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of niine shidl be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick, this morn, in siugle fight. 
Was made op- prisoner by a knight ; 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
Tlie tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain liost, 
Nor would we th.at the vulgar feel, 
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mai* our message, Braco : fly !" 
He turn'd his steed, — " My liege, I hio,^ 
Yet, ere I cross tliis lUy lawn, 
I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 
1 The turf the flying courser spuru'd, 
And to his towers the King return'd. 

XXXIII. 
Ill witli King James's mood that day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng, 
And soon cut .'short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the sadden'd town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civd jar. 
Of rumor'd feuds and mountain war. 
Of Moray, Mar. and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms ; — the Douglas too, 
They mourn'd him pent witliin the hold, 
" Where stout Earl William was of 

old"—' 
And tliere his word the speaker staid. 
And finger on liis lip he laid. 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen, from the west, 
At evening to the Ca.stle press'd ; 
And busy talkers said they bore ' 
tidings of fight on Katriue's shore ; 
■it noon the deadly fray begun, 
And la.sted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumor shook the town, 
rill closed the Night her pennons brown. 

' MS. — " Od distant chase you will not ride." 
* Stabbed by James II. in Stirling Castle. 



i_ 



<lL\)t £aiivi of tlje Cakt. 



CA.NTO BIXTH. 



Bit (Snax'0'3!\oom 



The sun, awakemng, through the smoky au 

Of the dark city easts a sullen glance, 
Rousing each caitiff to liis task of care, 

Of sinful m!m the sad inlieritance ; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance 

Scaring the prowHng robber to bis den ; 
Gilding en battled tower the warder's lance^ 

And warning student pale to leave his pen, 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse ol 
men. 

What various scenes, and, ! what scenes of woe. 

Are witness'd by that red and strugghng beam ! 
The fever'd patient, from his pallet low, 

TJirough crowded hospital beholds it stream 
The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 
The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting 
dream ; 

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his 
feeble wail. 

II. 
At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 
While drums, with rolUng note, foretpU 
ReUef to weary sentinel. 
Tlirough narrow loop and casement barr'd,* 
The simbeams sought the Court of Guard. 
And, struggling with the smoky air, 
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 
In comfortless alUiince shone' 
The lights tlirough arch of blacken'd stone. 
And show'd wild shapes iu garb of war, 
Faces deforni'd with beard and scar, 
All haggard from the midnight watch. 
And fever'd with the stern debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive bo:u-d. 
Flooded with wine, with fi-agments stored. 
And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown, 
Show'd in what sport tlio uigUt had flown. 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some labor'd still their thirst to quench; 
Some, chill'd with watching, spread their handi 
O'er tlie huge chimney's dying brands, 

3 MS.—'" Tlirougli blacken'd arch and casement baiT*d.** 
* MS. — " The ligli'.s in strange alliance shone 

Bineath the arch of blacken'd stoni* '* 



S30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



While rounil tliem, (tr beside them flung, 
At every step tlicL- harness rung. 

III. 

These drew not for their fields the sword, 
like tenants of a feudal lord, 
Nor own'd the patriarchal chiim 
■ Of Chieftain in tlich leader's name ; 
Adventurers they, from fai" who roved. 
To live by battle which they loved.' 
There the ItaUan's clouded face, 
The swarthy Spaniard's tliere you trace ; 
The mountaui-loviug Switzer there 
More freely breathed in mountain-air: 
The Fleming there despised the soU 
Tliat paid so Ul the laborer's toil ; 
Their rolls show'd French and Geriflau name ; 
And meriy EngUmd's exiles came, 
To share, with ill-conceal'd disdain, 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield 
The heavy halberd, brand, and sliield ; 
Di camps licentious, wild, and bold ; 
In pillage fierce and uncontroU'd ; 
And now, by holytide and feast. 
From rules of discipline released. 

IV. 
Tliey held debate of bloody fray. 
Fought 'twi.\t Lock Katrine and Aclu-ay. 
Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words, 
Their hanifs oft grappled to their swords ; 
Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 
Of wounded comrades groaruug near, 
Whose mangled Mmbs, and bodies gored. 
Bore token of the mountain sword. 
Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard, 
Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ; 
Sad burden to the ruffian joke. 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — ' 
At length up started Jolm of Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear, 
lu peace a chaser of the deer, 

1 Bee Appendix, Note 3 U. 

' Ma — " S.id burden lo the ruffian jest, 

And rude oaths vented by the real." 

' Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch. 

* " The greatest blemish in tlie poem, is the ribaldry and 
titll vulgarity which is put into the mouths of the soldiery in 
the guard-room. Mr. Scott has condescended to write a song 
for them, which will be read with pain, we are persuaded, 
even hy his warmest admirers ; and his whole genius, and 
even his power of versification, seems to desert him when he 
attempts to repeat their conversation. Here is some of the 
Ituif which has dropped, in this inauspicious attempt, from 
he pen of one of the first of poets of his age or country," &c. 
kc. — Jeffrky. 



In host a hardy mutineer, 

But stiU the boldest of the crew, 

When deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day, then- games cut short, 

And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport. 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl 1 

And, while a merry catch I troll, 

Let each the buxom chorus bear, 

Like brethren of the brand and spear." 



SolBicr's Sonfl. 
Om* vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown 

bowl. 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly 

black-jack, 
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack ; 
Yet whoop, Barnaby 1 off with thy Mquor, 
Drink upsees' out, and a fig for the vicar I 

Om- vicar he calls it danmation to sip 
ITie ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip. 
Says, that Beelzebub links in her kerchief so sly 
And ApoUyon shoots darts from lier merry blaci 

eye; 
Yet whoop. Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker. 
Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar 1 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he not 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymei,i to lurch. 
Who infringe the domains of om- good Motbe. 

Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys 1 off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar. 

VI. 
The warder's challenge, heard without, 
Staid in mid-rtiar tlie merry shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — 
" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent ; 
And, — beat for jubilee the drum 1 
A maid and minstrel with him come." 



" The Lady of the Lake is said to be inferior, as a poem, to 
Walter Scott's former productions, but really one tiardlf 
Itnows how to examine such compositions as poems All 
that one can look for is to fiud beautiful passages in them, 
and 1 own that there are some part.s of the Lady of the Lake 
which please me more than any thing in Walter E^ott's for 
mer poems. He has a great deal of imagination, and is cer 
tainly a very skilful painter. The meeting between Douglaa 
and liis daughter, the King descending from Stirling Castle to 
assist at the festival- of the townsmen (though borrowed in a 
considerable degree from Dryden's Palamon and Arr.ite)^ and 
the guard-room at the beginning of the last canto, all show 
extraordinary powers of description. If he wrote less and 
more carefully, he would be Q very considerable poet." — 3u 
Samuel Romiliv. [Oct. 18i0.]— ^t/c, vol. ii. p. 342. 



I 



CANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



231 



Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd, 

Was entering now tlie Court of Guard, . 

A harper witli liim, ,and in plaid, 

All mnffled close, a mountain ^aid. 

Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 

Of the Ipose scene and boisterous crew. 

" Wiat news ?" they roar'd.— " I only know, 

From noon till eve we fought with foe. 

As wild and as untameable 

As the rude moimtains where they dwell ; 

On both sides store of blood is lost 

Nor much success can either boast." — 

" But whence thy captives, friend ? such spoil 

As (heirs must needs rewai'd thy toil.' 

Old dost thou w;ix, and wars grow sharp ; 

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land. 

The leader of a juggler band." — ' 

VII. 
" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. 
After the tight these sought our line, 
That aged 'harper and the girl. 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I should purvey them steed. 
And bring them hitherward with speed. 
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, 
Fcr none shall do them shame or harm." — 
" Hear ye liis boast ?" cried John of Brent, 
Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 
" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge. 
And yet the je.alous niggard grudge 
To pay the forester his fee ? 
I'll have my share, howe'er it be. 
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 
Bertram liis forward step withstood ;' 
And, burning in his vengeful mood. 
Old AU.an, though tmfit for strife. 
Laid hand upon liis dagger-knife ; 
But Ellen boldly stepped between. 
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen : — 
So, froi his morning cloud, appears 
The sun of May, through summer tears. 
The savage soldiery, amazed,* 
As on descended angel gazed ; 
Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed, 
Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 

VIII. 
Bohlly she spoke, — " Soldiers, attend ! 
My father was the soldier's friend ; 

The MS. reads after this :— 

'* Get tliee an ape, and then at once 
Thou mayst renounce the wanler'a lance. 
And trudge through borongh and throngh land, 
Thij leader of a juggler band." 

' See Api endii Note 3 V 



Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led. 
And with liim in the battle bled. 
Not from the vaUant, or the strong, 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." — ' 
Answer'd De Brent, most fonvai'd still 
In every feat or good or ill, — 
" I shame me of the part I play'd : 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid 1 
An outlaw I by forest laws. 
And merry Needwood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose, — if Rose be hving now," — ' 
He wiped liis iron eye and brow, — 
" Must bear such age, I think, as thou.— 
Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There hes my halberd on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halberd o'er, 
To do tile maid injurious part. 
My shaft shall quiver ui liis heart ! — 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough " 

IX. 

Theu- Captain came, a gallant young — 

(Of Tullib.ardine's house he sprung). 

Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 

Gay was liis mien, his humor Ught, 

And, though by coiu'tesy controU'd, 

Forward liis speech, his bearing bold. 

The high-born maiden ill could, brook 

The scanning of liis curious look 

And dauntless eye -.—and yet, in sooth. 

Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 

But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 

111 suited to the garb and scene. 

Might lightly bear construction strange. 

And give loose fancy scope to range. 

" Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid ! 

Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 

On palfrey white, with h.irper hoar. 

Like errant daniosel of yore ? 

Does thy high quest a knight require. 

Or may the venture suit a squire ?"— 

Her tlark eye flash'd ; — -she paused and eigh'd— 

" what have I to do with pride ? — 

Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, 

A suppliant for a father's Ufe, 

I crave an audience of the King. 

Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 

The royal pledge of grateful claims. 

Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.'" 



' MS.—" Bertram ! *"' ! violence withstood." 
' such ' 

* MS. — *' While the rude soldiery, amazed." 

^ MS. — " Should Ellen Donglas pufler wrong." 

1 MH. — " ' My Ro^e.' — he wiped his iron eye and brt^ 

' Poor Rose. — if Rose he living now.' " 

' MS. — " The Monarch gave to James Fitz.Jame* 



83k SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. c-into vi 


X. 


" We Southern men, of long descent ; 


The signet-ring young Lewis took, 


Nor wot we how a name — a word — 


With deep respect and alter'd look ; 


Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 


And said, — " This ring our duties own ; 


Tet kind my noble landlord's part, — 


And pardon, if to worth unknown, 


God bless the house of Beaudesert 1 


In semblance mean obscurely veil'd, 


And, but I loved to chive the deer, 


Lady, in aught my foUy fail'd. 


More than to guide the laboring steer, 


Scon as tlie day flings wide his gates. 


I had not dwelt an outcast here. 


The King shall know what suitor waits. 


Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 


Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 


Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 


Repose you till his waking hour ; 




Female attendanoe shall obey 


XIL 


Tour hest, for service or array. 


Then, from a rusted iron hook. 


Permit I marshal you the way." 


A bunch of ponderous keys he took. 


But, ere she followed, with the grace 


Lighted a torch, and AUan led 


And open bounty of her race, 


Through grated arch and passage dread. 


She bade her slender purse be shared 


Portals they pass'd, where, deep within. 


Among the soldiers of the guard. 


Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 


Tlie rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 


Through rugged vaults," where, loosely stoied 


But Brent, with shy and awkward look. 


Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 


On the reluctant maiden's hold 


And many an hideous engine grim. 


Forced bluntly back the profier'd gold ; — 


For wrenching joint, and crushing' limb, 


" Forgive a haughty English heart, 


By artist form'd, who deem'd it shame 


And forget its ruder pai't ! 


And sin to give then- work a name. 


The vacant purse shall be my share,' 


They halted at a low-brow'd porch. 


Wliidi in my barret-cap Pll bear, 


And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 


Perchance, in jeopardy of wai-. 


While bolt and chain he backward roll'd. 


Where gayer crests may keep afar." 


And made the bar imhasp its hold. 


With thimks — 'twas all she could — the maid 


They enter'd : — ^'twas a prison-room 


His rugged courtesy repaid. 


Of stern security and gloom, 




Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 


XI. 


Through lofty gratings foimd its way. 


When EUen forth with Lewis went. 


And rude and antique garniture 


Allan made suit to Johji of Brent : — 


Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor ;* ! 


" My lady safe, let your grace 


Such as the rugged days of old 


Give me to see my master's face ! 


Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 


His minstrel I, — to share his doom 


" Here," s.aid De Brent, " thou mayst remain* 


Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 


Till the Leech visit him again. 


Tentli in descent, since first my sires 


Strict is his cliarge, the warders tell, 


Waked for his noble house their lyres. 


To tend tlie noble prisoner well." 


Nor one of all the race was known 


Retiring then, tlie bolt he drew. 


But prized its weal above then: own. 


And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 


With the Cliief 's birth begins our care ; 


Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 


Our harp must soothe the infant heir. 


A captive feebly raised his head ; 


Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 


The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew — 


His earhest feat of field or chase ; 


Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu 1 


In peace, in wai-, our r.onk we keep. 


For, come from where Clan- Alpine fought, 


We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 


They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought. 


Nor leave liim till we pour our verse — 




A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 


XIII. 


Then let me share his captive lot ; 


As the tall eliip, whose lofty prore 


It is my right — deny it not !" — 


Shall never stem the billows more, 


' Little we reck," said Jolm of Brent, 


Deserted by her g:illant band. 


MS. — " The silken purse shall serve for me. 


6 MS. " Thou mayat remain 


And in my t)a[Tet-cap shall flee." 


And then, reliriiig, bdll and chalD, 


» MS. — " Ltw broad vaults^ 


And ruyty bar. he drjw a^ain. 


MS.—" Stvelching." ' MS.—" Flintjr floor." 


Roused at the sound " &c. 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 23a 


amiJ the bxcakera lies astrand, — 


He witness'd from the mountam's height, 


Si>. on hi^ couch, lay Roderick Dhu! 


With what old Bortrimi told at night,* 


Aud oft his fever'd Unibs he threw 


Awaken'd the fuU power of song. 


lu toss abrupt, as when her sides 


And bore Iiiin in career along ; — 


Lie rocking in tlie advancing tides, 


As shallop launch'd on river's tide, 


lluit ?liake iier frame with ceaseless beat, 


That slow and fearful leaves the side, 


Yi;t cannot Iieave her from her seat; — 


But, when it feels the middle stream, 


! how unUke her com-se at sea 1' 


Drives downward swift as lightumg's beanL 


Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 




Soon as the Miiistrel he could scan, 


XV. 


*- W bat of thy lady i — of my clan ? — 


aSattle bt ISeal* an IDuine.' 


My mother ? —Douglas ? — tell me all 1 


" The Minstrel came once more to view " 


HsY3 they been ruiii'd in my fall ? 


The eastern ridge of Beuvenue, 


Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 


For, ere he parted, he would say 


Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." — 


Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 


(For AUan, who his mood well knew. 


Where shall he find, ui foreign land. 


Was choked with grief aud terror too.) — 


So lone a lake, so sweet a strand 1 


" Who fouglit — wlio fled ? — Old man, be brief; — 


There is no breeze upon the fern. 


Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 


Nor ripple on the lake. 


Who b.isely live ? — who bravely died ?" — 


Upon her eyi-y nods tlie erne. 


" 0, cahu thee. Chief !" the Mmstrel cried. 


The deer has sought the brake ; 


" EUeu is safe." — " For that, thank Heaven !" — 


The small bu-ds wUl not sing aloud. 


•* And hopes are for the Douglas given ; — 


The springing trout hes stUl, 


The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; 


So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, 


And, for thy clau, — on field or fell. 


That swathes, as with a purple shroud. 


Has never harp of minstrel told,' 


Benledi's distant liiU. 


Of combat fought so true and bold. 


Is it the thunder's solemn sound 


Thy stately Pine is yet unbent. 


That mutters deep and dread. 


Tliougli many a goodly bough is rent." 


Or echoes from the groaning ground 




The waiTior's measured tread ? 


XIV. 


Is it the hghtning's quivering glance 


The Chieftain rear'd his form on high. 


That on the thicket streams. 


And fever's fire was in liis eye ; 


Or do they flash on spear and lanco 


iiut ghastly, pide, aud livid streaks 


Tlie Sim's retiring beams ? 


Checker'd his swarthy brow and cheeks. 


— I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 


— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play, 


I see the Moray's silver star. 


With measure bold, on festal day. 


W.ave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 


In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 


That up the lake comes winding far 1 


Sliall harper play, or warrior hear ! . . . 


To hero bound for battle-strife. 


That stirring air that peals on high, 


Or bard of martial lay. 


O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 


'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, 


Strike it P — and then (for well thou canst), 


One glance at their array ! 


Free fr(>ra thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 




VUn^ me the picture of the fight, 


XVL 


When met my clan llie Saxon might. 


" Their light-arm'd archers far and near 


rU listen, till my fancy hears 


Survey'd the tangled ground. 


Tl>". claf" ^ of 6words, the crash of spears ! 


Their centr6 ranks, with pike and speai 


These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, 


A twUight forest frown'd. 


Fo/ the fair field of fighting men. 


Their barbed horsemen, in the rear. 


And my hxe spu-it biu-st away, 


'fhe stern battalia crown'd. 


As if it ».)ar'd from battle fray." 


No cymbal clasli'd, no clarion rang, 


The trembhng Bard with awe obey'd, — - 


Still were the ^^e ind drimi ; 


Slow on the harp liis liand he laid ; 


Save heavy tread, and armor's clac^. 


But soon remembrance of the sight 


The sullen march was dumb. 


' MS. — " Oil ! how unlike htr counte on main ! 


Of combat foaght so fierce intl well.' 


Or Iii!* irt'e stt'p on hill and plain !" 


3 See Appendix, Note 3 W. • The MS. bal ;ol Uij liM 


'MS.— Sli ^11 never harp of minstn.'! tell. 


- See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



234 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cakto vi 


There breathed no wind their crests to shake, 


Above the tide, each broadsword bright 


Or wavi^ tlieir flags abroad ; 


Was brandishing like beam of light, 


Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, 


Each targe was dark below ; 


That shadow'd o'er their road. 


And with the ocean's mighty swing. 


Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, 


Wlien heaving to the tempest's wing, 


Can rouse no Im-ldng foe, 


They hurl'd them on the foe. 


Nor spy a trace of living thing, 


I he.ard the l.-uice's shive'ring crash. 


Save when they stu-r'd the roe 


As when the whirlwind rends the ash. 


The host moves, Uke a deep-sea -w ive, 


I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 


Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 


As if an hundred anvils rang I 


High-swelling, dark, and slow. 


But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank 


Tlie lake is pass'd, and now they gain 


Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's fl.ank, 


A. uaiTow and a broken plain, 


— ' My b.anner-man. advance ! 


Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ; 


I see,' he cried, ' their colmnn shaV e.^ — 


And here the horse and spearmen pause 


Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 


WhUe, to explore the dangerous glen. 


Upon them with the lance !' 


Dive through the pass the archer-men. 


The horsemen dash'd among the rout. 




As deer break through the broom ; 


XVII. 


Their steeds are stout, their swords are ou^ 


" At once there rose so wild a yell 


They soon make lightsome room. 


Within that dark and narrow dell. 


Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 


As all the fiends, from heaven that fell. 


Where, where was Roderick then 1 


Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell ! 


One blast upon his bugle-horn 


■Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 


Were worth a thou.s<and men ! 


Like chaff before the wind of heaven. 


And refluent thi-ough the pass of fear" 


Tlie archery appear ; 


Tlie battle's tide was pour'd ; 


For hfe ! for hfe 1 tlieir plight they ply — 


Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear, 


And slu-iek, and shout, and battle-cry, 


Vanish'd the mountain-sword. 


And plaids and bonnets waving high. 


As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep. 


And broadswords flashing to the sky. 


Receives her roaring linn. 


Are maddening in the rear. 


As the dark caverns of the deep 


Onw.-u-d they drive, m dreadful race, 


Suck the wild whirlpool in, 


Pursuers and pursued ; 


So did the deep and darksome pass 


Before that tide of flight and chase, 


Devour the battle's mmgled mass : 


How sh.-iU it keep its rooted place, 


None huger now upon the plam, 


Tlie spearmen's twiUght wood ? — 


Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 


' Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down I 




Bear back both friend and foe !' — 


XIX. 


Like reeds before the tempest's fi-owii. 


" Now westward rolls the battle's din, 


That serried grove of l.ances brown 


That deep and doubling pass within, 


At once lay leveU'd low ; 


— Minstrel, away, the work of fate* 


And closely shouldering side to side, 


Is bearmg on : its issue wait. 


Tlie bristhng ranks the onset bide. — ' 


Wliere the rude Trosach's drfad defile 


' We'll quell the savage mountaineer. 


Opens on Katrine's hike and isle. — 


As theii- TincheP cows the game 1 


Gray Benvenue I soon repass'd. 


Tiiey come as fleet as forest deer. 


Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 


We'll drive them back as tame.' — 


The sun is set ; — the clouds are met. 




The lowering scowl of heaven 


xvin. 


An inky view of vivid blue 


" Beai'ing before them, in their course. 


.To the deep lake has given ; 


The relics of the archer fprce, 


Strange gusts of wmd from motmtain-glen 


Like wave with crest of sparkling foam. 


Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 


Eight onward did Cl.an- Alpine come. 


I heeded not the eddying surge, 


1 The MS. haa not lliis couplet. 


3 MS. — " And refluent down the darksome pass 


» A circle of Fportsraen, who, by surroanding a great space, 


The battle's tide was pour'd ; 


and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer 


There toil'd the spearman's struggling speaf 


h>gether, which usually made desperate efforts to break through 


There raged the mountain sword." 


he Tmdm 

^ '. 


* MS.—" Away ! away ! the work of fate!" 

ni 



II 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAXE. 238 


Mine ey« but saw the Trosach's gorge, 


Well for the swimmer swell'd they high, 


Mine eai but heard the sullen sound, 


To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 


Which like an earthquake shook the ground, 


For found liim shower'd, 'mid rain and hail, 


And spoke the stern and desperate strife 


The vengeful arrows of the Gael. — 


That parts not but -with parting life,' 


In vain — He nears the isle — tuid lo 1 


Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toU' 


His hand is on a shallop's bow. 


The dirge of many a passing soul. 


— Just then a flash of lightning came 


Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen 


It tinged the waves and strand with flame ;■— 


Tile martial flood disgorged agen, 


I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame. 


But not in mingled tide ; 


Behind an oak I saw her stand. 


The plaided warriors o'l the North 


A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand : 


High on the mountain thimder forth 


It darken'd, — but, amid the moan 


And overhang its side ; 


Of waves, I heard a dying groan ; 


While ^y the lake below appears 


Another flash ! — the spearma:n flo.ats 


The dai k'ning cloud of Saxon spears.' 


A weltering corse beside the boats, 


At weary bay each shatter'd band, 


And the stem matron o'er him stood. 


Eyemg their foemen, sternly stand ; 


Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 


Their banners stream like tatter'd nail, 




That flings its fragments to the gale. 


• XXL 


And broken arms and disarray 


" ' Revenge ! revenge !' the Saxons cried. 


Mark'd the fell havoc of the day. 


The Gaels' exultmg shout replied. 


■/ XX. 


Despite the elemental rage. 


Again they hurried to engage ; 


" Tiewing the mountain's ridge askance, 


But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 


The Saxon stood in sullen trance, 


Bloody with spurring came a Imight, 


TM Moray pointed with his lance, . 


Sprung from his horse, and, from a cnag. 


And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 


Waved 'twixt the hosts a millj-wliite flag 


See ! none are left to gu.ird its strand. 


Clarion and trumpet by his side 


But women weak, that wring the hand : 


Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 


'Tis there of yore the robber band 


While, in the Monarch's name, afar 


Theu- booty wont to pile ; — 


An herald's voice forbade the war, 


My purse, with bonnet-piecefi store. 


For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 


To him will swim a bow-f-hot o'er. 


Were both, he said, in captive hold." 


And loose a snallop from the shore. 


— But here the Lay made sudden stand I — 


Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then. 


Tlie harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! — 


Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' 


Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 


Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 


How Roderick brook'd liis minstrelsy : 


On earth his casque and corslet rung, 


At first, the CliiefLoui, to the cliime. 


He plunged liim in the wave ;- 


Witli hfted hand, kept fe«jble time ; 


AU saw the deed — the purpose knew, 


That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 


And to their clamors Benvenue 


Varied his look as changed the song ;* 


A mingled echo gave ; 


At length, no more his deafen'd ear 


Tlie Saxons shout, their mate to cheer. 


Tlie minstrel melody can hear ; 


The helpless females scream for fear. 


His face grows sharp, — his hands are tlench'c. 


And yells for rage the mountaineer. 


As if some pang his heart-strings wi'ench'd 


"Twas then, a.s by the outcry riven. 


Set .are liis teeth, liis fading eye" 


Poiir'd down at once the lowering heaven ; 


Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 


A whirlwin I swept Loch Katrine's breast, 


Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 


Her billttws r^iir'd their snowy crest. 


His partmg breath, stout Roderick Dhu I— 


* ■' tlip 'oveliness in de.ith 


The eight closing lines of ttie stanza are interpolated ct. ■ 


Th^t parL^ not r,uite with parting breath." 


slip of paper. 


Byron's Oiaour. 


^ IMS. — '* Glow'd in his look, as swell'd the song.'* 


* MB. — " And se-.m'd, lO minstrel ear, to toll 
Tin par'-.-tr t)=.ge ol' many a soul." 


6 MS. "his jf^^^'^Sjeye." 

( fiery ) 


' MS.—" W lil'j by the darlien'd lake below, 


' " Rob Roy, while on his deaflibed. learned that a person, 


Fiij or.', the spearmen of the foe.'* 


with whom lie was at enmity, pro|)Osed to vi-^il him. ' Rain 


The MS. reads— 


me from my bed,' said tlie invalid ; ' throw my plaid aroand 


" It tinsed the boats and 'a\e with flame " 


me, and bring m my claymore, dirk, and pis'ola-— ft ibil 



236 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Old AUaii-J'^ae look'd on aghast, 
Wliile grim osd still liis spirit pass'd : 
But when he saw that life was fled, » 
He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead. 

xxn. 

2,amcnt. 

" And art thou cold and lowly laid," 
ITiy'foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbaiie's boast. Clan- Alpine's shade ! 
For thee shall none a requiem say ? 
— Frr thee, — who loved the mmstrel's lay. 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, 
Th'; shelter of her exiled line,' 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
rU wail for Alpine's houor'd Pine I 

" Wliat groans shaU yonder valleys fill ! 
What shj-ieks of grief shall rend yon hilV 
What tears of burning rage shall thriU, 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy tail before the race was won. 
Thy sword imgirt ere set of sun I 
There breathes not clansman of thy line. 
But would have given his life for thine. — 
O woe for Alpme's honor'd Pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage. 
The prison'd eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spu-it, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so lung beloved in vain, 
SliaU with my harp her voice combine 
And mix her woe and tears with mine. 
To w;iil Clan- Alpme's honor'd Pine." — ' 

XXIIL 
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
Remaiu'd in lordly bower apart, 
Where play'd with mauy-color'd gleams, 
Throrgh storied pane the rising beams. 
In vain on gilded roof they fall. 
And lighten'd up a tapestried wall, 
And for her use a menial train 



MSI i* be iaiil ihal a tbeman saw Rob Roy MarGregor defence- 
'ea and unarmeii.' His foeraan, conjectured to be one of the 
MacLarep.3 lefore and after mentioned, entered and paid his 
WMp'iment.3 inquiring after the healtli of iiis formidable neigli- 
Dor. Rob Roy maintained a cold, haogliry civility during 
iheir short conference ; and so soon as he had left the hoose, 
'Now,' he said,' ' all is over ; let the jtiper i)lay, Ha tit mi 
tulidh* [we return no more], and he is said to have expired 
before the dirge was finished." — Introduction to Rob Roy. 
Waverley A^ovi'ts, vol. vii. p. 85. " 

1 MS.- ' ' And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said." 

2 MS.' -" The mightiest of a mighty line." 

" MS. — To the Printer. — " I have three jiages ready to be 
«pi^ yOQ may send for them in about an hour. The rest 



A rich collation spread in vain. 

The banquet proud, the chamber gay,' 

Scarce drew one ctn'ious glance astray ; 

Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say, 

With better omen dawn'd the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared. 

While Lufra, crouching by her side, 

His station claim'd with jealous pride. 

And Douglas, bent on woodland game,' 

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grfeme, 

Wliose answer, oft at random made, 

The wandermg of his thoughts betray'd, — 

Those who such simple joys have known. 

Are taught to prize them when they're gone 

But sudden, see, she lifts her head 1 

The window seeks with cautious tread. 

What distant music has the power 

To win her in this woful hour ! 

'Twas from a tiu-ret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was simg. 

XXIV. 
aaj of tl)t JJmprfBonel) Jljuntsinan. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle greyhound loathes his food, 
My liorse is weary of liis stall. 
And I am sick of captive thraU. 
1 wish I were, as I have^becn, 
Hunting the liart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhotmd free, 
For that's the life is meet for me.' 
I hate to leant the ebb of time. 
From yon dull'' steeple's dj'owsy chime. 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl. 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
Tlie lark was wont my matins ring,' 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These towers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me.° 
No more at dawning morn I rise. 
And sun myself m Ellen's eyes. 
Drive the fleet deer tlie forest thiough, 

of my fiax is on the spindle, but not yet twisted inttf propn ! 
yarn. I am glad you like the battle ol^ Beal' an Duine. Itij 
ratliei too long, but that was unavoidable. 1 hope yon wiB 
pnsh on the notes. To save time 1 shall send the copy wl;ei 
ready to St. John Street. — W. S." 



,MS- 



" The banquet gay, the chamber's pride, 
Scarce drew one curious glance aside.** 



t MS. — ' Earnest on his game." 

s MS. " wa-s meant for me." 

' MS. — " From darken'd steeple's." 

8 MS. — The lively lark my matins mng, 

The s.tble rook my vespers sung." 
g MS. — " Have not a hall should harbol me.' 



I 



UNTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 237 


And homeward wend with evening dew ; 


Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 


A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 


To him each lady's look was lent\ 


And lay my trophies at her feet, 


On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 


While fled the eve on wing of glee, — • 


Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen, 


That life is lost to love and me 1" 


He stood, in simple Lincoln-green, 




The centre of the glittering ring. 


XXV. 


And Snowdoim's Knight is Scotland's EingP 


The heart-sick lay was hardly said, " 




The Ust'ner had not turn'd her head, 


XXVII. 


It trickled still, the starting tear. 


As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, 


When light a footstep struck her ear, 


Slides from the rock that gave it rest, 


And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near. 


Poor Ellen glided from her stay,' 


She turn'd the hastier, lest again 


And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 


The prisoner sliould renew Ids strain. — 


No word her choking voice commands, — 


"0 welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said ; 


She show'd the ring, she clasp'd her hands. 


" How may an almost orphan maid 


1 not a moment could he brook. 


Pay the deep debt" " say not so I 


The generous prince, that suppliant look 1 


To me no gratitude you owe. 


Gently lie raised her ; and, the while. 


Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 


Check'd with a glance the circle's smile , 


And bid thy noble father live ; 


Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd, 


I can but be thy guide, sweet maid. 


And bade her terrors be dismiss'd : — 


With Scotland's king thy suit to aid. 


" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-Jame* 


No tjTaut he, though ire and pride 


The fealty of Scotland claims. 


Maj- lay his better mood aside. 


To him thy woes, thy wishes bring ; 


Come, Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time, 


He will redeem his signet ring. 


He holds his court at morning prime." 


Ask naught for Douglas ; yester even. 


With beating heart, and bosom wrung. 


His prince and he have much forgiven. 


As to a brother's arm she clung. 


Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 


Gently he dried the falling tear. 


I, from liis rebel kinsmen, wrong. 


And gently whisper'd hope and cheer ; 


We would not, to the vulgar crowd. 


Her fidtering steps half led, half staid. 


Yield what they craved with clamor loud • 


Through gallery fair, and liigh arcade. 


Cahnly we heard and judged his cause, 


Till, at its touch, its wings of pride 


Our council aided, and our laws. 


i portal arch unfolded wide. 


I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern. 




With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencaim ; 


XXVI. 


And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 


Within 'twas brilliant all and light,' 


The friend and bulwark of our Tln-ona 


A tlironging scene of figures bright ; 


But lovely infidel, how now ? 


It glow'd on Ellen's dazzfed sight. 


What clouds thy misbelieving brow ? 


As when the setting sun has given 


Lord James of Douglas, lend tliine aid ; 


Ten thousand hues to summer even. 


Thou must confirm tliis doubting maid." 


And from then* tissue, fancy frames 




Aerial knights and fau*y dames. 


xxvin. 


Still by Fitz-James her footing staid ; 


Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 


A few faint stejis she forward made. 


And on liis neck his daughter hung. 


Then slow her droopmg head she raised. 


The Monarch drank, that happy hour. 


And fearful romid the presence gazed ; 


The sweetest, hoUest draught of Power, — 


For liim she sought, who own'd this state. 


Wlien it can say, with godlike voice. 


The dreaded prmce whose will was fate. 


Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 


She gazed on many a princely port, 


Yet would not James the general eye 


Might well have ruled a royal court ; 


On Nature's raptures long should pry ; 


On many a splendid garb she gazed. 


He stepp'd between — " Nay, Douglas, nay. 


Then turn'd bewUder'd and amazed, 


Steal not my proselyte away 1 


For all stood bare ; and, in the room. 


The riddle 'tis my right to read. 


• MS. — "Within 'twas brilliant all. and bright 


» See Appendii, Note 3 Y. 


The vision glow* } on Ellen'a sight." 




' MS — " For him who own'd tbis royal state." 


« MS. " shrinking, qnita her staj ' 



iS8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTO n. 



rhat brought tliis bappy chance to speed. 

Fes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 

In life's more low but happier way,' 

'Tia imder name which veils my power, 

Nor ftdsely veils — for StirUng'a tower 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,' 

And Normans call mo James Fitz-James. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 

Tims leaiii to right the injured cause." — 

Tlicu, iii a tone apart and low, — 

"Ai, httle traitress! uone must know 

'What idle dream, what hghter thought, 

What vauitj' full dearly bought, 

Joiu'd to thine eye's dark witclicraft, drew 

Hj spell-bound steps to Benvenue,' 

In dangerous liour, and all but gave 

Thy Monarch's hfe to mountain gliuve !" — 

Aloud he spoke — "Thou stiU dost hold 

That httle talisman of gold, 

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring — * 

What seeks fau- Ellen of the King !" 

XXIX. 

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd 

He probed the weakness of her breast ; 

But, with that consciousness, there came 

A hghteiung of her fears for Gra3me, 

AntP more she deem'd the Monarch's ire 

Kinilled 'gainst liim, who, for her sire, 

RebelUous broadsword boKUy drew ; 

And, to her generous feehng true, 

She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 

" Forbear thy suit ; — the I^ing of Kings 

Alone can stay hfe's parting wings, 

I know liis heart, I know his hand, 

Have sh-ored liis cheer, and proved his brand : — 

My fairest earldom would I give 

To bid Clan- Alpine's Chieftain hve ! — 

* MS. — " In lowly life's more happy way." 
■ See Apiieodi.\, Note 3 Z. 

• MS -" Thy sovereign back ) ,„ Benvenae." 

Thy sovertigii's steps i 
*MS,— * Pledge of Fitz-James's faith, the ring." 
» M8 " And in Iier breast strove maidea shame ; 
.\?ore deep siie deem'd the monarch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for lier sire, 
Against his sovereign broadsword drew ; 
And, with a pleading, warm and true. 
She craved tlie grace of Roderick Dhu." 
> "• M£.:;olni Graeme lias too insignificant a part assigned 
iitn, consiiieidng tlie favor in which he is Iield botii by Ellen 
and the author; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect 
character of Roderick Dhu, as a contrast to the purer virtue of 
bis rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen into the common error, 
of making him more interesting than him wliose virtues he was 
intended to set otf, and converted tlie villain of the piece in 
lome measure into its hero. A modem poet, however, may 
perhaps be pardoned for an error, of which Milton Iiimself is 
bought not to have kept clear, and for wliicli there seems so 
natural a cause in tlie difference between poetical and amiable 
olraractera." — Jeffrey. 



Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other captive frieud to save ?" 
Blushing, she turn'J her from tlie King, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring, 
As if she wish'd her su-e to speak 
The suit that stain'd her glowmg cheek. — 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, 
And stubborn justice holds her course. — 
Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at tlie word, 
Down kueeVd the Gra^me^ to Scotland's Lord. 
'* For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 
Fi'om thee may Vengeance claun her dues. 
Who, nurtured imderneath our smile, 
Hast paid oiu* care by treacherous wile, 
And sought amid tliy fiiithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlaw'd man, 
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. — 

Fetters and warder for the Gricme 1" 

His chain of gold the King unstrung. 
The hnks o'er Malcolm's neck he flimg, 
Then gently drew the glittering band, 
And hiid the clasp on Ellen's hand.'' 

Harp of the North, hu-ewell !* The liills grow dark 

Ou purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twihght copse the glow-worm lights her spark, 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert ■^rending. 
Resume thy wizard elni 1 the fountain lenduig, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
Thy numbers sweet with natm"e's vespers blending, 

With distant echo from the fold and lea, 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hmn of houfiing 
bee. 

Yet, once again, forewell, thou Minstrel harp 1 
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 

And Utile reck I of the censure sharp 
May idly cavil at an idle lay. 

* 

' " And now, waiving myself, let me talk to you ol 

the Prince Regent. Ho ordered me to be presented to him al 
a ball ; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal 
lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to inc of you and yooi 
immortalities ; he preferred you to every bard past and present, 
and asked whicli of your works pleased me most. It was a 
difficult question. I answered, I tiioughl llie ' Lav.' He said 
his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the otheis. 
I told him that I thought yon more particularly llie poet ol 
Princes, as thry never appeared more faicinatiiig than in 
' Marmion' and the ' Lady of the Lake.' Jle wa.s pleased to 
coincide, and to dwell on the descrijition of your James's as no 
less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and 
yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," &c. — Lettet 
from Lord Byron to Sir IValtcr Scott, July Q, J812.— By- 
ron's l^ifc and Works, vol. ii. p. 15G. 

8 MS. — To the Printer. — " I send the grand finale, and eo 
exit the Lady of the Lake from the head she has tormented for 
six months. In canto vi. stanza 21 , — stern and still, read grivi 
and still ; sternly occurs four lines higher. For a similar reason, 
stanza 24 — dun-deer, read fleet-deer. I will probably call (hii 
morning. — Yours truly, 

W. 3." 



OANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



2d» 



Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 
Through secret woes the world has never known, 

When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, 
And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. 

That 1 o'eilive such woes, Enchantress I is thine own. 

Hark I as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 
Some Spii'it of the Air has waked thy string I 

>."0n a comparison of the merits of this Poem with the two 
former productions of the same unquestioned genius, we are 
mcliiieii to bestow on it a very decided preference over botli. 
It would perhaps be difficult to select any one passage of such 
genuine inspiration as one or two tliat might he pointed out in 
the Lay of tlie Last Minstrel — and perhaps, in strengtJi and 
diacri mi nation of character, it may fall sliort of Marmion ; al- 
though we are loth to resign either the rude and savage gen- 
erosity of Rodenck, the romantic chivalry of James, or the 
playful simplicity, the affectionate tenderness, the modest cour- 
•ge of Ellen Douglas, to the claims of any competitors in the 
'ast-mentioned jioem. But. for interest and artificial manage- 
ment in tlie story, for gnierai ease ami grace of versification, 
&nd con-ectness of language, the Lady of the Lake must he 
oniversaliy allowed, we think, to excel, and very far excel, 
either of her predecessors." — Critical Review. 

"There is nothing in Mr. Scott of the severe and majestic 
ityle of Milton — or of the terse and fine composition of Pope — 
or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell — or even 
of the flowing and redundant diction of Southey, — hut there is 
ft medley of bright images and glowing, set carelessly and 
loosely together — a diction tinged successively with the careless 
ricl-oess of Shakespeard — the harshness and antique simplicity 
of the old romances — the homeliness of vulgar ballads and 
anecdotes— and tlie sentimental glitter of the most modern 
poetry, — passing from the borders of iJie ridiculous to those-of 
the •olilime — alternately minute and energetic — sometimes artL 
Icial. %ni re aently necliseat, but always fall of spirit tnd 



'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 

Receding now, the dymg numbers ring 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 

And now, 'tis silent all ! — Enchantress, far^ thee 
well \' 

vivacity — abounding in images that are striking at first sight to 
minds of every contexture — and never expressing a sentiment 
which it can cost the most ordinary reader any exertion to 
comprehend. Upon the whole we are inclined to think more 
highly of the Lady of the Lake than of either of its author'a 
former publications. We are more sure, however, that it haa 
fewer faults than that it has greater beauties ; and as its beau- 
ties bear a strong resemblance to those with which the poblio 
has been already made familiar in these celebrated works, we 
should not be surprised if its popularity were less splendid and 
remarkable. For our own parts, however, we are of opitiioD 
tlial it will be oftener read hereafter than either of them ; and 
that, if it had appeared first in the series, their reception woald 
have been less favorable than that Whicii it has experienced 
It is more polished in its diction, and more regular in its verai 
fication ; the story is constructed with infinitely more skill and 
address; there is a greater proportion of idea^iing and tender 
passages, with mncii less antiquarian detail ; and, upon the 
whole, a larger variety of characters, more artfully and judi- 
ciously contrasted. There is nothing so line, perliaps, as the 
battle in Marmion — or so picturesque as s>ome of the scattered 
sketches in the Lay ; but there is a richness and a spirit in the 
whole piece which does not pervade either of these poems — a 
profusion of incident, and a shifting brilliancy of coloring, that 
reminds us of the witchery of Ariosto — and a constant elasticity 
and occasional energy, which seem to belong more peciili&rlr to 
the author now before us." — Jepfrst. 



240 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The heights of Vam-Var, 

And roused the cavern, where, ^tis told, 
A giant viade his den of old.- -V. 185. 
Ua-var, as the name is pronoanced, or more properly Uaigh- 
mor, is a mountain to the northeast of the village of Callentler 
in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, 
or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south 
side, said, by tradition, to have been tlie abode of a giant. In 
latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have 
be^n only extirpated within these forty or fifty years, Ptrictly 
speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would im- 
ply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, surrounded with 
large rocks, and open above liead. It may have been originally 
designed as a toil for deer, who miglit get in from the outside, 
bnt wauld find it difficult to return. Tliis opinion prevails 
«moiig the old sportsmen and deerstalkers in the neighborhood. 



Note B. 



Two dogs of black Saint HuberVs breed. 
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed. — P. 186. 

" The hounds whicli we call f^aint Hubert's hounds, are com- 
monly all blacke, yet neuertheless, tlie race is so mingled at 
these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the 
hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept soma 
of their race or kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, 
which was a hunter witli S. Eustace. Whereopon we may 
conceiue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall 
follow them into paradise. To retuni vnto my former purpose, 
this kind of dogges hath bene dispersed through the counties of 
Henanlt. Lorayne, Flanders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty 
of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewise 
they are not swift, although they be very good of sent, hunting 
chaces which are farre straggled, fearing neither waternor cold, 
and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and 
Boch like, than other, because they find themselves neither of 
swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the chaces that are lighter 
atid Bwifter. The bloodhounds of this colour proue good, es- 
pecially thoie that are cole blacke. hut I made no great account 
to Xtreea on tiiera, or to keepe the kind, and yet I found a book 
A'hich a hunter did dedicate to a prince of Lorayne, which 
leemed to loue hunting much, wherein was a blason which the 
jame hontergave to his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which 
Was white : — 

' My name came first from holy Hubert's race, 
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. 

Whereupon we may presume that some of the kind prone 
white sometimes, but they are not of the kind of the Greffiers 
)r Bonxes, which we haoe at these dayes." — The noble Art 
)/ Ven^rie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use 
Hf ali S'obletnen and Oftlemen. Lond. 1611. 4to, p. 15. 



NotkO. 

For the death-wound and death-halloo^ 

Muster'd his breath, his whinyard drew. — P. 186. 

When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the 
perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the dea 
perate animal. At certain limes of the year this was held par- 
ticularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn being 
then deemed poisonous and more dangerous than one from the 
tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme testifies :-^ 

" If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier. 
But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thoi 
need's! not fear." 

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be ad' 
ventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the 
stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching au op. 
portunity to gallop roundly in upon liim, and kill him with the 
sword. See many directions to this purpose in the Booke of 
Hunting, chap. 41. Wilson tlie historian has recorded a prov^ 
idential escape which befell him in this hazardous sport, whilt 
a youth and follower of the Earl of Essex. 

" Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited my lord one 
summer to hunt the stagg. And having a great stagg in chase 
and many gentlemen in the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. And 
divers, whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with swordi 
drawne, to have a cut at him, at his coming out of the water. 
The stagg.s there being wonderfully fierce and dangerous, made 
us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all. 
And it was my misfortune to be hindered of my coming nere 
him, the way being sliperie, by a falle ; which gave occasion 
to some, who did not know mee, to speak as if I liad falae 
through feare. Which being told mee, I left the stagg, and 
followed the gentleman who [first] spake it. But I found hin 
of that cold temper, thai u seems his words made an escape 
from him ; as by his denial and rejtentance it appeared. But 
this made mee more violent in the pursuit of the stagg, to W* 
cover my reputation. A»<1 ^ happened to be the only horse- 
man in, when the liogs sevt h:m up at bay ; and apjiroaching 
near him at horsebacke, he broke through liie dogs, and run at 
mee, and tora my horse's side with his homes, close by my 
thigh. Then i qnitted my horse, and grew more cunning (for 
the dogs had setle him up againe), stealing behind him with 
my sword, and cut his hamstrings ; and then got upon his back, 
and cat his throate ; which, as I was doing, the company cami 
in, and blamed my rashness for running such a iitzard "— 
Peck'b Desiderata Curiosa, ii. 464. 



Note D. 



And now to issue from the glen, 
J^o pathway meets the wanderer^ s ken 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice. — P. 187. 

Until the present road was made through the romantic paa 
which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the p» 
ceding stanzas, there was no moda of issuing out of tlie defiU 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



'2il 



Cftlled the Tiosaclis, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of 
t!ie branches and roots of trees. 



Note E. 



71? meet with Highland plunderers here, 
Were usorsc than loss of steed or deer. — P. 188. 

I'he clans who inhabited the romantic regions in tlie neigh- 
borhood of Loch Katrine, were, even until a late period, 
mach addicted to predatory incursions upon their Lowland 
nei^libors. " In tbrnier times, those parts of this district, which 
are situated beyond the Grampian range, were rendered almost 
inaccessible by strong barriers of rocks, and mountains, and 
lakes. It was a border country, am , though on the very verg^ 
of the low country, it was almost totally sequestered from the 
world, and, as it were insulated with respect to society. 'Tis 
well known that in the Ilignlands, it was, in former times, ac- 
coonted not only lawful, but honorable, among hostile tribes, 
to commit ilepredations on one another ; and these liabits of tlie 
age were nerhaps strengthened in this district, by tlie circum- 
nances which have been mentioned. It bordered on a country, 
\he inhaUitanls of which, while lliey were richer, were less 
warlike than they, and widely ditfer^nccd by language and man- 
neis." — Gr iu*.M's Sketches of Scenery in Perthshire. Edin. 
1806, p. 97. Tlie reader will therefore be pleased to remem- 
'■er, ihbt the scene of this poem is laid in a time, 

'* When tcoming faolda, or sweeping of a glen, 
Had (iUl) heen held the deed of gallant men." 



Note F. 



Ji gray-n.ci'-'d sire, whose eye intent. 
Was on *i'.L ■■'ision^d future bent. — P. 189. 

■r force of evidence could authorize us to believe facts incon- 
listent with the gcLt.i-l laws of nature, enough might be jiro- 
duced in favorof the existence of the Sscond-sight. It is called 
40 Gaelic Taishitarau fh, from Tnish, an unreal or shadowy 
appearance; and tliose possessed of the faculty are called Taish' 
atrin, which may bi aptly translated visionaries. Martin, a 
steady believer in the second-sight, gives the following account 
of it :— 

" The second-sight is a singular faculty, of seeing an other- 
wise invisible object, without any previous means used by the 
person that used it for that end : the vision makes such a lively 
impression upon the seers, that they neitlier see, nor think of 
any thing else, except the vision, as long as it continues ; and 
tlien they appear pensive or jovial, according to the object that 
was represented to them. 

" \t tlie sight of a visior., the eyelids of the person are 
erected, and tlie eyes continue staring until the object vanish. 
This is obvious to others who are by, when the persons happen 
lo s*» a .I-fion, and occurred more than once to my own obser- 
vation, and to others that were with mt.*. 

" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance obsen-ed, 
'h».'. when he sees a vision, the inner part of his eyelids turns 
<o i;ir upwards, that, after the object disappears, he must draw 
ihem down with his fingers, and sometime? employ others to 
draw them down, which he finds to be the much easier way. 

" This faculty of the second-sight does not lineally descend 
ID a family, as some imagine, for I know several parents who 
are endowed with it, but their cliildren not, and vice versa ; 
neither is it acquired by any previous compact. And, after a 
strict inquiry. 1 could never learn that this faculty was com- 
iDtimcable any way whatsoever. 
: "The seer knows neither the object, time, nor place of a 

'■ nr«n, before it appears ; and the same object is often seen by 
diflereni p^nsoni living at a considerable di^^tance from one an- 



other. The true way of judging'aa to the time and circum 
stance of an object, la by observation ; for several persons ol 
judgment, without tliis faculty, are more cai)able to judge of 
the design of a vision, than a novice that is a seer. If an ob- 
ject appear in the day or night, it will come to pass sooner oi 
later accordingly. 

" If an object is seen early in the morning (which ia not fre- 
quent), it will be accomolished in a few hours afterwaicTs. U 
at noon, it will commonlv be accomplished that very dav. II 
in tile evening, periiajts that night ; if after candles be ligTiwd, 
it will be accomplished that night : the later always iu accom* 
plishment. by weeks, months, and sometimes years, according 
to the time of night the vision is seen. 

'•When a shroud is perceived about oni, it is a sore prog- 
nostic of death ; the time is judged according to the height of 
it about the person ; for if it is seen above the middle, death is 
not to be expected for the space of a year, and perhajis some 
months longer; and as it is frequently seen to ascend higher 
towanis tiie head, death is concluded to be at hand within a 
few days, if not hours, as daily experience confirms. Exam- 
ples of tliis kind were shown me, when the pcrrons of whom 
the observations were then made, enjoyed perfect health. 

" One instance was lately foretold by a seer, that was a nov 
ice, concerning the death of one of my acquaintance ; this 
was communicated to a few only, and with great coiitidence ■ 
I being one of the number, did not in tho least rogard it, until 
the death of tlie person, about the time foretold, did contirn' 
me of llie certainty of the prediction. The novice mentioned 
above, is now a skilful seer, as appears from many late instan 
ces ; he lives in the parish of St. Mary's, the most northern in 
Skie. 

'* If a woman is seen standing at a man's lefl hand, it is a 
presage that she will be his wife, whether they be married to 
otliers, or unmarried at the time of (he L-pparition. 

*' If two or three women are seen at oM-je near a man's lefi 
hand, slie that is next Iiim will undoubtedly he his wife first, 
and so on, whetlipr all three, or the man, be single or mairied 
%t the time of the vision or not; of which there are several 
late instances among those of my acquaintance. It is an ordi 
nary thing for them to see a man that is to come to the house 
shortly after: and if he is not of the scfr's acquaintance, yet 
he gives such a lively descripiion of his stature, complexion 
habit, &c. that upon his arrival he answers the character given 
him in all respects 

" If the pel-son so appearing be one of the seer's acquaint- 
ance, he will tell Iiis name, as well as other particulars, and he 
can tell by his countenance whether he comes in a good or ba<j 
humour. 

*' I have been seen thus myself by seers of both sexes, at 
some hundred miles' distance ; some that saw me in this man- 
ner had never seen me jier^onally, and it happeiii?d accordiug 
to their vision, without any previous design of mine to go lo 
those places, my coming there being purely accidental. 

" It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and trees, 
in places void of all three : and this in progress of time uses to 
be accomplished : as at Mogsliot, in the Fale of Skie when 
there were but a few sorry cowhouses, thatched wi*} straw, 
yet in a very few years after, the vision, which appcirad ofl^Di 
was accomplished, by the building of several good honaca m 
the very spot represented by the seers, and by tlie plantinii of 
orchards there. 

" To see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm or breast is ■ 
forerunner of a dead child to be seen in the arms of those pe^ 
sons ; of which there are several fresh instances. 

" To see a seat empty at the time of one's silting in it, is a 
presage of that person's death soon after. 

" When a novice, or one that has lately obtained the second- 
sigh', sees a vision in the night-time without-dorrs, and he be 
near a fire, he presently tails into a swoon. 

" Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people, hav- 
ing a corpse which they carry along with them ; and after 
Buch visions, the seers come io aweat'np *nd describe the Dei 



pie that appeared : if there be any of their acqnaintance among 
'em, they give an account of their names, as also of the bearers, 
but they know notliiiig concerning the corpse. 

" AU tiiose who have the second-sight do not always see 
these visions at once, though they be together at tlie time. 
Bat if one who lias this faculty, designedly touch his fellow- 
leerat the instant of a vision's appearing, then the second sees 
it as well as the first ; and this is sometimes discerned by those 
til at are near them on such occasions." — Martin's descrip- 
tion of Vie TVcstcrn Islands, 1716, 8vo, p. 300, ct seg. 

To these particulars innumerable examples might be added, 
all attested by grave and credible authore. But, in despite of 
evidence which neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able 
to resist, the Taisch, with all its visionary properties, seems to 
be now universally abandoned to the use of poetry. The ex- 
quisitely beautiful poem of Locliiel will at once occur to the 
lecoUection of every reader. 



Note G. 



Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had f rained a rustic bower. — P. 190. 
The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed 
to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, 
lome place of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as cir- 
cumstances would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic 
hat, in a strong and secluded situation. One of these last 
gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles Edward, ic his perilous 
waniietings after tiie battle of Culloden. 

" It was situated in the face of a very rough, high, and 
rocky mountain, called Letterniliclik, still a part of Benalder, 
full of great stones and crevices, and some scattered wood in- 
terspersed. The habitation called the Cage, in the face of that 
raiuntain, was within a small thick bush of wood. There 
were first some rows of trees laid down, in order to level th» 
floor for a habitation ; and as the place was steep, this raised 
the lower side to an equal height with the other: and these 
trees, in tlie way of joist* or planks, were levelled with earth 
and gravel. There were betwixt the trees, growing naturally 
on their own roots, some stakes fixed in the earth, which, with 
the trees, were interwoven with ropes, made of heath and birch 
twigs, up to the top of the Cage, it being of a round or rather 
oval shape ; and the whole thatched and covered over with 
fog. The whole fabric hung, as it were, by a large tree, which 
reclined from the one end, all along the roof, to the oilier, and 
whiih ^ave it the name of the Cage ; and by chance there 
haj>pened to be two stones at a small distance from one anoth- 
er, in the side next the precipice, resembling the pillars of a 
chimney, where the fire was placed. The smoke had its vent 
GUI here, all along the fall of the rock, which was so much of 
UiP same color, that one could discover no difference in the 
cleirest day." — Home's History of tke RcheUio7i, Lond. 
iwy, 4to. p. 381. 



Note H. 



My sire s tall form might grace tke part 
Of Ferragus or Ascabart.—V. 190. 

These two sons of Anak flourished in romantic fable. The 
Aral is well known to tlie admirers of Ariosto, by the name of 
Ferran He was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at length 
ilain bj him in single combat. There is a romance in th* 
Aochinleck MS., in which Ferragus is thus described ; — 

" On a day come tiding 
Unto Charls the King, 

AI of a dougliti knight 
Wa^ comen to Naveis, 



Stout he was and fen, 

Vernagu he hight. 
Of Babiloun the soudin 
Thider liim sende gan, 

With King Cliarls to fight. 
So hard he was to fond' 
That no dint of brond 

No greued him, apHght. 
He hadde twenti men strengthe 
And forti fet of lengthe, 

Thilke painim hede,^ 
And four feet in the face, 
Y-meten3 in the place, 

And fifteen in brede.i 
His nose was a fot and more ; 
His brow, as bristles wore ;6 

lie that it seighe it sede. 
He loked lotheliche, 
And was swart" as any piche, 

Of him men might adrede." 

Romance of Charlemagne, 1. 461-484 
Anchinlcck MS., folio 205. 

Ascapatt, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure in lh« 
History of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was conquered. 
His effigies may be seen guarding one side of a gate at South- 
ampton, while the other is occupied by Sir Bevis himself. 
The dimensions of Ascabart were little inferior to tho^e of Fer- 
ragus, if the following description be correct : — 

" They metten with a geaunt. 
With a lotheliche semblaunt. 
He was wonderliche strong, 
Rome' thretti fole long 
His herd was bot gret and rowe ;" 
A space of a fot between^ is'-" browe ; 
His clob was, to yeue'f a strok, 
A lite bodi of an oak.'> 

" Beoes hadde of him wonder gret, 
And a.'^kede him what a liet.is 

And yafi'-* men of his contre ^ 

Were ase nieche'-' ase was he. 
' Mc name,' a sede, is ' is AscopaiU, 
Garci me sent hiderward. 
For to bring liiis quene ayen, 
And the Beues her of-slen.'" 
Icham Garci isi' champioun. 
And was i-driue out of me'8 toun 
Al for that ich was so lite.'^ 
Eueri man me wolde smite, 
Ich was £0 lite and so merugh,^" 
Eueri man me clei>ede dwerugh,'*! 
And now icham in this londe, 
1 wax nior-- ich understonde. 
And stranger than other tene ;23 
And that schel on us be sene." 

Sir Bevis of Hampton, I. 2511 
Auckinleck MS. fol. 189. 



Note I. 

Though all miasfc'd his birth and name. — P- 191. 

The Highlanders, wlio carried liospitality to & punctihou. 
excess, are said to have considered it as churlish, to &ak 
a stranger Iii9 name or lineage, before he had taken refresh- 
ment. 

1 Found, proved.— 2 Hnd.— 3 Measured.— 4 Breadth.— 5 Were.— 6 Black, 
—1 Fully.— 8 Rough.— 9 H».— 10 Give.— 11 The Btom of .i liltle oak-tre*. 
—12 He hight, wnn cnlled — 13 If.— 14 Grenl,— 16 He aaid.- 16SInv.- 
n Hi6.— 18 My.-lP Little.— 9f Lean.— «1 Dwaif.— S3 Greater. taUw- 
«3TeB 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



243 



Fcmds were fo freqnenl among them, that a contrary rule wonid 
tn many cases liave i}roiluce<i the discovery of some circum- 
Itance, wliici) might have excluded the guest from the henetit 
pf Uie assisitance lie stood in need of. 



JfoTE K. 
—and still a harp unsren. 



FtU'd up the symphony hetwecn. — P. 191. 

*Thcy" (meaning tlie Highlanders) " delight much in mn- 
caka, bn^ chietly in hurps and clairschoes of tlieJr own fashion. 
The dtiiiigs of the clairschoes are made of hrass wire, and the 
strings of the liarps, of sinews ; whicli strings rhey strike either 
with their nayles, growing long, or else with an instrument ap- 
pointed for tn^: use. They take great pleasure to decke tlieir 
harps and clairsclioes wixn sliver aiui jirecious sioni-s , the poore 
fjes that cannot attayne Iiereunto, decke them with chrislall. 
They sing verges prettily compound, contayiiing (for tlie most 
pan) prayses of valiant men. There is not almost any other 
argument, whereof their rliymes intreat. Tliey speak the an- 
oient French language alterod a little."* — " The harp .and 
clairschoes are now only heard in tiie Higlilands in ancient song. 
At what period these instruments ceased to be used, is not on 
record ; and tradition is silent on this head. But, as Irish harp- 
ers occx-^ionally visited the Highlands and Western Isles till 
lately, the harp might have been extant so late as the middle 
of the last century. Thos far we know, that from remote 
tiroes down to the present, harpers were received as welcome 
goests, particularly in the Highlands of Scotland ; and so late 
as the latter end of the sixteenth century, as appears by the 
above (inotation, the harp was in common use among the na- 
tives oi the Western Isles. How it happened that the noisy 
and unharmonious bagpipes banished the soft and expressive 
harp, we cannot say ; but certain it is, that the bagpipe is now 
the only instrnment that obtains universally in the Highland 
districts." — Campbell's Journey thrQug^k >Yort/i Britain. 
Lond. 1808, 4to. I. 175. 

Mr. Guiin, of Edinhnrgh, has lately published a curious Es- 
lay upon the Harp and Harp Music of the Highlands of Scot- 
land. That the instrnment was once in common use there, is 
most certain. Clelland nnmbers an acquaintance with it among 
tne few aecomplishmeiits* wliich his satire allows to the High- 
landers :-:- 

" In nothing they're accounted sharp, 
Except in bagpipe or in harp." 



Note L. 



Mott's genial ijijlucnce roused a minstrel gray. — P. 193. 

T^M. Highland chieftains, to a late period, retained in their 
(ervict the bard, as a family officer, admits of very easy proof. 
Thp fiP'ht^r of the Letter; from the North of Scotland, an offi- 
Mrof engiin-f-rs. quartered at Irivernew about 172U, who cer- 

AJnly wiiinct be deemed a favorable witness, gives the follow- 
faif atcoiint t)f the office, and of a bard whom he Iieard exer- 
Use hia tairr.t of recitation : — *' The bard is skilled in the gene- 
llo^ '>f all the Highland families, sometimes preceptor to the 
fornglaini, celebrates in Irish verse the original of the tribe, 
Ihe l/vmous warlike actions of the successive heads, and sings 
bia own lyricks as an opiate to the chief when indisposed for 
deep; but poets arc not equally esteemed and honored in all 
eonntriei. I happened to bs? a witness of the dishonor done to 
die muse at the house of one of the chiefs, \vhere two of the.ie 

lards wen? set at a good distance, at the lower end of a long 

ible, with a parcel of Highlanders of no extraordinary appear- 

% 
' f^ide,'* Ci-Ttayne Mntters concerning Ibe Renlnie of Scotliuid, Ac- iw 

••y were Aano Domi-'i 1591. I>ond. 1W3.'' 4to. 



ance, over a cup of ale. Poor ins[iiration ! They were not 
asked to drink a ^lass of wine at our table, ti ough the whole 
company consisted only of the ^rcot man, ore of iiis near re- 
lations, and myself. After some little time, llie chief ordered 
one of them to sing me a Highland song. The bard reaiHIy 
obeyed, and with a hoarse voice, and in a tune of few varioat 
notes, began, as I was told, one of his own lyriuks ; aud wher 
he had proceeded to the fourth or lit'th ftan>:a, I perceived, bj 
the names of several persons, glens, and mT...." lin?, which I 
had known or heard of before, that it was an account of eomt 
clan battle. But in Iiis going on, the chief (who piques li.m- 
self upon his Bchool-learning), at some partiuular passage, bid 
him cease, and cried out. ' Tliere's nothing like tliat in Virgil 
or Homer.' I bowed, ami told him 1 believed so. This voo 
may believe was very edifying and delightful." — Letters, ii 
167. 



Note M. 



The Ortsme.—V. 194. 

The ancient and powerful family of Graham (which, for met- 
rical rea^^ons, is here spelt after the Scottish pronunciation) 
held extensive possessions in the counties of Dumbarton and 
Stirling. Few families can boast of more iiistorical renown, 
having claim to three of the most remarkable ciiaracters in the 
Scottish annals. Sir John the Gra?me, the faithful and un- 
daunted partaker of the labors and patriotic warfare of Wal- 
lace, fell in the unfortunate field of F.iUcirk, in 1298. The cel- 
ebrated Marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz saw realized 
his abstract iilea of the heroes of antiquity, was the second ot 
these worthies. And. notwithstanding the severity of his tern 
per, and the rigor with which he executed ilio oppressive man 
dates of the princes whom he served. I do not hesitate to name 
aa a third. John Gr-.enie of Claverhouse. Viscount of Dundee, 
whose heroic ileath in the arms of victory may be allowed to 
cancel the memory of his cruelty to the non-conformists, during 
the reigas of Charles II. and James II. 



Note N. 



This harp, trhich erst Snint Marian sway'd. — P. 194. 

I am not prepared to show that Saint Modan was a p0» 
former on the iiarp. It was. however, no nnsaintly accom 
plishmeut ; for Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that 
instrument, which retaming, af< was natural, a portion of the 
eanctity altaclied to its master's character, annoiniced future 
events by its spontaneous soijnd. " But laboring once in 
these mechanic arts for a devout matrone thai had sett him 
on work, his violl. that hung by liim on llie wall, of ita '>wq 
accord, without anie man's liclpe, distinctly sounded this an 
thime : — Qaudnit tp calis nnima sanctorum f/ui Christt 
vestigia sunt seeati ; ct f/uia prs riut amorr sar^utneip 
suvmfiidcrunt, idea cum Christa gaudtnt ittirnum. Where- 
at all the eompanic being much astonished, inrneit thcii evei 
from beliolding him working, to tooki- on that strivnge .cot- 
dent." • • * " Xot long after, manic of the conn ftial 
hitherunto had borne a kind of fayned friendship towards him 
began now greatly to envie at his progres.s and rising in goul 
nes, using manie crooked, backbiting meanes to itiffame his ver- 
tues with the black maskes of h/poeri;*ie. And the belte' '.e 
authorize their calumnie, ihey bronglil in this that happ(j..ed 
in the violl, affirming it to have been done by art magiik 
What more? This wicked rumour increased ilayly, till the 
king and others of the nohilitie taking Iiould thereof, Oiinstan 
grew odious in their sight. Therefore he reeolm-d to l^aiie the 
court and go to Elphtgus, surnamtd the Rnuld, then Bi'^hop ol 
Winchester, who was his cozen. Which his enemies nnder* 
BtaniUng. they layd wayt for liim i i the way, and hsuiiv 



(hrowiie liim off liis hc^rs?, beate him^ and dragged him in the 
durt in lh(? most mi.*eral)Ii.> manner, meaning to have slaiiie 
him, had not a coinpaiiie of raastloo dog^es that came unlookt 
oppon them defended and rodcx-iiifii; hini ifsm their crueWe. 
When With sorrow he was aslianied to aee doggss more hu- 
mauf' than they. An-l giuing thinki^s to Almightie God, he 
■ensihly agftine perceiued that ihe tnrcfi rS his violl had giuen 
h'ju a warning ol' future accident:." — i^/^irer of the hives of 
the most renowned Saincts rf En^iand Scotland, mid fre- 
tati'J, fry the R. Father Hikrcme Porter. Doway, 1632, 
4lo. tfime i, u. 43H. 

'ihv same enpeniatnral circumstance \s alluded to by the 
Uionymuus author of " Grim, the Collier of Croydon." 

ti l^Ditnstan^s harp sounds on the wair\. 

" Forest. Hark, hark, my lords, the holy abbot's harp 
Sounds by itself so lianging on the wall ! 

" Dunstan. Unhallow'd man, that scorn'st the sacred rede, 
Hark, how the testimony of my truth 
Sounds heavenly music with an angel's hand, 
To testify Dunstan's integrity 
And ■^tf^vt> thy active boast of no effect." 



Note 0. 



Ere Douglases, to ruin driven, 

iVcre exiled from their untioe keaven.- 



-P. 194. 



The downfall of the Douglases of the boose of Angus during 
the reign of James V. is the event alluded to in the text. The 
Ear! of Angus, it will be remembered, liad married the queen 
dowager, and availed himself of the right which he thus ac- 
quired, as well as of Ins extensive [lower, to retain the king 
in a --ort of tutelage, which ajtproached very near to captivity. 
Several open attempts were made to rescue James from this 
thraldom, wil^ which he was well known to b? dcpply dis- 
gusted ; but the valor of the Douglases and their allies gave 
thein the vjctory in every conflict. At length the King, while 
residing at Falkland, contrived to escape by niglit out of hia 
own court and palace, and rode full speed to Stirling Castle, 
where the governor, who was of the opposite faction, joyfully 
received him. Being thus at liberty. James speedily sum- 
moned around him such peers as he knew to be most inimical 
to the domination of Angus — and laid his complaint before 
tlieni, says Pitscottie, "* with great lamentation; showing to 
them how he was hol'Ien in subjection, thir years bygone, by 
the Earl of Angus and his kin and friends, who oppressed the 
whole country and spoiled it, under the pretence of justice and 
his authority ; and had slain many of his lieges, kinsmen, and 
friftuls, because the;- would have had it mended at their hands, 
and put iiim at liberty, a? he ought to have been, at the coun- 
sel of his whole lords, and not have been subjected and 
corrected with no particular men, by the rest of his nobles. 
• Therefore, said he. I desire, my lords, that I may he satisfied 
of the eaid earl, his kin, and friends ; for I avow tliat Scotland 
shall not hold ui both while [t. e. till] I be revenged on him 
ami his. 

" The lords, .(taring t lie king's complaint and lamentation, 
ar.d also the gteat rage, fury, and malice that he bore towards 
l?ic Earl of Angus, his kin and friends, they concluded all, and 
thought it best that he should be summoned to underiy the 
law . if he found no caution, nor yet compear liimself. that 
he should be put to the horn, willi all his kin and friends, so 
many as were contained in the lettei-s. And farther, the lords 
ordained, by advice of his majesty, tliat his brother and friends 
shonld be summoned to find caution to underiy tlie law within 
u certain day, or else be put to the horn. But the earl aj>- 
peared not,'tior none for^him ; and so he was put to the horn, 
with all his kin and friends: so many as were contained in 
the summons that compeared not were banished, and holden 
U^itors to the king " 



Note P. 

In Holy-Rood a Knight he slew. — P. 195. 

This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in tbi 
Court of Scotlanrl ; nav, the presence of the sovereign himseli 
scarcely restrained the ferocious and inveterate feuds which 
were the perpetual source of bloodshed among the Scottish 
nobility. The following instance of the murder of Sir Wil 
Ham Stuart of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the celebrated 
Francis, Earl of Bothwell, may be produced among many * 
but as the ollence given in the royal court will hardly bear a 
vernacular translation, I shall leave the story in Jolinstone*a 
Latin, referring for farther particulars to the naked simplicity 
of Birrell's Diary. 30th July, 1588. 

" Mors improbi hominis non tarn ipsa immcrita, quais 
pcssimo eiemplo in publicum, fade perpctrata. Oulielmus 
Stuartus Jilkillrius, Arani frater, natttrd ac moribus, cu- 
jus stepius memini, vulgo propter sitcm sajiguiins sangai 
nanus dictus, d Bothvelio, in Sancta Crucis Rrgid, exardc 
sccntc ird, mendacii probro laccssitns, ohsctrnum osculum 
liberius rrtorquebnt ; Bothvclius kanc covtumeliam tacitua 
t/tdit, sed ingrnttim irarum niolem animo c.oncrpit. Utrin* 
que posir idle Edinburgi conventuni, totidem nitmcro comiti- 
bus armati3,pr<Esidii causa, et acriter pugnatum est ; cete- 
ris amicis et e/itntibus metu torprntibus, aut vi abster^itis, 
ipse Stunrtus fortissime dimicat ; tandem exnisso gladio & 
Bothve-lio, Scythicd fcritate transfodttur, sine cujusquam 
misericordid ; habuit itaque quern, debuit cxitum. Dignus 
erat Stuartus qui patcrctur ; Bothvelius qui facer et. Vul' 
gus sanguinem sanguine prtsdicabit, et horum cruore ?njtee- 
voruvi mtnibus egregie parc7ttntum." — Johnstoni Historta 
licrum Britannicarum. ab anno 1572 ad annum l(i28. Am 
stelodarai, 1655, fol. p. 135. 



Note Q. 
The Douglas, like a st7-ichen deer. 
Disowned bij every noble peer. — P. 195. 

The exile state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in 
this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against 
the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as their 
allies were, and disregarded as the regal authority had usuall) 
been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the mosi 
remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain tliem, unless un 
der the strictest and closest disguise. James Douglas, son of 
the banished Earl of Angus, afterwards well known b}^the 
title of Earl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his family, 
in the north of Scotland, under the assumed name of James 
Innos, otherwise James the Oritvc (/. e. Reve or Bailift'). 
" And as he bore the name," says Godscroft, *" so did he also 
execute the oflice of a grieve or overseer of the lands and 
rent?, the corn and cattle of him with whom he lived." From 
the habits of frugality and observation which he acquired in 
his humble situation, the historian traces that intimate ac 
(|uaintance with popular character which enabled him to risa 
so high in tlie state, and that honorable economy by which h< 
repaired and established the shattered estates of Angu? aa,'' 
Morton. — History of the House of Douglas, Edlnbargh, 
1743. vol. ii. p. 160. 



Note R. 



- J\Iaro%nan^ s ceii. — r. 195. 



The parish of Kilmaronoc>, at th:= enstirrn extremity of Loch 
Lomond, derives its name Iro- d cell or chapel, dedicated t« 
Saint Maronack, or Marntjk, or Maronnan, aboil wliosa 
sanctity very little b* now remeniwrcil. There is a fountaia 
devoted to him in the same parish ; but lis virtues, like tht 
merits of ii>' patron, have fallen into oblivion 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



241. 



WOTE S. 

Iiriieklinn*s tftiindcring wave. — P. 195. 

Thii is a bi'.iDliful cascade made by a mountain stream 
lattetl ihv Keltie, at a place called llie Bridge of Bracklinn, 
\boul a mile Iroin the village of Calleiider in MeiiteitU. Above 
fc chasm, where llit- brook precijiitatei? .tself from a Iieiglit of 
tt leasl fifty feel, tliere is tlirown, for .he convenience of the 
leighbofhood, a rustic footbridge, of nhout three feet in 
breailih, and without ledges, which is scarcely to be crossed 
Vj a fflranger vriiliout awe and appreiieosion. 



Note T. 



For Tinc-mnn forged by fainj lore. — P. IHG. 

Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate 
lo all iiis enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tine- 
HAN, because he lined, or lost, his followers in every battle 
which he I'ouglit. He was vanquished, as every reader must 
remember, in the bloody battle oi" Honiildon-hill, nt-ar Wooler, 
where he himself lost an eye, and was made prisoner by Hot- 
ipur. He was no less tinfoitunate when allied with Percy, 
being wounded and taken at the bailie of Shrewsbury. He 
vtAs so unsuccessful in an attempt to besiege Roxburgh Castle 
that it was called the Foul Raid, or disgraceful expedition. 
His ill fonune left him indeed at the battle of Beaugi: in 
France ; but it was only to return with double emphasis at the 
•obsequent action of Veriioil, the last and most unlucky of 
his encounters, in which he fell, with the flower of the Scot- 
lish chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in Fiance, aud about 
Iffo tliousarid comTnon soldiers, a. d. 1424. 



Note U. 

Did, self-ttnscabbarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe. — P. 196. 

The ancient warriors, whose Jiope and confidence rested 
'hifcrty in their blades, were accustomed to deduce omens 
rem them, especially from such as were supposed to have 
fceen fabricated by enchanted skill, of which we have varions 
Sistances in the romances and legends of the time. The won- 
lerful sword Skofnlno, wielded by the celebrated Hrolf 
Kraka. was of this description. It was deposited in the tomb 
jf the mon:trch at his death, and taken from thence by Skeg- 
{D. a ceftbrated pirate, who bestowed it upon his ?on-in-law, 
Kormak, with the following curious directions : — " ' The man- 
■er of using it will appear strange to you. A small bag is at- 
tached to it. which take heed not to violate. Let not the rays 
•f the sun toach tlie upper pari of the handle, nor unsheathe 
It, untesa thou art ready for battle. But when thou comest to 
the place of figln. go aside from the rest, grasp and extend the 
iword, and breathe upon it. Then a small worm will creep 
Ml of Uie handle ; lower the handle, that he may more easily 
letani mto it.' Kormalc. after having received the sword, re- 
lamn I home to Iiis mother. He showed tlie sword, and al- 
fem|ited to draw it. as nnnecessarily as ineffectually, for he 
coiild not pluck it out of the sheath. His mother, Dallr-,, ex- 
eiaimeti, ■ Do not despise the counsel given lo thee, my son.' 
Kormak. however, repeating his eflorls. pressed down the han- 
dle with 1)13 feet, and tore off the hag, when Skofnung emitted 
t hollow groan : bat still he could not unsheathe the sword. 
Kormak tlien went out with Bessus, whom he had challenged 
t« fight with him, and drew apart at the place oi combat. He 
fct down apon the ground, and ongirdmg the sword, which he 
ttore above his vestments, did not remember to shield the hilt 
ftom the rays of the son. In vain he endeavored lo draw it, 
till he pljced his foot against the hilt ; then the worm issued 
*Oin it Bui Kormak did not rightly handle the weapon, in 



consequence whereof good fortune deserted it. As he on 
sheathed Skofnung. it emitted a iiollow murmnr." — BnrthO' 
lint de Caitsis Contempts a Danis adhuc Ocntilibm Jilorlia, 
JAbri Trvs. ilofnite, 1689, 4to. p. 574. 

To the history of this sentient and prescient weapon, I beg 
leave to add, from memory, the following legend, lor which 1 
cannot produce any better authority. A young nubleman. of 
high hopes and fortune, chanced to lose his wa; in the towt 
which he inhabited, the. capital, 'f 1 mistake not of a Girmas 
province. He had accidentally involved h'in-elf among tUr 
narrow and winding streets of a suburb, iidiabited by tlie low- 
est order of the people, and an appioaidi:-.? thuiider^liowas 
determined him lo ask a short refuge if the r.-.fst decent hal> 
itation tliat was near him. He knockeii at the ."oor, wliitb 
w;is opened by a tall man, of a grisly and ferot!ou» aspect, 
and sordid dress. The stranger was readily ushfred to a cham- 
ber, where swords, scourges, and machines, which seemed to 
be implements of torture, were suspended on the wall. Oqc 
of these swords dropped from its scabburdj as the nobleman, 
after a moment's hesitation, crossed the threshold. His host 
immediately stared at liim with suc-h a marked expression, 
that the young man could not help demanding his name and 
business, and the meaning of his looking at him so fixedly. 
" I am," answered the man, " the public exsculioner of ihll 
city; and the incident you have observed is a sure augury 
thai T shall, in discliarge of my duty, one day cut off youi 
head with the weapon which has just now spontaneously un- 
sheathed itself." The nobleman lost no time in leaving \.is 
place of refuge ; but, engaging in some of the [>lots of the 
period, was shortly after decapitated by that very man and 
instrument. 

Lord Lovat is said, by the ajthor of the Letters from Scot- 
land, to have affirmed, tliat a number of. swords tliat hung up 
in the hall of the mansion-house, leaped of thamselves out of 
the scabbard at tlie instant he was born. The story passed 
current among his clan, but, like that of the story I have just 
quoted, proved an unfortunate omen. — Ijetters from Scutiaf'f 
vol. ii. p. 214. 



Note V. 



Those thrilling' sounds that call the might 
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.— ?. 196. 

The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a wfllv 
comjiosed pibroch, the imitative sounds of march, conflict, 
flight, jmrsuit, and all the "current of a heady fight." To 
tills opinion Dr. Beattie has given bis suffrage, in the following 
elegant passage : — " A pibroch is a species of tune, peculiar, 
I think, to the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. It 
is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other 
music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially ia 
the quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, that a 
stranger finds it impossible to reconcile his ear to it. so as to 
perceive its uiodulaiion. Some of these pibrochs, .«ing L. 
tended to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion reseat 
bling a march ; then gradually quicken into the onset ; run of 
with noisy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the 
conflict and pursuit ; then swell into z. few flourishes ct jioc* 
phant joy ; and perhaps close with the wild and slow waiUrpi 
of a funeral procession." — Essay on Laughter and Ijwt> 
erous Co iposition, chap. iii. Note. 



Note W. 

Roderigh f^ich Mpine dhu, ho! ieroe.'—T 197. 

Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chietlj 
used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highlaiv: 



246 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ehief had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity aa 
head of the clan, and wiiioii was comiiioa to all his predeces- 
■ora and successors, as I'liaraoh to the kings of Egypt, or Ar- 
saces to those of Farthca. This n^rae was usually a patro- 
Dymic, expressive of his descc-nt froa the foiir.der of the family. 
Thus the Duke of Argyle ii called M'leCaUum More, er the 
son of Colin the Qriat. Soinetiincs, however, it is derived 
from i.rmorial distinctions, or the iniMiiory of some great feat ; 
thus Loni Seaforth, as chief of the Mackenzies, or Clan-Ken- 
ael. bears the eiiithel of Caber-fao, or Buck's Hi-ad, aa repre- 
itntatlve of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the family, who 
laved the t^=cotlish king when endangered by a stag. But 
Desides tliis title, which belonged to his otfice and dignity, the 
chieftain had usually another pei;uliar to himself, which dis- 
tinguished liini from the chieftains of the same riice. This 
was sometimes derived from complexion, as dhu or roy ; 
wnietimes from size, as beg or more ; at other times from some 
peculiar exploit, or from some peculiarity of habit or appear- 
ance. The l-ne of the text therefore signifies, 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorravis, 
or boat-songs, of tiie Highlanders, which were usually com- 
posed in honor of :i favorite chief. They are so adapted aa 
U> keep time Willi the eweej) of tlie oars, and it is easy to dis- 
tinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars of a 
galley, where tiie stroke i<!i lengtliened and doubled, as it 
were, and those which were timed to the rowers of an ordi- 
Dflxy boat. 



NoteX. 



The best of Loch Lomond lie dead ott her side. — P. li>7. 

The Lennox, as the district is called, which encircles tho 
lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to 
the incursions of the mountaineers, who inhabited the inac- 
cessible fastnesses at the u])per end of the lake, and the neigh- 
boring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by 
circumstances of great ferot-ity, of which the noted conlHct of 
Glen-fruin is a celebrated instance. Tliis was a claji-battle, in 
which liie Macgregors, headed by Allaster Macgregor, chief of 
the clan, encountered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded 
by Sir Humphry Colqiihoun of Luss. ft is on all hands 
allowed that the action was desperately fouglit, and that the 
Colquhouns were defeated with great slanghter, leaving two 
hundred of their name dt-ad upon tlie field. But popular tra- 
dition has added other lioiTors to llio tale. It is said that Sir 
Humphry Colqnhoun, who was on horseback, escaped to the 
castle of Bencchra. or Banochar, and was next day dragged 
out and murdered by the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. 
Buchanan of Auchmar. liowevcr, sjicaks of his slaughter as a 
tnbsequent event, and as perpetrated by the Maefarlanes. 
Again, it is reported that ihe Macgregors murdered a number 
of jroatbs, whom report of the intended battle had brought to 
be Bpectatora, and whom the Colqiiliouis, anxious for tlieir 
•afety, had shut up i;; a barn to be out of danger. One ac- 
oonnl of lbs i\!acgregors denies this circumstance entirely ; an- 
other astriSerf it to the savage and blood-thirsty disposition of a 
tingle individual, the bastard brother of the Laird of Macgregor, 
who araiised himself with this second massacre of the innocents, 
in express disobedience to their chief, by whom he was left 
iheir guardian during tlie pursuit of the Colquhouns. It is 
added, that Macgiogor bitterly lamented this atrocious action, 
and prophesied the ruin which it must bring upon then- ancient 
elan. The following iiccount of the conflict, which is indeed 
drawn up by a friend of the Clan-Gregor, is altogether silent 
•D the murder of the youths. '■ In the spring of the year Uf2, 



there happened great dissensions and troubles between the laird 
of Luss, chief of the Colquhouns, and Ale.\andfi, laird of Mao 
gregor. Tlie original of these quarrels proceeded from cjurief 
and provocations mutually given and received, not long before. 
Macgregor, however, wanting to have them ended in friendly 
conferences, marched at the head of two hundred of his clan 
to Leven, which borders on Luss, his country, with a view of 
scttiiag matters by the mediation of friends : but Luss had no 
such intentions, and projected Ins measures with a difierent 
view ; for he privately drew together a body of 3UU horse and 500 
foot, composed partly of his own clan and their followers, and 
partly of the Buchanans, his neighbors, and resolved to cut otf 
Macgregor and his party to a man, in case the issue of the con- 
ference did not answer his inclination. But matters fell other- 
wise than he exjiected ; and though Macgregor had previous 
information of his insidious design, yet dissembling his resent- 
ment, he kept the appointment, and parted good friends in 
appearance. 

" No sooner was he gone, than Luss, thinking to surprise 
him and his party in full security, and without any dread or 
apprehension of his treachery, followed with all speed, and 
came up with liim at a place called Glenfroon. Macgregor, 
upon the alarm, divided his men inio two parties, the great- 
est part whereof he commanded himself, and the other he 
committed to the care of his brother John, who, by his or- 
ders, led them about another way, and attacked the Colqu- 
houns in flank. Here it was fought with great bravery on 
botli sides for a considerable time ; and, notwithstanding the 
vast disproportion of numbers, Macgregor, in the end, ob- 
tained an absolute victory. So great was the rout, that 200 of 
the Colquhouns were left dead upon the spot, most of the 
leading men were killed, and a multitude of prisoners taken. 
But what seemed most surprising and incredible in this defeat, 
was, that none of the Macgregors were missing, except John, 
the laird's brother, and one common fellow, though indeed 
many of them we-e wounded." — Professor Ross's History oj 
the fnviily of Sitl/icrland, 163L 

The consequences of the battle of Glen-froin were very 
calamitous to the family of Macgregor, who had aheady beea 
considered as an unruly clan. The widows of the slain Col- 
quliouns. sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in doleful pro- 
cession before the King at Stirling, each riding upon a white 
palfrey, and bearing In her hand the bloody shirt of her has* 
band displayed upon a pike. James VI. was so much moved 
by the complaints of this " choir of mourning dames," that 
he let loose his vengeance against the Macgregors, without 
either bounds or moderation. The very name of the clan 
was proscribed, and those by whom it had been borne wen 
given up to sword and fire, and absolutely hunted (town bj 
bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyle and the Campbells, OD 
the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Buchanans, 
on the other, are said to have been the chief instruments la 
suppressing this devoted clan. The Laird of Macgregor sur- 
rendered to the former, on condition 'Jjat he would take him 
out of Scotti^li ground. Bui. lo-nse BirrtU's expression, he 
kept " a Highlandman's promise ;" and, although he fulfilled 
his woril to the letter, by carrying him as far as Berwick, hi 
afterwards brought him back to Edii^burgh. where be VM 
executed with eighteen of his clan." — Birrel's Diary-fSi 
Oct. 1603. The Clan-Gregor being thu3 driven to otter d»« ■ 
Bpair, seem to have renounced tho laws from the benefit of 
which they were excluded, and their depredations produced 
new acts of council, confir.T.ing the severitj' of their proscrip- 
tion, which had only the effect of rendering them still mora 
anited and desperate. It is a most extraordinary j)roof of 
the ardent and invincible spirit of clanship, that, notwith- 
standing the repeated proscriptions providently ordained by 
the legi>lature, " for tiie timcous preventing the diaorden 
and oppression that may fall out by tlie said name and clas 
of Macgregors, and their followers," they were in 1715 and 
1745 a potent clan, and contlnne to subsist as a distinct &ai 
numerous race. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



241 



Note Y. 

The fCing^'s vindictive pride 

Boasts to hate tamed the Border-sida. — P. 199. 

In 1529, James V. ma.le a convention at Edinburgh for the 
l^arpose of considering the Jcst mode of quelling the Border 
robberg. who, during ihe Heense of his minority, and the 
troubles which followed, had committed many exorbitances. 
Accordingly, he assembled a flying army of ten thousand 
iner, consij'ingr of i\h principal nobility and their followers, 
who vrtre directed to bring their hawks and dogs with them, 
that the monarch might refresh himself with sport during the 
intervals of military execution. With this array he swept 
through Etlrick Forest, where lie banged over the gate of his 
own castle, Piers Cockburn of Henderlarid, who had prepared, 
accorditg to tradition, a feast for liis reception. He caused 
Adam Scott of Tushielaw also to he executed, who was dis- 
tinguished by the title of King of the Border. But the most 
noted victim of justice, during tliat expedition, was John 
Armstrong of Gilnoekie,i famous in Scottish song, who, con- 
fiding in his own supposed innocence, met the King, with a 
retinue of thirty-six persons, all of whom were hanged at 
warleiu-ig, near the source of tlie Teviot. The effect of this 
aeveniy was such, that, as the vulgar expressed it, " the rush- 
bush kejit the cow," and, "thereafter was great peace an4 
gest a long time, wherethrough tlie King had great profit; for 
be had ten thousand sheep going in the Etlrick Forest in 
keeping by Andrew Bell, wlio made the King as good count 
Ol them as tliey had goue in Uie bounds of Fife." — PlscoT- 
TIk's idisiory, p. 153. 



NoteZ. 



IVhat ff^racefor Highland Chiefs, judge ye 
By fate of Border chivalry.— Y. 199. 

James was in fact equally attentive to restrain rapine and 
(eotlal ojipression in every part of his dominions. " The king 
past to the Isles, and there held justice courts, and punished 
both thief and traitor according to their demerit. And also he 
(jaused great men to show tlieir holdings, wherethrough he 
foond many of the said lands in non-entry ; tlm which he con- 
fiscate and brought home to his own use, and afterwards an- 
ueied them to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brought 
many of the great men of the Isles captive with him, such as 
Mudyart, M'Connel, iM'Loyd of the Lewes, M'Neil, M'Lane, 
M'Inlosh, John Mudyart, INI'Kay, M'Kenzie, with many other 
that 1 cannot rehearse at this time. t?ome of them he put in 
Ward and some in court, and some he took j)ledges for good 
rale in time coming. >'o he brought the Isles, both north and 
•ODth, in good rule and peace ; wherefore he had great profit, 
lervice, and obedience of people a long time thereafter; and 
aa Ung as he had the heads of the country in subjection, they 
lived in great peace and rest, and there was great richee and 
»»iicj' by the King's justice." — Pitscottie, p. 152. 



NoTB 2 A- 



Best safe lilt morning ; pity *iwerc 

htich cheek should feel the midnight air. — P. 201. 

HarTiflood was in every respect so essential to the charac- 

! ler of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was the 

j most bilier which could be thrown upon him. Yet it was 

I iomel:mes hazarded on what we might presume to think 

I'Jxht grounds. It is reported of Old Sir Ewen Cameron of 

1 See Border Uinatialiy. ' ol. i. p. 39^. 



Lochiel, when npwariis of seventy, that he was 9ar;tr»ed Dy 
night on a hunting or military expedition. He wrapj-ed him 
in^liis plaid, and lay conieitedly down upon the snow, with 
lyhich the ground hajipened to be covered. Aiuong hii 
attendants, who were preparing to take their ri.'3t in tlie same 
manner, he observed that one of his grandsoiL^, for his bettei 
accommodation, had rolled a large snow-ball, and placed il 
below his head. The wralh of the ancient chief was awak'-'neil 
by a symptom of what he conceived to be degenerate luxury 
— "Out upon thee," said he, kicking the frozen bolster from 
the head which it supported; "art thou so effeminate as to 
neetl a pillow V The officer of engineers, whose curious let- 
ters from the Highlands have been more than once quoted, 
tells a similar story of Macdonald of Keppoch, aod subjoins 
the following remarks :—" This and many other stories are 
romantic ; but there is one thing, that at lirst tliought might 
seem very romantic, of which 1 have been credibly assured, 
that when the Highlanders are constrained to lie among the 
hills, in cold dry windy weather, tliey sometimes soak the 
plaid in some river or burn (i. e. brook), and then, holding up 
a corner nf it a little above their heads, they turn themselves 
round and round, till they are enveloped by the whole man- 
tle. They then lay themselves down on the lieath, ujion the 
leeward side of some lull, where the wet and tlie warmth of 
their bodies make a steam like that of a boiling kettle. The 
wet, they say, keeps them warm by thickening the stuff, and 
keeping the wind from penetrating. I must confess 1 shouhl 
have been apt to question this fact, had I not frequently seen 
them wet from morning to night, and even at the beginning 
of the rain, not so much as stir a few yards to shelter, but 
continue in it without necessity, till they were, as we say, wet 
through and through. And that is soon effected by the lo'bse- 
ness and sponginess of the plaiding ; but the bonnet is fre 
quently taken off and wrung like a dish-clout, and then put 
on again. They have been accustomed from their infancy to 
be often wet, and to take the water like spaniels, and this \% 
become a second nature, and can scarcely be called,a hardship 
to them, insomuch that I used to say, they seemed to be of 
the duck kind, and to love water as well. Though I nevei 
saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, yet, setting 
out early in a morning from one of the huls, I have seen the 
maiks of their lodging, wliere the ground lias been free from 
rime or snow, which remained all round the spot where they 
had lain." — Letters from Scotland, Lond. 1714, 8vo ii. 
p. 108. 



Note 2 B. 
- his henchman came. — P. 201. 



" This officer is a sort of secretary, and is to be ready, njion 
all occasions, to venture his life in defence of his ma/ter; anJ 
at drinking-bouts he stands behind Iws seat, at his haaacb, 
from whence his title is derived, and watches the conversa- 
tion, to see if any one offends his patron. An English otEcsi 
being in company with a certain chieftain, and several ^thef 
Highland gentlemen, near Killichumen, liad an argument w^tb 
ihe great man ; and both being well warmed with asky,^ at 
last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was henchman 
not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief wa« 
insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his side, anif 
snapped it at the officer's head : but the pistol missed fire, 
otherwise it is more than probable he might have suffered deatfr 
from the hand of that little vermin. But it is very disigree- 
able to an Englishman over a bottle, with the Highlanders, t4 
see every one of them have his gilly, that is. his servant, slautl' 
ing behind hira all the while, let what will be the Bobject o 
conversation." — Letters from Scotland, ii. 159 



248 



SCOTT'8 POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 0. 

And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, Tound.— 
P. 202. 

When a chieftain desired to sammon his clan, upon any 
ludtJec or important emergency, he slew a goat, and making 
B cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in the fire, 
•lid extinguished them in the blood of the aaimal. This was 
««illed the Fiery Cross, also Crcan Tarigh, or the Cross of 
Shame, because disobedience to what the symbol implied, in- 
ferred infamy. It was delivered to a swift and trosty messen- 
ger, who ran full speed witli it to the next lianilet, where he 
,»resenteJ it to the printipal person, with a single word, imply- 
"ng the place of rendezvous. He who received the symbol 
wa3 bound to send it forward, with equal dispatch, to the 
lext village ; and thus it passed with incredible celerity tiirough 
all the district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also 
among liis allies and neighbors, if the danger was common to 
hem. At sight of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen 
years old to sixty, capable of bearing onus, was obliged in- 
stantly to repair, in hi;; best arms and accontrements, to the 
place of rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffert-d the 
extremities of fire and swort^, which were emblematically de- 
nounced to the disobe<Iienl by the bloody and burnt marks 
upon this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-G, the 
Fiery Cross often made its circuit ; and upon one occasion it 
passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of 
thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late Alexander StL-wart, 
Es<i., of Inveniahyle, described to nie his having sent round 
the Fiery Cross through the district of Appinc, during the same 
commotion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two 
English frigates, and the flower of the young men were with 
the army of Prince Charles Edward, then in England ; yet the 
Bommons was so effectual, that even old age and childhood 
obeyed jt ; and a force was collected in a few hours, so numer- 
ous anu 10 enthusiastic, that all attempt at the intended divei^ 
sion upon trie country of the absent warriors was in prudence 
abandoned, as desperate. 

This practice, like some others, is common to tiie Highland- 
ers with the ancient Scandinavians, as will appear by the fol- 
lowing extract from Olaus Magnus. — 

" When the enemy is upon the sea-coast, or within the 
limits of northern kingdomes, tlien presently, by the command 
of the principal governours, with the counsel and consent of 
the old soldiers, who are notably skilled in such tike business, 
a staff of three hands length, in the common sight of tJiem 
all, is carried, by tlie speedy running of some active youn" 
man. unto that village or city, with this command,— iliat on 
the third, fourth, or eighth day, one, two, or three, or else 
every man in particular, from fifteen years old, shall come 
whh his arms, and expenses for ten or twenty days, upon 
pain that his or their houses shall be burnt (which is intimated 
by ttie burning '4' the staff), or else llie master to be hanged 
(which is sigiii) d by the cord tied to it;, to appear speedily on 
sucli a bank, oi fiehl, or valley, to hear the cause lie is called. 
and to hear orders from the said provincial governours what 
be shall do. Wherefore that me<wenger, swifter than any 
post or waggon, having done his commission, comes slowly 
hack again, bringing a token with liim that he hath done all 
lej.aJIy. and every moment one or another runs to every village, 
ind ts^.le those places what they must do." ....•' Tlie 
raeysengers, therefore, of the footmen, t^at are to give warnin" 
»o the people to meet for the battail. run fiercely and swiitlyl 
lor no snow, no rain, nor heat can stoj) them, nor night hold 
Ihem ; but they will soon run the race they undertake. Tlie 
first messenger tells it to the next village, and that to the 
aexf and so th ( hubbub runs all over ti\l they all know it 

1 The Monilioa Hgainat the Robbera of Tj-oedala and Redesdule, with 
•bich I wag favored by my friend, Mr. Siirteea, of Miiinfifortb, may be 



in that stift or territory, where, when, and wherefore they muBl 
meet."— Olaus iMaonus' History of the Golhs, Englished 
by J. S.. Lond. 1658, book iv. chap. 3, 4. 



Note 2 D. 



That monk, of savage form and face.~P 203. 

The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considerabl 
facilities for those whose mode of life excluded thei:? from 
regular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistarcn 
of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of theil 
doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstances of theii 
flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had his celebrated do- 
mestic chaplain. Friar Tuck. And that same curtal friar was 
probably matched in manners and appearance by the ghostly 
fathers of tJie Tyuedale robbers, who are thus described in ar 
excommunication fulminated against their patrons by Richard 
Fox, Bishop of Durham, tempore Henrici VIII. " We have 
further understood, that there are many chaplains in the said 
territories of Tynedale and Redesdale, who are public and open 
maintainers of concubinage, irregular, suspended, excommuni- 
cated, and interdicted persons, and withal so utterly ignorant oi 
letters, that it has been found by those who objected this to 
them, that there were eome who, having celebrated mass for 
ten years, were still unable to read the sacramental service. 
We have also understood there are persons among tliera who, 
although not ordained, do take upon them the offices of priest- 
hood ; and, in contempt of God, celebrate the divine and sa- 
cred rites, and administer the sacraments, not only in sacred 
and dedicated places, but in those which are profane and in- 
terdicted, and most wretchedly ruinous ; they themselves being 
atlired in ragged, torn, and most filthy vcstment.<;, altogetlie! 
unfit to be used in divine, or even in temporal offices. Tha 
which said chaplains do administer sacraments and sacramental 
rights to the aforesaid manifest and infamous thieves, robbers, 
depredators, receivers of stolen goods, and plunderers, and that 
without restitution, or intention to restore, as evinced by tho 
act ; and do also openly admit them to the rites of ecclesiasti- 
cal sepulchre, without exacting security for restitution, al- 
though they are prohibited from doing so by the sacred canons 
as well as by the institutes of tlie saints and fathers. All 
which infers the heavy peril of their own souls, and ia a per- 
nicious example to the other believers in Christ, as well as no 
sligiit, but an aggravated injury, to the numbers despoiled and 
plundered of their good«. gear, herds, and chatlela."i 

To this lively anil picturesque description of the confesson 
and churchmen of predatory tribes, there may be added some' 
curious particulars respecting the priests attached to the scve 
ral septs of native Irish, during the reign of Uueen Elizabeth 
These friars had indeed to plead, that the incursions, whict 
they not only pardoned, but even encouraged, were made opoi 
tliose iiostite to tiieni, as well in religion as from national an 
tipathy ; but by Protestant writers they are uniformly al'aged 
to be the chief instruments of Irish insurrection, the very wo U 
spring of all rebellion towards the English government. Lli- 
gow, the Scottish, traveller, declares the Irish wood-kerne, ot 
predatory tribes, to be but the hounds of their hunting priests, 
who directed their incursions by their pleasure, partly for sus- 
tenance, partly to gratify anima'^ity, partly to foment general 
division, and always for the better security and easier dominap 
lion of the friani.- Derrick, the liveliness and minuteneaa of 
whose descriptions may frequently apologize for his doggeiB 
verse.'i, after describing an Irisli feast, and tlie encouragement 
given, by the songs of the bards, to it^ ttrmii-ation in an incur 
sion upon the parts of the country mere immediately undtf 

found in the originfti Lnlin, in the Appendu to tlie Introduction t9 kM 
Border Minstrelsy, Xo. VH. toI. i. p. '2'i. 
a LilliPOw'a Travels fir«t edition o. 431. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



249 



ifae dominion of the English, records the do less powerful argn- 
«ieDtA used oy the friar to excite Uieir animosity : — 

' And more t' anient the flame, 

and rancour of their harte, 
The frier, of his coun^ells vile, 

to rebelles doth imparte, 
Affirming that it ia 

an almose deede to God, 
To make the English sabjectes taste 

the Iii«h rebells' rodde. 
To simile, to kill, to burne 

tliis frier's counsell is ; 
And for the doing of the same. 

lie warrantes heavenlie blisse. 
He tells a holie tale ; 

the white he tournes to black ; 
And throngh the pardons in his male, 

lie workesa knavislie knacke." 

The wreckfu! invasion of a part of the English pale i3 then 
«escribe«i *»-ith some spirit ; the burning of houses, driving off 
fattle, and all pertaining to such [)redatory inroads, are illus- 
trated by a rude cut. The defeat of the Irish, by a party of 
English soldiers from the next garrison, is then commemorated, 
ki)d ill like manner adorned with an engraving, in which the 
firier is exhibited mourning over the slain cliieflain ; or, as the 
robric expresses it. 

'• The frier then, that treacheroaa knave ; with ough ough- 

lione lament. 
To see his cousin Devill's-soD to have so foul event." 

The matter is handled at ^eat length in the text, of vvhich 
ibi> following verses are more than sufficient sample : 

' The frier spyng this, 

laments that lucklesse parte, 
And curseth to the pitte of hell 

the death man's sturdie hearte ; 
Yet for to quight them with 

the frier taketh paine, 
For all the synnes that ere he did 

remission to obtaine. 
And therefore serves his booke, 

the candell and the bell ; 
Bot tiiinke you that such apishe toiea 

bring damned souls from hell ? 
It 'longs not to my parte 

infemall thi.igs to knowe ; 
But I beleve till later daie, 

thei rise not from belowe 
Yet hope that friers give 

to this rebe\lious rout. 
If that their souls should chaonce in hel. 

to bring them iiuicklie out, 
Doetli make ihem lean suche lives, 

as neither God nor man, 
Without revenge for their desartes, 

nermitte or suffer can. 
Thus friers are the cause, 

the fountain, and the spring. 
Of hurli'burles in this lande, 

of eche unhappie thing. 
Thei can=e them to rebell 

against their soveraigne qaene, 
And through rebellion often tymes, 

their lives do vanish clene. 
So as by friers meanes, 

Thk corioQi pictors of Irvlund whb iDseried by the niithor in the re- 
^lK»t»on of 8omer«* Tracts, vol. i., in which the platoi have been aUo 
32 



in whom all follie swimme. 
The Irishe kame doe often lose 
the life, with hedde and limme."^ 

As U)c Irish tribes, and those of the Scottish Ilighlandi 
are much more intimately allied, by language, mannen, dress, 
and customs, than the antiquaries of either country haie been 
willing to admit, I flatter myself I have here produced u ationf 
warrant for the oliaracter sketched in tlie texf. The lollowing 
picture, Uiough of a different kind, serves to establish the ai* 
istence of ascetic religionists, to a comparatively late perioil, III 
the Highlands and Western Isles. Tliere is a great deal of 
simplicity in the description, for which, as for much similar in- 
formation, I am obliged to Dr. John Martin, who visited the 
Hebrides at the suggestion of t^ir Robert Sibbald, a Scottish 
antiquarian of eminence, and early in the eighteenth century 
published a doscriplion of them, which procured him admission 
into the royal society. He died in London about 1719. Hie 
work is a strange mixture of learning, observation, and gross 
credulity. 

" I remember," says this author, " I have seen an old laj- 
capuchin here i,in the island of Benbeeula), called in their Ian* 
guage Brahir-hocht, that is. Poor Brother; which is literally 
true ; for he answent ttiis character, liavicig nothing but what 
is given him ; he holds himself fully sali^^fied with food and 
rayment, and lives in as groat simplicity as any of his order ; 
his diet is very mean, and h* drinks only fair water ; his habit 
is no less mortifying than that of his brethren elsewhere; he 
wears a short coat, which comes no farther than his middle, 
with narrow sleeves like a waistcoat : he wears a plad abova 
it, girt about the middle, which reaches to his knee : the plad 
is fastened on his breast with a wooden pin, his neck bare, and 
his feet often so too: he wears a hat for ornament, and the 
string about it is a bit of a tlsher's line, made of horse-hair 
Tliis plad he wears instead of a gown worn by those of his or 
der in other countries. I told him he wanted the flaxen girdle 
that men of his order usually wear ; he answered me, tliat he 
wore a leathern one, which was the same thing. Upon the 
matter, if he is spoke to when at meat, he answers again ; 
which is contrary to the custom of his order. This poor man 
frequently diverts liimself with angling of trouls ; he lies upon 
Etraw, and has no bell (as others have) to call him to his demo- 
tions, but only his conscience, as he told me." — Martin'a 
Description of the JVestern HiglUands, p. 82. 



Note 2 K 

Of Briaji's birth strange tales were told. — P. 203. 

The legend which follows is not of the author's invention. 
It is possible he may differ from modern critics, in supposing 
that the records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and cha^ 
acterislic of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a legit- 
imate subject of poetry. He gives, however, a ready assent to 
the narrower proposition which condemns all attempts of an 
irregular and disordered fancy to excite terror, by accamtlatinf 
a train of fantastic and incohereht horrors, wbetlier borrowed 
from all countries, and patched upon a narrative belonging w 
one which knew them not, or derived from the author's own 
iraigination. In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the 
record which I have transcribed, with the variation of a veiy 
few words, from the geographical collections made by the 
Laird of Maofarlane. I know not whether it be necessary »• 
remark, that the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maid 
ens on the night and on the spot where the miracle is eaid te 
have taken place, might, even in a credulous age, have Bome> 
what diminished the wonder which accompanied the concen* 
tioD of Gilli-Poii^MagrevoUich. 

iosertcd, from tLc only impressions known to esiat, belonging to tb* M^ 
LD the Advocates' Library. Sue Somen* TracU, vol. i. pp. £91, tt^ 



250 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"There is bo: two tnyles from Inverloghie, the church of 
Kilmalee, in Lochyeld. In aiicia it tymes there was ane charch 
bailtled upon ane liill, which was above this churdh, which 
doeth now stand in lliis toune ; and ancient men doeth say, 
that there was a battell foughtenon ane hile hill not the tenth 
part of a myle from this church, be certaine men which they 
did not know wiiat tliey were. And long tyme thereafter, 
certaine herds of that toune, and of the next toune, called Un- 
latt. bolli wenclies and youthes, did on a tyme conveen with 
othera on that hill ; and the day being somewhat cold, did 
gather the bones of the dead men that were slayne long tyme 
before in that place, and did make a firs to warm them. At 
last they did all remove from the fire, except one maid or 
wencii, wliich was verie cold, and she did remaine there for a 
space. She being quyetlie her alone, without anie other com- 
panie, took up her cloallis above her knees, or thereby, to 
warm her ; a wind did come and caste the ashes upon lier, and 
she was conceived of ane man-chyld. J^everall tymes there- 
after she was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be with 
chyld. And then her parents did ask at her the matter heiroff, 
which the wench could not weel answer which way to satisfie 
them. At last she resolved them with ane answer. As foi^ 
tone fell upon Iier concerning this marvellous miracle, the 
chyld being borne, his name was called Qili-doir J\Inghrcvol- 
lich, that is to say. the Black Child, Son to the Bones. ' So 
called, his grandfather sent him to school, and so he was a 
good schollar, anil godlie. He did build this church which 
doeth now stand in Lochyeld, called Kilmalie." — Macfar- 
LANB, ut supra, ii. 188. 



Note 2 F. 



Yet Jie'fr again to braid her hair 

The virgin snood did Alice wear. — P. 203. 

The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided 
her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her 
maiden character. It was exchanged for the eurch, toy, or 
coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. 
But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to 
the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of mat- 
ron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced 
to the graver dignity of the cnrch. In old Scottish songs there 
occur many sly allusions Vj such misfortune ; as in the old 
words to the popular tune of " Ower the muir amang the 
heather : " 

' Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down aniang the broom, my dearie, 
The lassie lost Iier silken snood, 

That gard her greet tUl she waa wearie." 



Note 2 G. 



The desert gave him visions wild. 

Such as might suit the spectre's child. — P. 204. 

tn adopting the legend concerning the birth of the Founder 
of the Church of Kilmalie, tiie autlior has endeavored to trace 
Ibo eiFects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a bar- 
oatons age, on the person to whom it rdated. It seems likely 
that be must have become a fanatic or an impostor, or lliat 
mixture af botii which forms a more frequent character than 
either of them, as existing separately. In truth, mad persons 
are frequently more anxious to impress upon others a faitli in 
\\w\i visions, than they are themselves confirmed in their real- 
ity ; as, on the other hand, it is difficult for the most cool- 
Aeaded impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in 
•ome degree believing what he is so eager to have believed. 
It WOB a natural attribute of such a character as the supposed 



hermit, that he should credit the numerous sujterstitions (villi 
which the minds of ordinary Highlanders are almost al Payi 
iml)Ui:d. A few of these are slightly alluded to in tliis stanza 
The River Demon, or River-horse, for it is that form which h 
commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and 
malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness cci'.amity. 
He tVequents most Highland lakes and rivers ; and one of hii 
most memorable exploits was performed upon the bardts ol 
Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the rceia 
of our action : it consisted in the destruction of a funeral pro- 
cession with all its attendants. The "noontide hag," exiled 
in Gaelic Olas-lich, a tall, emaciated, gigantic female figure, 
is supposed in particular to haunt the district of Knoldarl. A 
goblin, dressed in antique armor, and having one hand covered 
with blood, called from that circumstance, Lfiam-dcnrg, oi 
Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothie- . 
morcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape anu . 
malignant in disposition, are believed to frequent ditforent 
mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any onosual 
appearance, produced by mist, or the strange lights that are 
sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to pre- 
sent an ap|.arition to the imagination of the solitary and mel 
ancholy mountaineer. 



Note 2 H. 



The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream. — P. 204. 

Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have 
a tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who 
took an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wail* 
ings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant wai 
called Mnij Jiloullack, and appeared in the form of a girl, who 
had her arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had 
an attendant called Bodach-an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill ; 
and many other examples might bo mentioned. The Ran* 
Seine implies a female Fairy, whose lamentations were often 
supposed to precede tlie death of a chieftain of particular fam- 
ilies. When she is visible, it is in the form of an ohl womaD, 
with a blue mantle and streaming hair. A superstition of the 
same kind is, I believe, universally received by .the inferioi 
ranks of the native Irish. 

Tlie death of the head of a Higliland family is also sora& 
times supposed to be announced by a chain of light? of ditfer 
ent colors, called Dr'eug, or death of the Druid. Tlie direc- 
tion which it takes, marks the place of the funeral. [Sec tlie 
Essay on Fairy Superstitions in tlie Border Minstrelsy. J 



Note 2 I. 



Sounds, too, had come in vudnight blast. 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharrow's shingly side, 

IVhere mortal horsemen ne'er might ride. — P. 



:o4. 



A presage of the kind alluded to m the text, is still beUtierf 
to announce death to the ancient Higliland family of M'Leai 
of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is heard 
to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around 
the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intima- 
ting the approaching calamity. How easily the eye, as wel 
as llie ear. may be deceived upon such occasions, is evideil 
from the stories of armies in the air, and other spectral phe- 
nomena with which history abounds. Such an apparition U 
said to have been witnessed upon tlie side of Soutlifell moun- 
tain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 23d June, 1744 
by two persons, William Lancaster of Blakehills. and Daoia 
Stricket, his servant, whose attestation to the fact, with a 'uu 
account of the apparition, dated the 21st July, 1745, is printed 
in Clarke's Survey of the Lakes. The apparit «n consisted tM 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



25i 



IBTeml troops of horse moving in regular order, with a steady 
rapid motion, making a curved sweep around the fell, and 
teeming to tlie spectalons to disappear over the ridge of the 
mountain. Many persons wilneased this plionomenon, and 
oliserved the last, or last but one, of the supposed troon, oc- 
casionally leave his rank, and pass at a gallo.. to thtt iront, 
when he resumed the same steady pace. This curious appear- 
ance, making the necessary allowance for imagination, may be 
»eil ips sufiioiently accounted for by optical deception — Hur- 
**!/' ''/ '''^ Lakes, p. 25. 

Htpomiural intimationa of approaching fate are not, 1 be- 
leve' confined to Highland families. Howel mentions having 
teev at a lapid:iry'8, in 1632, a monumental stone, prepared 
for four persons of the name of Oxenhain, before the death of 
each of whom, the inscription stated a white bird to have a[>- 
pcared and Hutleretl around the be<l while the patient was in 
the last agony. — Familiar Lcttera, edit. 1726, 247. Glanville 
mentior^ one family, the members of which received this sol- 
emn sign by music, the sound of wiiich iloated from the family 
residence, and seemed to die in a iiei^liburnig wood ; another, 
tliat of Captain Wood of Banijiton, to whom the signal was 
given by knocking. But the most remarkable instance of the 
kind occurs in the MS. Memoirs of Lady Fanshaw, so exem- 
plary tor hercoijjugal atfection. Her husband, Sir Richard, 
and she, chanced, during tlieir abode in Ireland, to visit a 
friend, the head of a sept, who resided in his ancient baronial 
caatle, surrounded with a moot. At midnight she was awa- 
kened by a ghastly and supernatural scream, and, looking out 
of bed, beheld, by the moonlight, a female face and part of 
the form, hovering at the window. The distance from the 
ground, as well as the circumstance of the moat, excluded the 
possibility that wlial she behehi was of this world. The face 
was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but pale ; 
and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and dishevelled. 
The dress, which Laily Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her 
rmarking accurately, 'vas that of the ancient Irisli. This ap- 
pall ion continued to exhibit itself for some time, and then 
vanished with two shfieks, similar lo that which had tirst ex- 
cited Lady Fanahaw's attention. In the morning, with infinite 
terror, she communicated to lier host what she had witnes.«d, 
and found him prepared not only to credit hut to account for 
lie ajiparition. " A near relation of my family," said he, 
"expired last night in this castle. We disguised our certain 
expectation of the event from you, lest it should throw a cloud 
over the cheerful reception which was due you. Now, be- 
fore such an event happens in this family and castle, the fe- 
male spectre whom you have seen always is visible. She is 
Delieved to be the spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom 
one of my ancestors degraded himself by marrying, and whom 
afterwards, to expiate the dishonor done his family, he caused 
lo be drowned in the castle moat." 



Note 2 K. 



^hoic pirmts in Inch-CaiUiach wave 

Their fihadowj o'er Cian-J3/pine*s grave. — P. 204. 

t»*Ji-CaiUiacfi, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most 
««4TiUi'2' ii!:rn! it the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The 
ct irch belonging lo the former nunnery wa.s long used as the 
place of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but scarce any 
i"es!iges of it now remain. The burial-ground continues to he 
Med, and contains the faiiily places of sepulture of several 
leighboring clans. The monuments of the lairds of Mae- 
Tegor. and of other families, claiming a descent from the old 
Beotlish King Ai|iit»?. are most remarkable. The Highland- 
t» are as zeilooT of their rights of sepulture as may be ex- 
wcted from a pf»oplc whose whole laws and government, if 



clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle ol 
family descent. "May his ashes he scattered on the water," 
was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations which 
they used against an enemy. [See a detailed description ol 
the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chieftain in the Fair Mai*' 
of Perth. IVaverley J^ovels, vol. 43, chaps, x. and xi. Edit. 
1834.] 



Note 2 L. 



■ t/ie dun-dccr's hide 



On fieeter fool was never tied. — P. 205. 

The present brogue of the Highlanders is made of hair-dried 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the water ; for walk- 
ing the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of the quea* 
tion. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of un- 
dressed deer's hide, with the hair outwanls ; a circumstance 
which procured the Highlanders the well-known epithet o( 
Jied-shaiiks. The process is very accurately described by one 
Elder (himself a Highlander) in the project for a union between 
England and Scotland, addressed to Henry Vfll. " We go 
a-hunting, and after that we have slai^i red-deer, we flay ofl 
the skin, by-and-by, and setting of our bare-foot on the inside 
thereof, for want of cunning shoemakers, by your grace's par 
don, we play the cobblers, compassing and measuring so much 
thereof as shall reach up to our ankles, pricking the uj)pei 
part thereof with holes, tliat the water may repass where it 
enters, and stretching it up with a strong thong of the same 
above our said ankles. So, and jilease your noble grace, we 
make our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of shoes, 
the rough hairy side outwards, in your grace's dominions of 
England, we be called Houghfooted Scots." — PlHKKRS'ON*^ 
History, vol. il. p. 397. 



Note 2 M. 



The dismal coronach.-~V. 206. 

The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the XJlalatus of the 
Romans, and the Ululoo of the Irish, was a wild expression of 
lamentation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a 
departed friend. When the words of it wore articulate, they 
expressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan 
would sustain by his death. The following is a lamentation of 
this kind, literally translated from the Gaelic, to some of the 
ideas of which the text stands indebted. The tune is so [■opu* 
lar, that it has since become the war-march, or Gathering ot 
the clan. 

Cfyronach on Sir Lauchlan, Chief of Maclean 

"Which of all the SenachJeg 
Can trace thy line from the root up to Paradise, 
But Macvuirih, the son of Fergus 1 
No sooner had thine ancient stately tree 
Taken firm root in Albion, 
Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. — 
'Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name. 

" 'Tis no base weed — no planted tree, 
Nor a seedling of last Autumn ; 
Nor a sapling planted at Beltain ;• 
Wide, wide around were spread its lofty bnnchei— 
But the topmost bough is lowly laid I 
ThoQ hast forsaken us before Sawaine.3 

" Thy dwelling is the winter house ;— 
Load, sad, sad, and mighty is thy deatb-*onsI 



• a»ll*« Aim, or WLiUiindav. 



i52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'^h ! coortcoas champion of Montrose ! 
Oh! statelj warrior ot the Celtic Isles ! 
Thou shall buckl*; thy liarness on no more I" 

The coronach has for some years past been sajierseded at 
ibnerais by the u.'se ol" the bagpipe ; and that also is, like raany 
other Higlilaiid peculiarities, I'alhng into disuse, unless in remote 
Jisthcts. 



-P. 207. 



Note 2 N. 

Benledi sate the Cross of Fire, 

It glanced like lightning up Strath'lr 

inspection of the provincial map of Perthshire, or any large 
nap of SLOtland, will trace the progress of the signal through 
tlio small district of lakes and mountain^, which, in exercise of 
my poetical privilege. I have subjected to the authority of my 
imaginary chieftain, and which, at the period of my romance, 
Aias really occupied by .a clan who claimed a descent from 
Alpine ; a elun the inqst unfortunate, and most persecutpd, but 
neither the least rlii^tiiiguished, least powerful, uor least brave, 
of the tribes of the Gael. 

" Slioeh non riogtiridh ducliaisach 
Bha-shios an Dun-Staiobhinish 
Aig an roubh crun na Halba othDs 
'Slag a cheil dnchas fast ris.*' 

The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Duncraggan, a place 
near the Brigg of Turk, where a short stream divides Loch 
Acliray from Loch Veunachar. From thence, it passes to- 
wards Calleiider. and then turning to the left up the pass of 
Leny, is consigned to Norman at the Chapel of Saint Bride, 
which stood on a small and romantic knoll in the middle of 
the valley, called Strath-Ire. Tombea and Arnandave, or 
Ardmandave, are names of places in the vicinity. The alarm 
is then supposed to pass along the lake of Lubnaig, and 
throQgh the various glens in the district of Batquidder, in- 
cluding the neighboring tracts of Glenfinlas and Strathgartney. 



Note 2 0. 



J^ot faster o^er thy heathery braes. 
Balquiddcr, speeds the midnight blaze. — P. 208. 

It may be necessary to inform the southern reader, that the 
heatli on tlie Scottish moorlamls is often set fire to, that the 
iheep may have the advantage of the young herbage produced, 
in room of the tough old heatlicr plants. Thw custom (exe- 
crated by sportsmen) produces' occasionally the most beautiful 
nocturnal a|)i)earances. similar almost to liie discharge of a 
volcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a 
warrior, in the fine ballad of Hardyknute, "e said to be 'Mike 
gi« tc heather set." 



Note 2 P. 



JVo oath^ but by his chieftain's hand, 

J^o law, but Roderick Dku's commajtd.- P. 208. 

The deep and implicit respect paid by the HighlanH clans- 
men to their chief, rendered this both a common and a soiemn 
oath. In other respects they were like most savage naliond, 
capricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of 
oaths. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, 
NopW-ating upon themselves death bv that or a similar weapon, 



if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the usual i^irm, the> 
are said to have little respect. As for the reverence dne to Um 
chief, it may be guessed from the following odd example of a 
Highland point of honor : — 

"The clan whereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, ii 
the only one I have heard of, which is without a chief; that 
is, being divided into families, under several chieft'iins, with- 
out any particular patriarch of the whole name. And thia ii 
a great reproach, as may appear from an afi'air that tell out a! 
my table in the Highlands, between one of that name and a 
Cameron. The provocation given by the latter was^' Nama 
your chief.' — The return of it at once was — ' Von are a Tool.' 
They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, I 
sent a small party of soldiers after them, which, in all proba- 
bility, prevented some brrbarous mischief that might have en- 
sued ; for the chiefless Highlander, who is himself a petty chie^ 
tain, wa.'5 going to the pl.ice appointed with a small-sword and 
pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took with him only 
his broadsword, according to the agreement. 

" When cJl waa over, and I had, at least seemingly, recon- 
ciled them, I VTa3 told the words, of which I seemed to tliink 
but slightly, v/ere, t-i one of the clan, the greatest of all provo^ 
cations." — /,f(tT.'/rom Scotland, vol. ii. p. 2S?I 



Note 2 Q. 



a 'o(o and lonely cell. 

By many a ba^d, in Celtic tongue. 

Has Coir-nan- Uriskin been sung.- P. 209. 

This is a vfry steep and mojt romantic hollow in the moan* 
tain of Benvenue, overhanging the soutliea^tem extren ity of 
Loch Katrine, It is sun'ounded with stupendous rocks, and 
overshadowed with birch-trees, r^ingled with oaks, with spon- 
taneous production of the mountain, efen where its clifls ap- 
pear denuded of soil. A dale in so •\VA 5, situation, and amid 
a people whose genius bordered on t.'ie romantic, did not re- 
main without appropriate deities. The name literally implies 
the Corri. or Den. of the Wild or Shaggy mon. I erhaps this, 
as conjectnred by Mr. Alexander Cainpbel',' may have origi- 
nally only im|died its being the hauiil of a ferocious banditti. 
But tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, whc gives name to 
the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man " ii short, how- 
ever much the classical reader may be startled, precisely tha' 
of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisksecms not to have inherited 
with the form, the petulance of the silvan deity of the classics 
his occupation, on the contrary, resembled those of Milton'* 
Lubbar Fiend, or of Uie Scottish Biownie, though he diJieieo 
from both in name and appearance. " Tlie Urisi:s," sayp 
Dr. Graham, " were a set of lubberly su|ieriiaturals, who, like 
the Brownies, could be gained over by kind attention, to per 
form the drudgery of the farm, and it %vas believed that raajjv 
of the families I.t the Highlands Imti one ol' the order allachfl 
to it. They were supposed to be dispersed over the Highlands 
each in liis own wild recess, but the solemn stated meetings o. 
the order were regularly held in this Cave of Benvenue. Tiii* 
current superstition, no doubt. ailuJes to some circumstance ii 
the aTicienl history of this country. "^ — Scenery on the Southern 
Confines of Perthshire, p. 19, 180C.— It must be owned th.i. 
the Coir, or Den. does not, in its present state, meet our ideaj* 
of a subterraneous grotto, or cave, being only a small ami 
narrow cavity, among huge fnigments of rocks rudely piled 
to<^ether. But such a scene is liable to convulsions of nature, 
whic a Lt'wlander cannot estimate, and which may have 
choked up what was originally a ca^'ern. At least the nam* 
and tradition warrant the autlior ol a fictitious tale to a-sseit iti 
having been such at the remote period in which this sceae ii 
jdid. 

'1 Jouniuy Trum Edinburgh, 180S, p. i09. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



2r>i 



Note 2 R. 

Thr teilb. pass of Bcal-nam-bo.^P. 209. 

Beala<.*h-nani-bo. or tlie pass of cattle, is a most magnificent 
|U(le, overliurg with aged birch-trees, a httle higher up tlie 
moantairi than the Coir-iian-Uriskiii, treated of in a former note. 
The whole composes the most sublime piece of acetiery that 
Imagination L'ari Loni;eive. 



Note 2 S. 



^ sing-te page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attntded on his lord.— P. 209 

A Highland ehief, being as absolnte in his patnarohal aa 
^ority as any prince, had a corresponding number of officers 
attached to his person. He had his body-guards, called 
LuiclUtach, picked from his clan for streiigtii, activity, and 
entire devotion to liis person. These, accoidiiig to their de- 
■erts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude profusion of 
Lis hospitality. It is recorded, for example, by tradition, that 
Allan MacLean, chief of that clan, happened upon a time to 
hear one of these favorite retainers observe to his comrade, 
that their chief grew old. — " Whence do you infer that ?" re- 
plied the other. — " When was it," rejoined the first, " that i 
eoldier of Allan's was obliged, as I am now. not only to eat 
the flesh from tJic bone, but even to tear off the inner skin, or 
filament ?" The hint was quite suificient, and MacLean next 
morning, to relieve his followers from such dire necessity, un- 
dertook an inroad on the mainland, the ravage of which alto- 
getlier effaced tlie memory of hi^ former expeditions for tlie like 
purpose. 

Onr officer of Engineers, so often quoted, has given us a 
distinct list of -the domestic offict/s wJio, independent of 
Luichttach, or fr/irdes dc corps, belonged to the establishment 
of a Highland Chief. These are, 1. The Henchman. See 
these Notes, p. 247. 2. The Bard. See p. 243. 3. Bladier, 
or spokesman. 4. Qillie-more, or sword-bearer, alluded to in 
the lest. 5. Qilli'-casfiue, who carried the chief, if on foot, 
over the fords. 6. Qillic-comstraine, wlio leads the chief's 
\oise. 7. QiUic-Trushannrinsh, tlie baggage man. 8. The 
fipcr. 9. The piper's gillie or attendant, who carries the 
bagpipe. 1 Although this appeared, naturally enough, very 
ridiculous to an English officer, wiio considered the master of 
loch a retinue as no more than an English gentleman of £500 
a-year. yet in the circumstances of the chief, whosa strength 
and importance consisted in the number and attachment of his 
followers, it was of the last consequence, in point of policy, to 
have in his gift subordinate offices, which called immediately 
round his person those who were most devoted to him, and, 
being of value in their estimation, were also the means of re- 
warding tbein. 



Note 2 T, 



The Taghairm enlVd; bij j}^'iich,tifar, 
Our sires foresaw the events of war. — P. 211. 
The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various super- 
•iitious inoiles of inquiring Into futurity. One of the most 
DOt'Nl was the Tighairm, mentioned in the text. A person 
was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain bullock, and de- 
poeiteil bcsid*^ a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or 
in aome other strange, wild, and unusual situation, where the 
•cenery around him suggested nothing but objects of liorror. 
IQ this situation, ha revolved in his mind the question pro- 
posed ; and whatever was impressed upon him by hip,exalled 
bnagination, passed for the inspiration of the disembodied 

I l^llsn from Scdland. vol. i[. p 15. 

• Thi> Tt&dmr (IU7 H« ^ t>.\ with the story of th« "King of ihr Cula," 



spirits, who haunt the desolate recesses. In some of thes* 
Hebrides, they attributed the same oracular power to a larg« 
black stone by the sea-shore, which they apjiroacheii with cer- 
tain solemnities, and considercil llie first fancy which came j^to 
their own minds, afttr they did so, to be the undoubted dictate 
of the tutelar deity of the stone, antl, as such, to ae, if posit 
bte, punctually complied with. Martin has recon'ed tlio fol- 
lowing curious modes of Higliland augury, iu which tb* 
Taghairm, and ita eflects upon the persoa vho "vas »ubjeo»,e<1 
to it, may serve to illustrate the text. 

'* It was an ordinary thing among the over-curioct ;o ^OU 
suit an invisible oracle, concerning the fate of families ajid 
baltlea, &:e. This was performed three different wavs : the 
first was by a company of men, one of whom, being detached 
by lot, was afterwards carried to a river, wliich was the bono- 
dary between two villages; four of the company laid hold 
on him, and, having shut his eyes, they took him by the legs 
and arms, and then, tossing liim to and again, struck his hips 
with force against the bank. One of them cried out. What 
is it you have got here ? another answei-s, A log of birch- 
wood. The other cries again, Let his invisible friends appeal 
from all quarters, and let tliem relieve him by giving an answer 
to our present demands ; and in a few minutes al'ter, a number 
of little creatures came from the sea, who answered the ques- 
tion, and disappeared suddenly. The man was then set at 
liberty, and they alt returned home, to take their measures 
according to the prediction of their false prophets ; but the 
poor deluded fools were abused, for their answer was still ara- 
biguoQs. This was always practised in tlie night, and may 
literally be called the works of darkness. 

" I hat^ an account from the most intelligent and judicious 
men in the Isle of Skie, that about sixty-two years ago, tha 
oracle was thus consulted only once, and tliat was in the pa- 
rish of Kilmartin, on the east side, by a wicked and mischie- 
vous race of people, who are now extinguished, bjth root and 
branch. 

" The second way of consulting the oracle was by a party 
of men, who first retired to solitary places, remote from any 
house, and there they singled out one of their number, and 
wrapt him in a big cow's hide, which they folded about him ; 
his whole body was covered with it, except his head, and so 
left in this posture all nigiit, until his invi?ib!e friends relieved 
him, by giving a proper answer to the question in tiar.d ; which 
he received, as he fancied, from several persons that he found 
about him all that time. His consort.s returned to him at tha 
break of day, and then he communicated his news to tliem ; 
which often [rroved fatal to those concerned in such unwa^ 
rantable inquiries. 

" There was a third way of consulting, which was a confir 
mation of the second above mentioned. The same company 
who put the man into the hide, look a live cat, and put him 
on a spit ; one of the number was emjdoyed to torn the spit, 
and one of his consorts inquired of him. What are you doing 1 
he answered, I roast this cat, until 1 is friends answer the ques- 
tion ; which must be the same that was iiroposed by '.he man 
shut up in the Iiide. And afterwards, a very b'g rat' comes, 
attended by a number of lesser cats, desiring to reJi€ve L'ls 
cat turned upon tlie spit, and then answers the qi-islon. If 
this answer proved the same that was given to tl:e laan in iht 
hide, then it was taken as a confirmation of the other, \ffhich, 
in tliis case, was believed infallible. 

"Mr. Alexander Cooper, present minister of Nnrin-V'iat, 
told me, that one Johi> Eraeli, in the Isle of Lewis, assured 
him, it was his fate to liave been led by his curJo.'ity with 
some who consulted this oracle, and that he was a night within 
the hide, as above mentioned ; during which time he felt anil 
heard such terrible things, that he could not express them ; thf 
impression it made on him^vas such as could never go off, anri 
he said, for a thousand worlds lie would never again be coa 

Id Lord Littleton's Letters, It is well known in tho IligKlaods a^s dufm^ 



2^4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cerapd in tlie nke performance, for this liail disordered him to a 
high degree. lie confessed it ingenuously, and with an air of 
Teat reiucrse, and seemed to be very penitent under a just 
<ens6 of so great a crime : he declared this abont five years 
since, and is still living in the Lewis for any tiling I know." — 
Oescriptioz. of the tt'csteni Isles, p. 110. See also PttN- 
kjvt's Sro:tish Tour vol. ii. p. 361. 



Note 2 U. 
The choicest of the prey we had, 
Jf'hcn swept out merry-men OiUlangad. — P 2U. 

I know not if it be worth observing, that thin passage is 
taken almost literally from the month of an old Highland 
Kern or Ketteran, as tliey were called. He used to narrate 
the merry doings of tlie good old time when he waa follower 
of Rob Roy MacGregor. Tliis leader, on one occasion, thought 
proper to make a descent upon the lower part of the Loch 
Lomond district, and summoned all the heritors and farmers 
to meet at the Kirk of Drymen, to pay him black-mail, i. e. 
tribnte for forbearance and protection. As this invitation waa 
llipported by a band of thirty or forty stout fellows, only one 
gentleman, an ancestor, if 1 mistake not, of the present Mr. 
Grabame of Gartmore, ventured to decline com|iliance. Rob 
Roy instantly swejit his land of all he could drive away, and 
among tlie spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild breed, 
whose ferocity occasioned great plague to tlie Ketterans. " But 
ere we had reached the Row of Dennan," said the old man, 
" a child miglit have scratched his ears."' The circumstance 
b a minute one, but it paints the limes when the poor beeve 
was compelled 

" To hoof it o'er as many weary miles, 

Willi goading pikemen hollowing at his heels, 
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods." 

Ethwald. 



Note 2 V. 



That hvge cliff, whose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.— F. 211. 

There is a rock eo named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by 
which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place 
is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, 
who was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered 
them down from the brink of the precipice above. His water 
he procured for himself, by letting down a (Ingon Ued to a 
■tring, into the black pool beneath the fall. 



Note 2 W. 



That, watching while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with sullen croak ? — P 211. 

Uroke — Quartered. — Every thing belonging to the chase was 
matter of solemnity among our ancestors ; hut nothing was 
liore so than 'he mode of cutting up, or, as it was technically 
tailed, fircaking, the slaughtered stag. The forester had his 
allotted portion ; llie hounds had a certain allowance ; and, to 
make the division as general as possible, the very birds had 
their share also. " There is a little gristle," says Tnrberville, 
" which is upon the spoone of the brisket, which we call the 
raven's bone ; and I have seen in some places a raven so wont 
nnd accDitonied to it, that she would never fail to croak and 
cry for it a., the lime you were in breaking up of the deer, 
uid Monli not depart till she had it." In the very ancient 

1 This nn* jih te wns, in former editions, inaccarately Ascribed to Qeorge 
Vw^regor of Giengyle, called Ghlune Dhu, or Blnck-kcee, n relatioo of 



metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, that peerless knight, who ii 
said to have been the very devisei of ol! rules of chase, did 
not omit the ceremony ; — 

" The rauen he yaue his jiftes 
Sat on the fourched tre." 

Sir Tristrem. 

The raven might also challenge his rights by thfl Book of Sk 
Albans ; for thus says Dame Juliana Berners ■ — 



The bely to the side, from the corbyn bone ", 
That is corbyn's fee, at the death he will be." 

Jonson, in " The Sad Shepherd," gives a more poetical i 
count of the same ceremony : 

" Marian. — He that undoes him, 

Doth cleave the brisket, bone, upon the spoon 

Of which a little gristle grows — you call it — 

Robin Hood. — The raven's bone. 

Marian. — Now o'er head sat a raven 
On a sere bough, a grown, gre^l bird, and hoarse. 
Who, all the while the deer was breaking up, 
go croak'd and cried for't, as all the huntsmen, 
Especially old Scathlock, thought it ominous.*' 



Note 2 X. 



Which spills the foremost forman's life. 
That party conqucrs-in the strife. — P. 212. 

Though this be in the te.\t described as a response of th« 
Taghairm, or Oracle of the Hide, it was ofjtself an augury 
frequently attended to. The fate of liie battle was often an- 
ticipated in the imagination of the combalanls, by observing 
which party first shed blood. It is said that the Higlilandera^ 
under Montrose were so deeply imbued with this notion, thai 
on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor. they -murdered L 
defenceless herdsman, whom they found in the fields, merely 
to secure an advantage of so much consequence to theii 
party. 



Note 2 Y. 

^liee Brand.— P. 213. 

This little fairy tale is founded upon a very curious Danish 
ballad, which occurs in the Eampe Viser, a collection ol 
heroic songs, first published in 151)1, and reprinted in 16115, 
inscribed by Anders Sofrensen, the collector and editor, lo 
Sophia, Q.uecii of Denmark. I have been fivored with a 
literal translation of the original, by my learned friend Mr. 
Robert Jamieson, whose deep knowledge of Scandinavian an- 
tiquities will, I hope, one day be displayed in illustration ol 
the history of Scottish Ballad and Song, for which no man 
possesses more ample materials. The story will remind the 
readers oi the Border Minstrelsy of the tale of Yonng Tani- 
lane. Bnt this is only a solitary and not very marked instance 
of coincidence, whereas several of the otlier ballads ii: the 
same collection find exact counterparts in the h'lBtiipe Viser. 
Which may have been the originals, will he a question foi 
future antiquaries. Mr. Jamieson, to secure the power of 
literal translation, has adopted the old Scottish idiom, whJcb 
approaches so near to that of the Danish, as almost to give 
word for word, as well as line for line, and indeed in many 
verses the orthoirrapliy alone is altei-ed. As iVcsler Haf, 
mentioned in the first stanzas of the baJ aJ. meara the IVeM 
Sea, in opposition to the Baltic, or F.ast Sea. Mr. JamiesoB 

Rob Roy, bill, ive T bnve bo^-n jiMi.ro,!, Tiot ud.tKte.IU.bifl predo-ryei 
ceaacB. --Vo:e to Third Kdilion. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



2S« 



inolinea to be of opinfon. that tlie scene of the disenchantment 
\b l.iiil in one of tin; Orkney, or Hebritle Islands. To each 
rerre in the origina: j« adtled a l-inien. having a kind of mean- 
'ng of il9 own, but not applicable, at least not iiuiforraly ap- 
plicihle. lo the sense of the stanza to which it is subjoined : 
•lii, is very common both in Danish and Scottish song. 



THE ELFIN GRAY. 

TRAKflL&TID FROM THK DANISH KSMPE VISER, p. 143, 
AND FIRST PUBLISDED IN 1591. 

Der llggcT en void i F'ester Haf, 

£>er Bgtcr en bondi at bygge : 
Handfvrcr did baade hog og hund, 
Og agtcr der ovi vintcren at It'gge. 
(De VILDK DIUR OO DUTRENE TDI SKOFVEN.) 



There liggs a wold in Wester Haf, 
There a husbande means to bigg, 

And thither he carries bailh hawk and hound, 
There meaning the winter to Hgg, 

(The wild deer and dacs i' the shaw out.) 

2. 

He taks wi' him baith hoand and cock, 

The langer lie means to sray. 
The wild deer in the shaws tliat are 

May sairly rue the day. 
(The wild deer, i-c.) 



He's hew'd the beech, and he's feli'd the aik, 

Sae has he tiie poplar gray ; 
And grim in mood was the grewsome elf. 

That be sae bald he may. 

4. 
He hew'd him ki|»ples. he hew'd him hawks, 

Wi' mickle moil and haste, 
Syne speer'd the Elf i' the knock that bade, 
Wha's hacking here sae faiit ?" 



Syne up and spak the weiest Elf, 
Crean'd as an immert sma : 

*' It's here is come a Christian roan ;— 
1 fley him or he ga." 



U*8 np syne started the firsten Elf, 
And glower d about sae grim : 

'* It's we'll awa' to tlie husbande's house, 
And hald a court on him. 



' Here hews he down baith skugg and shaw, 

And works us skaith and scorn : 
nia hoswile he sail gie lo me ; — 

They's roe tlie day they were bom I" 

«. 
The Ellen a' i' the knock that were, 
I Gaed dancing in a string ; 

I Thii tmfuiar quatrain ttanda thus it, the original:— 
■ " Huadc'n linnd giflr i gnarden ; 

Hiurtlen tudft i sil hom ; 
CEmea ikiiger, og fauien ^ler, 
6om bonlen hatdft gifvet wtkora." 



They n^hed near the hnsband's house; 
Sae lang Iheir tails did liing. 



The hound he yowls I' the yam, 

The lieni toots in his horn ; 
Tiie earn scraiglis, jnd the cock craws, 

As the husbande has gi'en him his com. 

10. 
The Elfen were five score and seven, 

Sae laidly and sae grim ; 
And they the husbande's gnestd maun be, 

To eat and think wi' him. 

11. 

The husbande, out o' Villenshaw, 
At his winnock the Elves can see: 

" Help me, now, Jesu, Mary's son ; 
Thir Elves they mint at me I" 

12. 
In every nook a cross he coost, 

In his chalnier maist ava ; 
The Elfen a' were fley'd thereat, 

And Oew to the wild-wood shaw. 

"l3. 

And some flew east, and some fiew went, 
And some to the norwarl Hew ; 

And some they flew to the deep dale doWft, 
There still they are, I trow.a 

14. 

It was then the weiest Elf, 

In at the door braids he ; 
Agast was the husbande, for that Elf 

For cross nor sign wad flee. 

15. 

The hnawife she was a canny wife, 
She set the Elf at the board ; 

She set before him bailh ale and meat, 
Wi' mony a weel-waled word. 

16. 
" Hear thou, Gudeman o' Villenshaw, 

What now I say to thee; 
Wha bade thee bigg witiiin our boands, 

WithoQi the leave o' roe ? 

17. 

" But, an' thoQ in oar bounds will bigg 

And bide, as well may be. 
Then thou thy dearest huswife maan 

To me for a lemman gie." 

18. 
Up spak the luckless husbande then, 

As God the grace him gae ; 
'* Eline she is to me sae dear. 

Her thou may nae-gate hae. 

19. 

Til the Elf he answer'd as he con'h ; 
" Let bat my huswife be, 

2 inUU Danifh :~ 

'* Sommft flayS osf er, oy lommfe flCyi TettM 

NogI6 aOyfe nOr pa« ; 
NoglS fliJye Tied i dyben* dalfe, 
Joe troer de erd aer • 



26e 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And tak what&'er, o* gade or gear, , 
[s mine, awa wi' thee." — 

20. 
" Tlien I'll tliy Eline tak and tliee, 

Aneatli my Jeet to tread ; 
A.nO liiile lliy goud and white raonie 

Aneath my dvvalling stead." 

21. 

The hnsbande and his household a* 

III sary rede tiiey join : 
" Far betlet that she be now forfairn, 

Nor tliat we a' should tyne." 

22. 

Up, will of rede, tlte hufibande stood, 
Wi' lieart fu' sad and sair ; 

And lie iias gien liis huswife Eline 
Wi' the young Elfe to fare. 

23. 

Then hlyth grew he, and sprang aboQt: 

He took Iier in liis arm : 
The nui it left her comely cheek, 

Her lieart was cleni'd wi' Iiarm. 

24. 

A waefn' woman then slie was ane, 
And the moody tears loot fa' : 

** God rew on me, iinseely wife, 
How hard a weird I fa* ! 



" My fay I plight to the fairest wight 
That man on mold mat see ; — 

Maun I now inell wi' a laiiily El, 
His liglit lemman to be?" 

26. 
He minted ance — he minted twice, 

^V'le wax'd her lieart tliat syth : 
3yne the laidliest fiend lie grew tliat e'er 

To mortal ee did kytli. 

27. 
Wlien he the tliirden time can mint 

To Mary's son she pray'd, 
And the htidly Elf was clean awa. 

And a fair knight in his stead. 

28. 
This fell ander a linden green, 
■ ■ Tliat again his shape lie found, 
O' wae and care was the word nae mair, 
A' were sue glad that stoiind. 

29. 

" O dearest Eline, hear tliou this, 

And tiioH my wife sail he, 
And a' the gond in merry England 

Sae freely I'll gi'e thee ! 

30. 

* Wlian I was hut a little wee bairn, 

My mitlier died me fra ; 
My slepmitlier sent me awa* fra her ; 

[ turn'd nil an E/Jin Oray. 

31. 

' To thy hcribande I a gift will gie, 
Wi' mickie slate and ^ear. 



As mends for Eline his huswife ; — 
Thou 'a be my heartis dear." 

32. 
"Thou nobil knyght, we thank now God 

That has freed us frae skaith ; 
Sae wed thou thee a maiden free, 

And joy attend ye baith I 

33. 

'• Sin' I to thee nae maik can Ue 

My (lociiler may be thine ; 
And thy gud will right to fulfill, 

Lat this be our propine." — 

34. 

" I thank thee, Eline, thou wise woman ; 

My praise thy worth sail ha'e ; 
And thy love gin I fail to win, 

Thou here at harae sail stay." 

35. 

The husbande biggit now on his 6e, 
And nae ane wrought him wrang ; 

His dochter wore crown in Engeland, 
And happy lived and lang. 

36. 

Now Eline, the husbande'a huswife, has 
Cour'd a' her grief and harms ; 

Sl^e^5 mither to a noble queen 
That sleeps in a kingis arms. 



8t. 1 



GLOSSARY. 



IVold, a wood ; woody fastness. 

Hnshanilc, from the Dan. kos, with, and bonde, t 
villain, or bondsman, who was a cultivator of the 
ground, and could not quit the estate to which he 
was attached, without the permission of his loid. 
This is tlie sense of the word, in the old Scottisli 
records. In the Scottish " Burghe Laws," trans- 
lated from the Rfg. Majcst. (Auchinleck MS. In 
the Adv. Lib.), it is used indiscriminately witli tlie 
Dan. and Swed. bonde. 

Bigg, build. 

l.igg, lie. 

Does, does. 

2. Shaw, wood. 
Sai?-/!/, sorely. 

3. Jlik, oak. 
Grewsome, terrible. 
Bald, bold. 

4. Kipp/es (couples), beams joined at llie top, for snj^ 

porting a roof, in building. 
Bnwf^s, balks; cross-beams. 
Moil, laborious industry. 
Speer'd, asked. 
Knock, hillock. 

5. IVfiest, smallest. 

Creaii'd, shrunk, diminished ; from the Gaelic, trian, 
very small. 

Immcrt, emmet ; ant. 

Christian, used in the Danish ballads. &c. in contra- 
distinction to demoniac, as it is in England in con- 
tradistinction to bTUtc ; ill wliicli sense, a person of 
the lower class in England, would call a Jeto m t 
Turk a Christian 

Fley, frighten. 

6. Olowcr'd, stared. 
Hald, Iiold. 

7. Skufrtr shad" 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



257 



Skaith, harm. 
8. J^ighcd, approached. 
P. Yowls, howls. 

Tools. — In the Dan. tude ia applied both to the 
howling of a dog, and the soaod of a horn. 
• Scratffks, Screams. 

10. Laidlij, loathly ; disgastingly ugly. 
Orim, fierce. 

11. JVinnock, window. 
Mint, aim at. 

12. Coost, cast. 
Chnlmrr, chamber 
Jifaist, most. 
•'Irrt, of all. 

13. J^Tortcart, northward. 
Trow, believe. 

14. Braids, striiles qoickly forward. 

IVad, would. 

15. Canny, adroit. 
J\Iony, many. 
ffeel-waied, well chosen. 

17. ^n. if. 
Bide, abide. 
Lemman, mistress. 

18. J^ae-gate, nowise. 

19. Couth, could, knew how to. 
Lat be, let alone. 

Qudt, goods ; property. 

20. Aneath, beneath. 
DiDolling-stead, dwelling-place 

*21. Sary, sortGwful. 

Rede, counsel ; consultation. 

Forfairn, forlorn ; lost; gone. 

Tyne, (verb, neut.) be lost; perish. 
22. FFiV/ o/rerff, bewildered in thought; in the Danish 
original *^ vildraadage ;'^ Lat. " inops consilii ;" 
Gr. airopoiv. This expression is left among the de- 
siderata in the Glossary to Ritson's Romances, 
and has never been explained. It is obsolete in the 
Danish as well as in English. 

Fare, go. 
£i. Rud, red of the cheek. 

C/fm'</, in the Danish, A^fmf ; (which in the north 
of England is still in use, as the word starved ia 
v-*-'Ui us ;) brought to a dying slate. It is nsed by 
our old comedians. 

Harm, grief; as in the original, and in the old Teu- 
tonic, English, and Scottish poetry. 
'iA. Waefu\ woeful. 

Moody, strongly and wilfully passionate. 

Rew, take roth ; pity. 

Vnseely, unhappy ; unblest. 

Weird, fate. 

Fa, (Isl. Dan. and Swed.) take ; get ; acquire ; pro- 
cure ; have for my lot. — This Gothic verb answers, 
in its direct and secondary significations, exactly to 
the Latin capio ; and Allan Ramsay was right in 
his definition of it. It is quite a different word from 
/a', an abbreviation of '/a//, or befall ; and is the 
principal root in fanobn, to fang, take, or lay hold 
of. 
35. Fay, faith. 

Mold, mould ; earth. 

Mat, mote ; might. 

Maun, must. 

Mel I, mix. 

El, an elf. This term, in the Welch, signifies tohat 

hag in itself the power of motion ; a moving prin- 

1 " Dnii«r6e." — The original expreasionhaabeea preserved here and else- 
bere, became no other cnuld be found to supply iu place. There U juat aa 
ich me aning in il in the translation us in the original ; but it ia a standard 
kDiah baUad phriiae ; and aa such it la hAi>ed.it wUl be allowed to paaa. 

33 



ciple ; an intelligence ; a spirit ; an angel. In the 
Hebrew it bears the same import. 
86. Minted, attempted ; meant ; showed a mind, or in- 
tention to. The original is — 

" Hcnd mindtc liende forst — og anden gang ; — 

Hun giordis i hiortet sa vee : 

End blef hand den lediste deif-vel 

Mand kunile med oyen see. 

Der hand vilde minde den tredie gang," &o 
Syth, tide ; time. 
Kyth, appear. 

28. Stnund, hour; time; moment. 

29. Merry (old Teut. mere), famous, renowned, an- 
swering, in its etymological meaning exactly to the 
Latin mactits. Hence vicrry-men, as the address o" 
a chief to his followers ; meaning, not men of mirth 
but of renown. The term is found in its original 
sense in the Gael, mora, and the Welsh mawr, great ; 
and in the oldest Teut. Romances, mar, mer, and 
mere, have sometimes the same signification. 

Jl, Mends, amends; recompense. 

33. Maik, match; peer; equal. 

Propine, pledge ; gift. 

35. Oe, an island of the second magnitade; an island of 
the^rst magnitude being called a land, and on« ot 
the third, magnitude a holm. 

36. Cour'd, recover'd. 



THE GHAIST'S WARNING. 

TRANSLATED FROM THS DANISH KjEMPK V13ER, p. /<Sl 

By the permission of Mr. Jamieson, Viis ballad is added 
from the same curious Collection. It contains som* 
passages of great pathos. 

Svend Dyring hand rider sig op under «, 

{Vare jeg selver nng) 
Der f teste hand sig saa ven en mue. 

yMig lyster udi lunden at ride,) 4r*c. 

Child Dyring has ridden him up under oe,i 

{jind O gin I were young!) 
There wedded he him eae fair^ a may. 

(/' the greenwood it lists me to ride.) 

Thegither they lived for seven lang year, 

{Jind O, ^-c.) 
And they seven bairns hae gotten in (ei* 

(/' the greenwood, Src.) 

8ae Death's come there intill that stead, 
And that winsome lily flower is dead. 

That swain he has ridden Kim up under de, 
And syne he has married aiulher may. 

He's married a may, and he's fessen her hame; 
But she was a gnm and a laidly dame. 

When into the castell court drave she. 

The seven bairns stood wi' the tear in Uieir e« 

The bairns they stood wi* dole and doubt ; - 
She Dp wi' her foot, and she kick'd them ont. 

2 " Fair."— The Dan. and Swed. ven, van, or vennf, and the GnSI. &4^ 
m the oblique caaes Ihan (edn), is the origin of the Scottiah Umtvf 
which hna so much puzzled all %Lie etymoloiriBts 



256 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nor ale nor mead to tha baimies she gave : 


" I left ahind me braw bowsters blae ; 


" But haneei and liate irae me ye's have.'* 


My bairnies are Hggin' i' the bare strae. 


Slie took frae them the bowster blae, 


'* I left ye sae mony a grofTwax light; 


And said, " Ye sail ligg i' the bare etrael" 


My baimiea ligg i' the mirk a* nifiht. 


She took frae them the groff wax light : 


" Gin aft I come back to viait thee, 


Siys, " Now yz sail ligg i' the mirk a' night !" 


Wae, dowy, and weary thy luck shaJ! \e.' 


'Twas lang i the night, and the bairnies grat : 


Up spak little KJrstin in bed tliat Hy : 


Tiieir mither she under the mools heard that ; 


" To thy bairnies I'll do the best I may." 


That heard the wife under the eard tliat lay : 


Aye when they heard the dog nirr and be 


" For sooth maun I :o my bairnies gae I" 


Sae ga'e tliey the bairnies bread and ale. 


That wife can stand up at our Lord's knee, 


Aye whan the dog did wow, in haste 


And " May I gang and my bairnies see ?'* 


They cross'd and sain'd themsells frae the ghaisL 


She prigged sae sair, and she priggeo sae lang, 


Aye whan the little dog yowl'd, with fear 


That he at the last ga'e her leave to gang. 


{And irin f were young .') 




They sljook at the tiioiigiii tlie dead was near. 


*• And thou sail come back when the cock does craw, 


(/' the greentcood it lists me to ride.) 


For thou nae langer sal! bide awa.'* 


or, 




{Fair words sae many a heart they cheer \ 


Wi* her banes sae stark a bowt she gae ; 




She's riven baith wa' and naajble gray.' 


GLOSSARY. 


Whan near to the dwalling slie can gang, 


St. 1. May, maid. 


The dogs they wow'd till the lift it rang. 


Lists, pleasea 




2. Stead, place. 


When she came till the castell yett, 


3. Bairns, children. 


Uer eldest dochter stood thereat. 


In fere, together. 




Winsome, engaging; giving joy, (old Teat.) 


" Why stand ye here, dear dochter minel 


4. Sijne, then. 


How are sma' brilhers and sisters thine ?" — 


5. Ff-ssen, fetched; broufht 




6. Drave, drove 


" For sooth ye're a woman baith fair and fine ; 


7. Dule, sorrow. 


Bol ye are nae dear mither of mine."— 


Dout, fear. 




8. Bowster, bolster ; cushion ; bed. 


" Och 1 how should I be fine or fair ? 


Blae, blue. 


My cheek it ia pale, and the ground's my lair." — 


Strar, straw. 




10. Ortiff, great ; large in girr 


" My mither was white, wi' cheek sae red ; 


Mark, mirk ; dark. 


But thou art wan, and liker ane dead."— 


11. iMitg /' the night, late. 




Orat, wept. 


" Och ! how should I be white and red, 


Mools, mould ; earth. 


Sae lang as I've been cauld and dead 1" 


12. Eard, earth. 




Oae, go. 


lA'hen she cam till the chalmer in, 


14. Prigged, entreated earnestly ind pereeveringly. 


Down the bairns' cheeks the tears did rin. 


Gang, go. 




15. Craw, crow 


She buskit the tane, and she brush'd it there ; 


16. Banes, bones. 


She kem'd and plaited the Uther'a hajr. 


Stark, strong. 




Bowt, bolt; elastic spriD , ike that o( a btUm* 


The thirden she doodl'd upon her knee, 


row from a bow. 


And the fourlhen she dichted sae caDnilie. 


Riren, spilt asunder. 




fi'a', wall. 


Bhe's ta'en tiie fifihen upon her lap. 


17. fVaw'd, howled. 


And sweetly suckled it at her pap. 


JJft, sky, firmament; air. 




18. Vett, gate. 


Till her eldest dochter sjTie said slie. 


19. Sma\ small. 


•' Ye bid Chi'tl Dyring come here to me." 


22. Lire, complexion. 




23. Cald, cold. 


Whan he eiUTi till the chalmer in, 


^. Till, to. 


Wi' angry mood she said to him : 


Rin, ran. 




25. Buskit, dr«88ed. 


* 1 left yon ronth o' ale and bread ; 


Kem'd, combed. 


My oainues quail for hunger and need. 


Titker, tlie other. 


1 Tht orifinae of this and the fo/lowb,g stanza U very fine. 


Ber biiD ^k ingennem den by. 


" Him Bk«d op ainii luodisfe be^n, 


De hunde de lude Moa h-jjt t ihl-** 


i>0rreveaeda iDt:ur og g;af nu .-morgteea. 





APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



25& 



38. Routh, plenty. 

Quail are quelled ; de3. 
jVicd, want. 
*J9. Ahind, behind. 

Braic, brave ; fine. 
31 Dowij, sori'owl'ul. 
33. JV/rr. snarl. 

Bill. bark. 
34 Sained, blessed ; lUcrally. signed with the sign of 
the iTO'is, Before the iiilroduction of Christianity, 
Runes were nsed in saining, as a spell against the 
power of enchantment and evil genii. 
Ghnisf, ghost. 



NOTK 2 Z. 



the moody Efjin King.— P. 214. 

In a long dissertation upon the F.Tiry Superstitions, publish- 
lii in the Minstrelsy of ihe Scottish Border, the most valuable 
part of which wa^ su|)plied hy my learned and indet*atigable 
iriend. Dr. Jolin Leyden, most of the circumstances are collecl- 
;d which can tlu'ow light upon the po|)ular belief which even 
yet prevails respecting them in Scotland. Dr. Grahame, au- 
thor of an entertaining work upon tlie Scenery of the Penh- 
(hire Highlands, already freijuently quoteil, lias recorded, with 
great accuracy, the peculiar tenets held by the Highlanders on 
this topic, in the vicinity of Loch Katrine. The learned author 
is inclined to deduce the whole mythology from the Druidical 
■ystem, — an opinion to whiuh there are many objections. 

"The Daoine Shi', or Men of Peace of the Highlanders, 
Jiough not absolutely malevolent, are believed to be a peevish, 
repining race of beings, who, possessing themselves but a scanty 
portion of happiness, are supposed to'envy mankind their more 
complete and substantial -njoyments. They are snpjtosed to 
enjoy in their sublerraneop ■ recesses a sort of shadowy happi- 
ness, — a tinsel grandeur : ff**iich, however, they would willing- 
ly exchange •« the motf AoMd joys of mortality. 

"They are bel'^r.-d .c nhabit certain round grassy eminen- 
ces, where the"- c ip'.r £ ' leir nocturnal festivities by the light 
of llie moon. '■,r*i' p .o'le beyond the source of the Forth 
■hove Lout c J .!• -fff »9 J place called Coi7-shi'an, or the Cove 
•f the Mep a' V v .e, which is still supposed to be a favorite 
place ' f '.n- j- e' d'.nce. In the neighborhood are to be seen 
manyjrt)' .' .I'dl eminences ; particularly one, near the head 
of the ^j.V .. y .he skirts of wliicli many are still afraid to pass 
>S*trav M - It is believed, tliat if, on Hallow-eve, any person, 
rip.ir, f /C rr,und one of these hills nine times, towards the left 
kaj.d ^sr'AJjh-orsum) a door shall open, by which he will be 
• -rr.itted into tlieir subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of 
•lortal race, have been entertained in their secret recesses. 
There they have been received into the most splendid apart- 
ments, and regaled with the most sumptuous banquets, and 
delicious wines. Their females sur|)ass the daughters of men 
In beauty. The seemingly happy inliabitants pass their time 
ta festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music. But 
tnhappy is the mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to 
fMilake of their dainties. By this indulgence, he forfeits I'or- 
cvtT the society of men, and is hound down irrevocably to the 
wndilicn of Shi'ich, or Man of Peace. 

*' A woman, as is reported n the Highland tradition, was 
eoaveyed, in days of yore, into the secret recesses of the Men 
of Peace. There 6',e was recognised by one wIkj had formerly 
been an ordinary irortal, but who had, by some fatality, be- 
•ome asscciatd vuli the Shi'ichs. This acquaintance, still 
cetaining S0D13 'a) Jon of human benevolence, warned her of 
her danger, a'.d y unselled her, as she valued her liberty, to 
»br»aiu ('orr. e .0 .f, and drinking with them for a certain space 
*f l;iD'-. S'.e 0' .nplied with the counsel of her friend ; and 
•hen the per.o'^ assigned was elapsed, she found herself again 



upon earth, restored to tlie society of mortals. It is added, 
that when she examined the viands which had been presented 
to her, and which had appeared so templing to the eye, iliey 
were found, now that the encliantment was removed, to cob- 
sist only of the refuse of the earth."— P. 107-111. 



Note 3 A. 



IVhy sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 
• Our moonlight circle'' s screen ? 
Or who comes hero to chase the deer. 
Beloved of our Eljin Queen ?— P. 214. 

It has been already observed, that fairies, if not poiitively 
malevolent, are capricious, and easily otlended. They are, like 
other |iroprielors of forests, peculiarly jealous of their rights ol 
vert and venison, as appears from the cause of offence taken, 
in the original Danish ballad. This jealousy was also an attri- 
bute of the northern Ducrgar, or dwarl's ; to many of whose 
distinctions the fairies seem to have surceeited, if. indeed, they 
are not the same class of beings. In the huge metrical record 
of German Chivalry, entitled the Helden-Buch, Sir Hildebrand, 
ana Ir.e oiner neroes of whom it treats, are engaged in one of 
their most desperate adventures, from a rash violation of th» 
rose-garden of an Eltin, or Dwarf King. 

There are yet traces of a belief in tliis worst and most ma^ 
cious order of fairies, among the Border wilds. Dr. Leyden ha« 
introduced such a dwarf into his ballad entitled the Cout of 
Keeldar, and has not forgot his characteristic detestation of the 
chase. 

*' The third blast that young Keeldar blew 
Still stood the limber fern, 
And a wee man, of swarthy hoe, 
Upstarted by a cairn. 

" His russet weeds were brown as heain 
That clothes the upland fell ; 
And tiie hair of his head was frizzlv r«d 
As the purple heathe^bell 

' An urchin clad in prickles red, 
Clang cow'ring to his arm ; 
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled 
As struck by fairy charm. 

" ' Why rises high the stag-hound's cry, 
Where stag-hound ne'er should be 1 
Why wakes that horn the silent mom, 
Without the leave of me V — 

" ' Brown dwarf, that o'er the raoorliud strays, 
Thy name to Keeldar tell !' — 
' Tlie Brown man of the Moors, who staya 
Beneath the heather-beri. 

" ' *Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 
To live in autumn brown ; 
And sweet to hear the lav'rock's swell, 
Far, far from tower and town. 

" ' But woe betide the shrilling hom, 
The cliase's surly cheer ! 
And ever that liunter is forlorn, 
Whom first at mom I hear.* " 

The poetical picture here given of the Duergar coiresponoi 
exactly with the following Northumbrian legend, with which 
I was lately favored by my learned and kind >ien4. Mr. Sm* 
tees of Mainsforth, who has bestowed indefaliyible labor opos 
the antiqaiti^ of the English Border couniies. The eubject ' 



260 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



k itself 80 cnnoQS, that the length of the note will, I hope, be 
pardoned. 

" I have only one record to offer of the appearance of our 
Northumbrian Duergar. My narratrix is Elizabeth Cockbnm, 
an old wife of Offerton, in this county, whose credit, in a case 
of this kind, will not, I hope, be much impeached, when I add, 
that she is, by her dull neighbors, supposed to be occasionally 
insane, but, by herself, to be at those times endowed with a 
faculty of seeing visions, and spectral appearances, which shun 
the common ken. 

' In the year before the great rebellion, two young men from 
Newcastle were sporting on the high moors above Elsden, and 
after pursuing their game several hours, sat down to dine in a 
green glen, near one of the mountain streams. After their re- 
past, the younger lad ran to the brook for water, and after stoop- 
ing to drink, was surprised, on lifting his head again, by tlie ap- 
pearance of a brown dwarf, who stood on a crag covered with 
brackens, across the burn. This extraordinary personage did 
not appear to be above half the stature of a common man, but 
was nncommonly stout and broad-built, having the appearance 
af vast strength. His dress was entirely brovvn, the color of 
.he brackens, and his head covered with frizzled red hair. His 
countenance was expres.sive of the most savage ferocity, and 
nis eyes glared like a bull. It seems he addressed tlie young 
man first, threatening him with his vengeance, for having tres- 
passed on his demesnes, and asking him if he knew in whose 
presence he stood ? The youth replied, that he now supposed 
him to be the lord of the moors : that he otfc^nded tlirongh ig- 
norance ; and offered to bring liim the game he had killed. 
The dwarf was a little mollified by tiiis submis.sion, but re- 
marked, that nothing could be more offensive to him than such 
an offer, as he considered the wild animals as liis subjects, acd 
never failed to avenge their destruction. He condescended fur- 
ther to inform him. that he was, like himself, mortal, though 
of years far exceeding the lot of common humanity ; and (what 
I should not have had an idea of) that he hoped for salvation. 
lie never, he added, fed on any thing that had Ufe, but lived 
in the summer on whorlle-berries, and in winter on nuts and ap- 
ples, of which he had great store in the woods. Finally, he in- 
vited his new acquaintance to accompany him home and par- 
take his hospitality ; an ofler which the youth was on the point 
of accepting, and was just going to spring across the brook 
(which, if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would cer- 
tainly have torn him in pieces), when his foot was arrested by 
the voice of his comj)anion, who thought he had tarried long ; 
and on looking round again, 'the wee brown man was fled.' 
The story adds, that he was imprudent enough to slight the ad- 
monition, and to sport over the moors on his way homewards ; 
bat soon after his return, he fell into a lingering disorder, and 
died within the year." 



Note 3 B. 

■ fVho may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal greml—V. 214. 

As the Daoivf S//i\ or Men of Peace, wore green habits, 
tJiey were supposed to take offence wlien any mortals ventured 
to assume their t'avoHte color. Indeed, from sonje reason 
which jias been, perhaps, originally a general superstition, 
^reen is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes and 
counties. The Caitlmess men, who hold this belief, allege as 
a reason, that their bands wore that color when they were cut 
off at the battle cf Flodden ; and for tiie same reason they 
avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday, being tlie day of tlie week 
on which their iil-omened array set forth. Green is also dis- 
liked by those of the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is it 
held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is remembered of 
an aged gentleman of that name, that when his horse fell in a 
fox-chase, he .iccouiited for it at once by observing, that the 
whipcord attached to his lafih was of this unlucky color 



Note 3 C. 
For tkou wcrt christened man. — P. 214. 
The elves were sopposeo greatly to envy the privileges ao 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortaJi 
who had fallen into their power a certain precedence, foundea 
upon this advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the old bai> 
lad, describes his own rank in the fairy procession :— 

" For I ride on a milk-white steed, 
And aye nearest the town ; 
Because I was a christenM knight, 
They gave me that renown." 

I presume that, in the Danish ballad of the Elfin Oray (sea 
Appendix, Note 3 A), the obstinacy of the "Weiest Elf," 
who would not flee for cross or sign, is to be derived from tha 
circumstance of his having been "clirislen'd man." 

How eager the Elves were to obtain for their offspring the 
prerogatives of Christianity will be proved by the following 
story : — " In the district called Haga, in Iceland, dwelt a no- 
bleman called Sigward Forsler, who had an intrigue with one 
of the subterranean females. The elf became pregnant, and 
exacted from her lover a firm promise that he would procure 
the baptism of the infant. At the appointed time, the mother 
came to the churchyard, on the wall of which she placed a 
golden cup, and a stole for the priest, agreeable to the custom 
of making an offering at baptism. She then stood a little apart. 
When the priest left the church, he inquired the meaning of 
what he saw, and demanded of Sigward if he avowed himself 
the father of the child. But Sigward. ashamed of the connec- 
tion, denied the paternity. He was then interrogated if he de- 
sired that the child should be baptized; but this also he an- 
swered in the negative, lest, by such request, he should admit 
liiraself to be the father. On which llie cliild was left un- 
touched and unbaptized. Whereupon the mother, in extreme 
wrath, snatched up the infant and the cup, and retired, leaving 
the priestly cope, of which fiagrnenia are still in freservation 
But this female denounced and imposed upon Sigward andTiia 
posterity, to the ninth generation, asingulardisease, with which 
many of his descendants are afflicted at this day." Thus wrote 
Einar Dudmond, pastor of the parish of Garpsdale, in Iceland, 
a man profoundly versed in learning, from whose manascnpt it 
was extracted by the learned Torf^eus. — Historia H'-ot& Kra^ 
hii, Hafniie, 1715, prefatio. 



Note 3 D. 



Jind gayly shines the Fairy-land — 
But all is glistening show. — P. 214. 

No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be better ascertained 
than the fantastic and illusory nature of their apparent pleasnw 
and sjtlei-.dor. It has been already noticed in the former quo- 
tations from Dr. Grahame's entertaining volume, and may be 
confirmed by the following Highland tradition : — " A woman, 
whose new-born child had been conveyed by them into their 
secret abodes, was also carried thither herself, to remain, how- 
ever, only nntil she should suckle her infant. Slie one day, 
during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily employed in 
mixing various ingredients in a boiling caldron ; and, as soon af 
the composition was prepared, she remarked that they all csr^ 
fully anointed their eyes with it, laying the remainder aside 
for future use. In a moment when they were all absent, shl 
also attempted to anoint her eyes with the precious drug, but 
had time to apply it to one eye only, when the Daoinc Shi* ifr 
turned. But with that eye she was henceforth enabled to se* 
every thing as it really passed in tlieir secret abodes. She saw 
every object, not as she hitherto had done, in deceptive splen* 
ior and elegance, but in its genuine colors and form. Thi 
gaudy ornaments of the ipartment were reduced to tlie wal^ 



1 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



201 



Df a gloomy cavern. Soon after, having iliscliargetl her office, 
ihe was di»missed to her own home. Still, however, she re- 
tained the faculty of seeing, wit! her medicated eye, every 
thing tliat was done, anywhere in her presence, by tlie decep- 
tive art of the onler. One day, amidst a throng of people, she 
chanced to observe the Shi^ich, or man of peace, in whose pos- 
Mssion she had left her child ; thongh to every other eye invisi- 
ble. Prompted by maternal aflection. slie inadvertently accosted 
him, and began to inqiuro after the welfare of her ehihi. The 
man of peace, astonished at being thus recognized by one of 
siortal race, demanded how she had been enabled to discover 
him. Awed by the terrible frown of his countenance, she ac- 
knowledged what she had done. He spat in her eye, and ex- 
tinguished , it forever." — Grauame's Sfietches, p. 116-118. 
It is very remarkable, tliat this story, translated by Dr. Gra- 
hame from popular Gaelic tradition, is to be found in Ihe Otia 
fmperialia of Gervase of Tilbury.' A work of great interest 
might be compiled upon Ihe origin of popular fiction, and the 
traiLsmission of similar tales from age to age, and from country 
Jo country. The mythology of one period would then appear 
to pass into the romance of the next century, and that into the 
nursery tale of the subsequent ages. Such an in'-estigation, 
while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of 
.uman invention, would also sliow, that these fictions, how- 
ever wild and childish, possess such charms for the populace, 
as enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by man- 
ners and language, and liaving no apparent intercourse to af- 
ford the means of transmiwsion. It would carry me far beyond 
ray bounds, to produce instances of this community of fable 
among nations who never borrowed from each other any thing 
intiinsically worth learning. Indeed, the wide diftusion of 
popular fictions may be compared to the facility with vvhicli 
Itraws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while 
valuable metals cannot he transported without trouble and la- 
bor. There lives, I believe, only one gentleman, whose unlim- 
ited acquaintance with thi^ subject might enable him to do it 
justice ; I mean my friend. Mr. Francis Douce, of the British 
Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, pardon my men- 
tiOQing his name, white on a subject so closely connected with 
his extensive and curious researches. 



Note 3 E. 



- I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
rfnrf, 'ticixl life and death., was snatck^a away 
To the joyless K/fm bower. — P. 214. 

The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions 
if hu-.nanity by a sort of cr/nt/jyin- system, whicJi extended to 
*dnlts as well as to infants. Many of those who were in this 
world supposed to have discharged the debt of nature, had 
•nly become denizens of the " Londe of Faery." In the 
beautiful Fairy Romance of Orfee and Heuroinis (Orpheus 
tnd Eruydice) in the Auchinleck MS. is the following striking 
tnnmeration of persons thus abstracted from middle earth. 
Mr. Ritson nnfortunately published this romance from a copy 



I [This itory ie still current in the mooi-s of StufforJshbe, and iidnjited 
ty ihe peasantry to their ovra roeridiaD. I have repeatedly henrd it told, 
«x»ctly as here, by rusli'!B who could not read. My lost atilbority wiia n 
■oifcf nunr Cheadle.— R. Jamiesos.] 

" One ('thpr legend, in s EiiniUir slrftin, Intely communicated by a very 
BttUigeot young IftJy, U given, principnlly becAuse it fumishes an oppor- 
telily of puTBuini: un ing:eniona idea euggcsted by Mr. Scott, in one of hu 
wjned notes to the Lftdy of the Liike : — 

[" A yi-nm: man. roaming one dny ihrongh the foruBl, obserred a num- 
ber of pereono all dressed in erveen, issuing from ooe of those round emi- 
•eoces wh'ch are commonly accounted fairy hills. Ench of them in gnc- 
tetnoa caUed upon a perBon by name \o feich hit horte. A cnpansoiied 
*«ed tnstan Jy appeared ; they .ill mojnted, and ealUed forth into the ro- 
ItODj j'air. The young ncnn, like All Baba in the Arabian N'ight«,ven- 



in which the rollowing, and many other highly poetical pw 
sages, do not occur : — 

" Then he gan biholde about al. 

And aeighe ful tiggeand with in the wal 

Of folk that were thidder y-broughl. 

And thought dede and nere noughl 

Some Ptode withouten hadde ; 

And sum non amies nade ; 

And some thurch the boiii hadde noandet 

And ?onie lay wode y-bonnde ; 

Antl sum armed on hors scle ; 

And sum astrangled as thai ete ; 

And sum war in water adreynt ; 

And sum with fire al forschreynt ; 

Wives Iher lay on childe bedde ; 

Sum dede, and sum awedde ; 

And wonder fele tlier lay besides, 

Right as tliai slepe her undertides ; 

Eclie was thus in the warl y-nome, 

With fairi thidery-corae." 



^OTE 3 ^. 

IVho ever reck*d, where, hoio, or when. 

The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? — P. 219 

St. John actually used this illustration when engaged in con 
fating the plea of law proposed for the unfortunate Earl o* 
SlralTord : *' It was true, we gave laws to hares and deer, be- 
cause they are beasts of chase ; but it was never accountei' 
either cruelly or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on I a 
head as lliey can be found, because they are beaiits o' pit '. 
In K word, tlie law and humanity were alike ; the one being 
more fallacious, and the other more barbarous, than in any 
age had been vented in suoh ananthority." — Clarendon's 
History of the Rebellion. Oxford, 1702, fol. vol. p IRT 



Note 3 G. 



—his Highland cheer. 



The harden" d Jlesh of inoiintain-dcei-. — P. 219 

Tlie Scottish Higidar.ders, in former limes, had a concise 
mode of cooking their venison, or rather of dispensing with 
cooking it, which ajipears greatly to have surprised the French 
whom chance made acquainted with it. Tlie Vjdanie of Char- 
ters, when a hostage in England, during the reign of Edward 
VI., was i)ermitte<l to travel into Scotland, and penetrated a£ 
far as to the remote Highlands (aa fin font! dcs Sanonges). 
After a great hunting party, at which a most wonderful quan* 
tity of game was destroyed, he saw these Scottish i'cjages 
devour a part of their venison raw, without any farther prepa 
ration than compressing it between two batons of wood, do 9 



lured to pronounce the Slime name, and c.i11-:d lor his horee. The aterJ 
inuncdintcly ii[ipCArocI ; he mounted, and was soon joined to the fairy ehou. 
He remained witli them for a yeiir, groing abfjiit with theni to faint am* 
wedding, and feasting, though unseen by mortal eyes, on Lte victuals tbiit 
were exhibited on those occAsions. Tliey had one day gune U> n wedding 
where (be cheer wnaabiindaut During the feaat the bridegroom tneexed. 
The yonng man. according to the usual custom, Baid, ' Qod bless you I' 
The fairies were nffeiideil al the pronunciation of the aacrec name, and a» 
•ured him, that if he dert-d to repeat it, th-^y would punish him. Th» 
bridtgroom tneezed .1 second time. He repenlud h'la bletninf ; they threat- 
ened more tremendous venge.^nce. Hv aneezed a third time ; he blesMd 
him as before. The fairies were enniged ; Ibey tumbled him from a pr» 
cipice ; but ho found himself unhurt, and wua restored to the society 
morlala."— Dr. Grahnme'a SkeUhet, tecond edit. p. 2SB-7. -^e Na^ 
" Fair)- Supeiititioas," Rob Roy, S. ed'*.J 



T' 



i62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lo force out tlie blootl. and rcnrler it extremely hard. This 
'hey '^ckoneil a gr^.-it ilelicncy ; and when the Viilame pai^ 
tooli of it, his roini'IiaiK'e with their taste rendered hioi ex- 
tJem :ly popular. Tins v-iirious trait of manners was com- 
municated by Mons. de Montmorency, a great friend of the 
Vidame, to Brantonie, by whom it is recorded in Vies des 
Hom'iies lUustres, })iscours Ixxxix. art. 14. The process 
by which the raw veni?on was rendered eatable is described 
verv minnteiy in the romance of Perccforest. where Estonne, a 
Hcottish kniglit-errant. iiaving slain a deer, says to his com- 
panion Claudius : " Hire, or mangerez vous et moy aussi. 
Voire 91 nous auions de feu, dit Claudius. Par I'ame de mon 
pere, dist Estonne. ie vous atourneray et cuiray a la raaniere 
de nostre pays comnie pour cheualier errant. Lors lira son 
espee, et sen vint a la branche dung arbre, et y fait vng grant 
Irou, et puis fend la branche blen dieux piedx, et boute la 
caisse du serf entredeux, et puis prent le licol de son cheval, 
et en lye la branche. ot destraint si fort, que le sang et les hu- 
meurs de la cjiair saillent hors, et demeure la chair doulce et 
Beiche. Lora prent la chair, et oste ius le cuir. et la ehaire 
demeure aussi blanche commc si ce feust dang chappon. 
Dont dist a Claudius, Sire, io la vous aye cuiste a la guise da 
mon pays, vous en pouez manger hardyenient, car ie mange- 
ray premier. Lors met sa main a sa selle en vng Hen quil y 
auoit, et tire hor« sel et poudre de poiure et gingembre, mesle 
ensemble, et le iecte dessns, et le frote sus bien fort, puis le 
<iooppe a moytie, et en donne a Claudius Tune des pieces, et 
puis mort en I'autre aiissi sauoureussement quil est aduis que 
il en feist la pouklre voller. Quant Claudius veit quil Ie man- 
geoit de tel goust, il en print grant faini. et commence a man- 
ger tresvoulentiers, et dist a Estonne : Par Tame de moy, ie 
De mangeay oncquesmais de chair atoumee de telle guise : 
mais doresenauant ie ne me retourneroye pas hors de mon 
chemin par auoir la cuite. Sire, dist Esloime, quant is suis 
en desers d'Ecosse, dont ie snis seigneur, ie cheuauclieray huit 
lours ou quinze que ie n'entreray en chastel ne en maison, et 
si ne verray feu ne personne viuant fors ([Ue bestes sauuages, 
et de celles mangeray atournees en ceste muniere, et mienlx 
me plaira que la viande de I'cmperenr. Ainsi sen vont nian- 
geant et cheuanchant iusques adonc quilz arriuerent sur ane 
moult belle fonlaine que esloit en vne valee. Quant Estonne 
la vit il dist a Claudius, allons hoire a ceste fontaine. Or beu- 
oor.?, dist Estonne, du boir que le grunt dieu a pourueu a 
toutes gens, et que me plaist mieiilx ijue les ceruoises d*An- 
gleterre." — I.a Trcsclcgnnir Hysioirr du tresnoble Roy 
Perceforest. Paris, 1531, fol. tome i. fol. Iv, vers. 

After all, it may be doubted whether la ehaire nostrce, for 
to the French called the venison thus summarily prepared, was 
any thing more than a mere rude kind of deej^ham. 



Note 3 H. 



JSTot then claimed sovcreignUj his due 

White Albany, with feeble hand, 

Held borrowed trujtckcon of comviand. — P. 221. 

There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish his- 
tory than that which succeeded the bntlle of Flodden, and 
occupied tne minority of James V. Feuds of ancient stand- 
ing broke out like old wounds, and every quarrel among tlie 
independent nobility, which occurred daily, and almost hour- 
V, gave rise to fresh bloodshed. ''There arose," says Pits- 
eottie, " great troolile and deadly feuds in many parts of Scot- 
land, both in the north and west parts. The Master of Forbes, 
n the north, slew tlie LaJnl of Meldrom, under tryst ;" (i, e. 
at an agreed avd secure necting.) " Likewise the Laird of 
J)rnminelzier slew the Lord Fleming at the hawking: and 
likewise there was slaughter among many other great lords," 
— P. 121. Nor was the matter much mended under the gov- 
ernment o'the FiSrl of Angus; for though lie caused the 



King to ride through all Scotland, " under the pretence dod 
color of justice, to punish thief and traitor, none.were fouad 
greater than were in their own company. And none f* thai 
time durst strive with a Douglas, nor yet a Douglas's man# 
for if they would, they got the worst. Therefore, none duitf 
plainzie of no extortion, theft, reiff, nor slaughter, done t< 
them by the Douglases, or tlieir men ; in that cause they wera 
not heard, so long as the Douglas had the court in guiding " 
ibid, p 133. 



Note 3 I. 



The Qacl, of plain and river heir. 

Shall, with strong hand, redeem hie share. — P. 221. 

The ancient Highlanders verified in their practice the linei 
of Gray : — 

" An iron race the mountain cliffs maintain. 
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain ; 
For where unwearied sinews must be found, 
With side-long plough to quell the flinty ground ; 
To turn the torrent's swift descending flood ; 
To tame tlie savage rushing from the wood ; 
Wliat wonder if. to patient valor train'd. 
They guard with spirit what by strength they gain'd : 
And while their rocky ramparts round they see 
The rough abode of want and liberty 
.(As lawless force from confidence will grow), 
Insult the plenty of the vales below ?" 

Fragment on the Alliance of Education 
and Qovcrnment. 

So far, indeed, was a Creagh, or foray, from being held dis- 
graceful, that a young chief was always expected to show his 
talents for command so soon as he assumed it, by loading Ilia 
clan on a successful enterprise of this nature, eitlier against a 
neighboring sept, for which constant fi'uds usually furnished 
an apology, or against the Sas.'iPnach, Saxons, or Lowlandera, 
for which no apology was necessary. The Gael, great tradi- 
tional historians, never forgot that the Tiovvlands iiad. at some 
remote period, been the property of their Celtic forefathers, 
which fnnn'shed an ample vindicration of all the ravages that 
they could make on the unfortunate districts which lay within 
their reach. Sir James Grant of Grant is in possession of a 
letter of apology from Cameron of Lodiiel, whose men had 
committed some depredation U|»on a farm called Moines, 
occupied by one of the Grants. I.<ochiel assures Grant, that, 
however the mistake had happened, his instructions were pre- 
cise, that the parly should foray the province of Moray (a 
Lowland district), where, as he coolly observes, " all men taka 
their prey." 



Note 3 K. 



— / only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant, 
Deeming this path you might pnrsue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. — P. 222. 

This incident, like some other passages in the poem, iUti*' 
trative of the character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, 
but borrowed from fact. The Highlanders, with the incoD- 
sistency of most nations in the same state, were alternately 
capable of great exertions of generosity, and of cruel reveng* 
and perfidy. The following story I can only quote from tra* 
dition, but with such an assurance from those by whom il wa« 
communicated, as permits me little doubt of its authenticity. 
Early in the last century, John Gunn, a noted Citeran, << 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



2na 



Hipht.ind robber, inO-i^ted lin rniess-shire. nnil levied hlnck- 
maiV up to the walls of the pruvincial capital. A garrison was 
nen niaiiitaineil in thi- ca.stU- of that town, and their pay 
(country banks being unknown) was usually transmitted in 
lIHfcie. uiulor the guanl of a small escort. It chanced that 
(he officer '.vho eominanded this little party was unexpectedly 
obligeil to Imlt, about thirty miles from Inverness, at a miser- 
able irm. About night-tall, a stranger, in the Uigliland dress, 
and of very prepossessing appearance, entered the same house. 
Separate accommodations being impo^ible. the Englishman 
alTervd the nswly-arrived guest a ])art: of liis supper, which 
^was accepted with reluctance. By the conversation lie foun*. 
his new acquaintance knew well all the passes of the country, 
which iniluced him eagerly to request his company on the en- 
sning morning. He neither disguised his business and charge, 
nor his apprehensions of that celebrated (Veebooter. John 
. Gunn. — The Hi^rhlaniler hesitated a moment, and then frank- 
ly consenterl to bo his guide. Forth tliey sol in the morning ; 
and, in travelling through a solitary and dreary glen, the dis- 
coun-e again turned on John Gunn. " Would you like to see 
him?" *aid the guide; and, without waiting an answer to 
this alarming question, he whistled, and the English officer, 
with his small party, were surrounded by a body of High- 
.anders, whose numbers put resistance out of question, and 
wlio were all well armed. " Stranger," resumed the guide, 
'* I am that very John Gunn by whom you feared to be inler- 
nepted, and not without cause : for I came to the inn last night 
with the p.\press purpose of learning your route, that I and my 
followers might ease you of your charge by the road. But I 
km incapable of betraying the trust yon reposed in me, and 
fcaving convinced you that you were in my power, I can only 
dismiss j-ou unjilundered and uninjured." He then gave the 
officer directions for his journey, and disappeared with his 
party as suddenJy aa they liad presented themselves. 



Note 3 L. 

On Bochastle the mouldering lines 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world, 
Of yore her eagle~wings unfurVd. — P. 223. 

The torrent which discharges itself from Loch Vennachar, 
the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the 
•cenery adjoining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and 
extensive moor, called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence, 
called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the plain itself, 
are some intrenchmenls, which have been thought Romun. 
There is, adjacent to Callender, a sweet villa, the residence of 
Captain Faiifoul, entillcil the Roman Camp. 

[" One of the most entire and beaotiful remains of a Roman 
eQcampmeni now to be found in Scotland, is to be seen at 
Anl ch, near Green loaning, about six miles to the eastward 
of Uanhlane. This encampment is supported, on good grounds, 
lo have y;^n constructed during the fourth campaign of Agri- 
oola in Britain ; it is lOGO feet in length, and 9()0 In breadth ; 
tl could contain ifG.UOO men, according to the ordinary distri- 
touor. of the Roman soldiers in llieir encamjiments. There 
appears to iiave been three or four ditches, Klronijly fortiiicd, 
GQrrounding the camp. The four entries crossing the lines 
ar.' still to be seen distinctly. The general's quarter rises 
above the level of the camp, but is not exactly in the centre. 
It is a regular square of twenty yards, enclosed with a stone 
wall, and containing the foundations of a house, 30 feet by 20. 
There is a subterraneous communication with a smaller en- 
wmpmcni at a little distance, in which several Roman helmets, 
pears, &c.. have been found. From this eamp at Ardoch, 
the great Roman highway runs east to Bertha, about 14 miles 
iislant, where the Roman army is believed to bive passed over 
Uie Taj into St.-athmore."— Orahame.! 



Note 3 M. 
See, here, all vantageless I stand, 
.^nn'd, tilic thyself, with single brand.~-V. 223. 

The duellists of former times did not always stand upci 
those ponctilios respecting equality of arms, which are now 
judged essential to fair combat. It is true, tliat in fofmei 
combats in the lists, the parlies were, by the judges of thi 
field, put as nearly as possible in the same cirtnmstancea. 
But in private duel it was often otherwise. In that desperat* 
combat wliich was fought between Quelus, a minion of Henrj 
HI. of France, and Anlraguet, with two seconds on each s^Je, 
from whicli only two persons escaped alive. Q,uelus complained 
tliat his antagonist liad over iiim the advantage of a poniard 
which he used in pairying, while his left hand, which he wa« 
forced to employ for the same purpose, was cruelly mangled. 
When he charged A-traguet with this odds, " Thou hast done 
wrong," answered he, '' to forget thy dagger at home. We are 
li«re lo figlit, and not to still e punctilios of arms." In asimilai 
duel, however, a younger brother of the house of Auhanye, in 
Angoulesme, behaved more generously on the like occasion, 
and at once threw away liis dagger when his enemy challenged 
it as an undue advantage. But at this time hardly any thing 
can be conceived more horribly brutal and savage than the 
mode in which private ipiarrels were conducted in France. 
Those who were most jealous of the point of honor, and 
acquired the title of Rujfinrs, did not scruple to take every 
advantage of strength, numbers, surprise, and arms, to ac- 
complish their revenge. The Sieur de Brantome, to whose 
discourse on duels I am obliged for these particulars, gives 
the following account of the death and principles of his friend 
the Baron de Viiaux : — 

" J'ay oui conter a un Tireur d'armes, qui apprit a Millaud 
a en lirer, lequel s'appelloil Seigneur le Jacques Ferron, de la 
ville d' Ast, qui avoit est6 f'l moy, il ful despuis tu^ ;i Sainote 
Basille en Gascogne, lors que Monsieur ilu Mayne rassiegea 
lui servant d'Ing6nieor; el de malheur, je I'avots address*^ 
audit Baron quelques trois mois aufiaravant, pour Texercer & 
tirer, bien qu'il en sreust prou ; mais il ne'en fit compte ; et le 
laissant, Millami s'en servii, et le rendit fort iidroit. Se Seig 
neor Jacques done me raconta, qu'il s'ej^toit montC sur uf 
noyer, assez loing, pour en voir lo combat, ct qu'il nt vi^t 
jamais homme y aller plus bravement, ny plus r^solument, 
ny de grace plus asseurce ny detcrminee. II conimen^a de 
marcher de cinquanre pas vers son ennemy, relevant souvent 
ses moustaches en haut d'nne main ; et estanl a vingt pas de 
son ennemy (non plustost). il mil la main fi I'espte qu'il tenoit 
en la main, non qu'il I'eust tirtie encore ; mais en marchant, il 
fit voUer le fourrean en I'air, en le secouant, ce qui est le bean 
de cela, et qui moustroit bien un grace de combat bien as- 
source et froide, et nullement t^mcraire, comnie il y en a qui 
tirent leurs esp6es de cinq cents pas de I'ennemy, voire de 
mille, comme j'en ay ven aucuns. Ainsi mourut ce brave 
Baron, le parogon de France, ;_u'on nommoit lei, ji bien ven- 
ger ses querellcs, par grandes et dclerminoes ctl'solulionjs. 1 
n'estoit pas seulement estim6 en France, mais en Itatie, 
Espaigne, Allemaigne, en Bou'ogne ct Angleterre ; et de«i« 
roient fort les Etrangers, venani en France, le voir; car > 
Tay veu, tant sa renommee volloit. II estoit fort petit da 
corps, mais fort grand de courag»\ ^'es ennemis disoient an u 
ne tuoit pas bien ses gens, que par advantages et supercheriee. 
Certes, je tiens de grands capitaines, et mesme d'ltaliens, qni 
ont estez d'aulres fois les premiers vengeurs du monde, io 
ogni modo, disoient-ils, qui ont tenu cette maxime, qa'un* 
supercherie ne se devoit payer que par semblable monnoye 
etn'y alloil point la de dtshonneur." — Oeuvres de BrantoniCt 
Paris, 1787-8. Tome viii. p. 90-92. It may be necessary t« 
inform the reader, that this paragon of France was the mOBK 
foul assassin of his time, and had committed many desperate 
murders, chiefly by the assistance of 'is hired bani!itti ; from 
which it may be conceived how litl.e the po'nt of honor of thi 
penod deserved it3 name. I have chosen to give my heroe* 



264 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



►ho are indeed of an earlier period, a Btronger tinctare of tlie 
Ipiiit of chivalry. 



Note 3 N. 



Ill fared it iken with Roderick Dku, 
That on the field his targe he threw. 
For traiii'd abroad his arms to wield, 
FitZ'James^ s blade was sword and shield.- 



P. 223. 



A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, 
and studded with brass or iron, waa a necessary part of a 
Highlander's equipment. In charging regular troopa, they 
received the thrust of the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it 
aside, and used the broadsword against tlie encumbered 
Boldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of 
the clans were thus armed: and Captain Grose informs us, 
that, in 1747, the privates of tlie 42d regiment, then in Flan- 
lers, were, for the most part, permitted to carry targets, — 
Military Antiquities, vol. i. p. 164. A person thus armed 
had a considerable advantage in private fray. Among verses 
between Swift and Sheridan, lately published by Dr. Barret, 
there is an account of such an encounter, in which the cir- 
cumstances, and consequently the relative superiority of the 
combatants, are precisely the reverse of those in the text : — 

" A Highlander once fonght a Frenchman at Margate, 
Tlie weapons, a rapier, a backsword, and target ; 
Brisk Monsienr advanced as fast as he could, 
Bat alt his fine pnshes were caught in the wood. 
And Sawrey, with backsword, did slash him and nick him, 
While t'other, enraged that he conid not once prick him, 
Cried, 'Sirrah, yon rascal, you son of a whore. 
Me witi fight you, be gar! if you'll come from your door.' " 

The use of defensive armor, and particularlj' of the buckler, 
or target, was general in Queen Elizabeth's time, although that 
of the single rapier seems to have been occasionally practised 
much earlier.! Rowland Yorke, however, who betrayed tiie 
fort of Zutphen to the Spaniards, for which good service he 
was afterwards poisoned by them, is said to have been the first 
who brought the rapier fight into general use. Fuller, speak- 
ing of the swash-bncklers, or bullies, of Q,ueen Elizabeth's 
time, says, — " West i-*mithfield was formerly called Ruffians' 
Hall, where such men usually met,, casuallv or otherwise, to 
try masteries with sword and buckler. More were fright- 
ened than hurt, more hurt than killed therewith, it being 
accounted unmanly to strike beneath the knee. But since that 
desperate traitor Rowland Yorke first introduced thrusting 
with rapiers, sword and buckler are disused." In " Tlie Two 
Angry Women of Abingdon," a comedy, printed in 1599, we 
liave a pathetic complaint: — "Sword and buckler fight be- 
gins to grow out of use. I am sorry for it : I shall n?ver see 
good manhood again. If it be once gone, this poking fight of 
rapier and dagger will come up ; then a tqlt man, and a good 
iword-and-bucklcr man, will be spitted like a cat or rabbit." 
But the rapier had upon the continent long sujterseded, m 
privai^^ duel, the use of sword and shield. The masters of 
the noble science of defence were chiefly Italians, Tiiey made 
great mystery of llieir art and mode of instruction, never suf- 
fered any person to be present but the scholar who was to be 
taught, and even examined closets, beds, and other places of 
possible concealment. Their lessons often gave the most 
treacherous advantages ; for the challenger, having the right to 
choose his weapons, frequently selected some strange, unusual, 
»nd inconvenient kind of arras, the use of which lie practised 
Under these instructors, and thus killed at his ease his anlago- 
jlst, to whom it was presented for the first time on the field of 
latLe. See Bkantome's Discourse on Duels, and the 

%ei Dours'B liluBtrations of Shakspesre, rol. U. p. '>1. 



work on the same subject, "si gentement ecrit," by tht 
venerable Dr. Paris de Puteo. The Highlanders continued to 
use broadsword and target until disarmed after the affair ol 
1745-6. 



Note 3 O. 



Thy threats, thy mercy /defy! 

Let recreant yield, who fears to die. — P. 224. 

I have not ventured to render this duel so savagely despe- 
rate as that of the celebrated Sir Ewan of Lochiel, chief ol 
the clan Cameron, called, from his sable complexion, Ewan 
Dhu. He wa.s tlie last man in Scotland who maintained tha 
royal cause during the great Civil War, and his constant 
incursions rendered hiin a very unpleasant neighbor to tha 
republican garrison at Inverlochy, now Fort-William. Tha 
governor of the fort detached a party of three hundred men 
to lay waste Lochiel's possessions, and cut down his trees ; 
but, in a sudden and desperate attack made upon them by 
the chieftain with very inferior numbers, they were almost all 
cut to pieces. The skirmish is detailed in a curious memoir ol 
Sir Ewan's life, printed in the Appendix of Pennant's Scot* 
tish Tour. 

" In this engagement, Lochiel himself had several wonder- 
ful escapes. In the retreat of the English, one of the strong- 
est and bravest of the officers retired behind a bush, when lie 
observed Lociiiel pursuing, and seeing him unaccompanied 
with any, he leapt out, and thought him his prey. They met 
one anotJier with equal fury. The combat was long and 
doubtful : the English gentleman had by tr.r the advantage in 
strength and size; but Lochiel, exceeding hiiu in nimblenesa 
and agility, in the end tript the sword out of his liand : they 
closed and wrestled, till both fell to the ground in each other's 
arms. Tlie English officer got above Lochiel, and pressed him 
hard, but stretching forlii his net;k, by attempting to discngaga 
himself, Lochiel, who by this time hail his hands at liberty 
with his left hand seized him by the collar, and jumping at hia 
extended throat, he bit it with his teetli quite through, and 
kept such a hold of his grasp, that be brought away hia 
mouthful : this, he said, was the sweetest bit he ever had in 
his lifctiyne."— Vol l p. 375. 



Note 3 P. 



Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled; 

And thou, O snd and fatal mound! 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. — P. 235. 

An eminence on the northeast of the Castle, where state 
criminals were executed. Stirling was often polluted with 
noble blood. It is thus apostrophized by J. Johnstnn : — 

" Discordia tristia 

Heu quoties procerum sanguine tinxit linmum ! 
Hoc uno infelix, et felix cetera ; nusquam 
Lstior aut creli frons geuiusve soli." 

The fate of William, eiglitb earl of Douglas, whom Jamea 
II. stabbed in Stirling Castle with his own hand, and while 
under his royal safe-conduct, is familiar to all who rend Scot- 
tish history. Murdack Duke of Albany, Duncan Earl of Len- 
nox, his father-in-law, and his two sons, Walter and Alexandei 
Stuart, were executed at Stirling, in 1425. Tisey were be- 
headed upon an eminence without the castle walls, bu. ni:iking 
part of the same hill, from whence they could behold tlieil 
strong castle of Doune. and their extensive pos^eFsions. This 
"heading hill," as it was sometimes termed, bears commonly 
the less terrible name of Hurly-hacket, from its having lieen 
the scene of a courtly amusement alluded to by Sir Ua^U 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



26S 



^ndsay, wlio says of the pastimes in which the yoang King 
• u engaged, 

" Some harled him to the Uurley-Iiacket ;" 

which consisted in iliding, in some sort of Ihair it may be 

uiiposed, from top to bollom of a smooth hank. The boys of 
&linburgh, about twenty years ago, used to play at the hurly- 
fiacket, on Uie Calton-hill, using for their scat a horse's skull. 



Note 3 Q. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day.- — P. 225. 

Every burgli of Scotland, of the least note, hot more espe- 
cially th; considerable towns, had their solemn plaij, or fes- 
IJTdJ, when feats of archery were exhibited, and prizes distrib- 
Qted to those who excelled in wrestling, iiurling the bar, and 
the other gymnastic exercises of the period. Stirling, a usual 
place of royal residence, was not likely to be deficient in pomp 
opon snc'h occa5,ions, especially since James V. was very par- 
tial to tliera. His ready participation in these popular amuse- 
ments was one cause of bis acquiring the title of King of the 
Commons, or Rex Picbciorum, a.» Lesley has latinized it. The 
asual prize to the best shooter was a silver arrow. Such a one 
ia preserved at Selkirk and at Pesbles. At Dumfries, a silver 
l^nn was sobstilQted, and the contention transferred to fire- 
arms. The ceremony, as there performed, is the subject of an 
eicellent Scottish poem, by Mr. John Mayne, entitled the 
Biller Gun, 1808, whiuii surpasses the eflbrts of Fergusson, and 
comes near to those of Burns. 

Of James's attachment to archery, Pitscoltie, the faithful, 
Jicugh rude recorder of the manners of that period, has given 
B8 eviuence : — 

"In this year ther* came an embassador oat of England, 
named Lord William Howard, with a bishop with him, with 
many other gentlemen, to the number of threescore horse, which 
were all able men and waled [[licked] men for all kinds of 
games and pastimes, stiooting, loupiiig, running, wrestling, 
and casting of the stone, but they were well 'sayed [essayed 
or tried] ere they passed oat of Scotland, and that by their own 
provocation; but ever they lint: till at last, the Queen of 
Scotland, the King's mother, favoured the Engli«h~men, be- 
cause she was tlie Kin^ of England's sister ; and therefore she 
Ux>k an enterprise of archery upon the English-men's hands, 
contrary her son the king, and any six in Scotland that he 
would wale, either genllcracn or yeomen, that the English-men 
ihould shoot against them, either at pricks, revers, or buts, as 
the Scots pleased. 

"The king, hearing this of his motlier, wa.s content, and 
garl her pawn a hundred crowns, and a tun of wine, upon the 
Eijglisli-nien's hands; and he incontinent laid down as much 
for the Scottish-men. The fteld and ground was chosen in 
Bt. Andrews, and three landed men and three yeomen chosen 
to shoot again-it the English-men,— to wit, David Wemyss of 
that ilk, David Arnot of that ilk. and Mr. John Wedderbum, 
?icai of Dundee ; the yeomen, John Thompson, in Leith, Ste- 
reo Taburner, with a piper, called Alexander Bailie ; they 
•Hot »ery near, and warred [worsted] the English-men of the 
>nterpri5«, and wan the hundred crowns and the tun of wine, 
wmch made the king very merry that his men wan the vic- 
tCTf."— P. 147. 



Note 3 R. 

Robin Hood.—F. 226. 

The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was 
favorite frolic at such festivals aa we are describing. This 

I Book i,f llie Uoiverial Rirk, p. Hi. 

«8ee Scolish Hiatorical and 110111.111110 Uallada. Glasgow, 1808, rol. 



sporting, in which kings did not disdain to be actors, was pr» 
hn)ited in Scotland upon the Reformation, by a statute of tha 
6th Parliament of Q,ueen .Mrry, c. 61, A. D. 15^, which or 
dered, under heavy penalties, that " na manner of person be 
chosen Robert Hnde, nor Little John, Abbot of Unreason, 
dueen of May, nor otherwise." But in 1561, the "rascal 
mnhitude," says John Knox, "were stirred up to make 1 
Robin Ifude, whilk enormity was of many years left and 
dajiined by statute ar.d act of Parliament ; yet would thej t.ol 
be forbidden." Accordingly, they raised a very serious tn- 
mult, and at Iongt}i made prisoners the magistrates wLo en- 
deavored to suppress it, and would not release them till they 
extorted a formal promise that no one should be punished foi 
his share of the disturbance. It would seem, from the com- 
plaints of the General Assemby of the Kirk, that these profane 
festivities were continued down to 1592.' Bold Robin was, to 
to say the least, equally successful in maintaining his ground 
against the reformed clergy of England : for the simple and 
evangelical Latimer complains of coming to a country church, 
where the people refused to hear him, because it was Robin 
Hood's day ; and his mitre and rochet were fain to give way 
to the village pastime. Mucli curious information on this sul^ 
ject mav be found in the Preliminary Dissertation to the late 
Mr. Ritson's edition of the songs respecting this memorable 
outlaw. The game of Robin Hood was usually acted in May ; 
and he was associated with the morrice-dancers, on whom so 
much illustration has been bestowed by the commentators on 
Shakspeare. A very lively picture of these festivities, con- 
taining a gi'oat deal of curious information on the subject of the 
private life and amusements of our ancestors, was thrown, by 
the late ingenious Mr. Strntt. into his romance entitled Q,aeep 
hoo Hall, published after \m death, in 1808. 



Note 3 S. 



Indifferent as to archer wight. 

The monarch gave the arrow bright. — P. 226. 

The Douglas of the poem is an imaginary person, a supposed 
uncle of the Eari of Angus. But the King's behaviiir during 
an onexpetted interview with the Lainl of Kilspindie, one ol 
the banished Douglases, under circumstances similar to those 
in the text, is imitated from a real story told by Hume ot 
Godscroft. I would have availed myself more fully of the 
simple and affecting circumstances of the old history, had they 
not been already woven into a pathetic ballad by my friend 
Mr. Finlay.' 

" His (the king's) implacability (towards the family of 
Douglas) did also appear in his carriage towards Archibald of 
Kilspindie, whom he, when he was a child, loved singularly 
well for his ability of body, and was wont to call him his 
Gray-Stei!l.3 Archibald, being banished into England, could 
not well comport with the humor of that nation, which he 
thought to be too proud, anil that they had too high a conceit 
of themselves, joined witli a contempt and despising of all 
others. Wherefore, being wearied of that life, and remem- 
bering the king's favor of old towards him, he determined to 
try the king's mercifulness and clemency. So he cc-aes lot-o 
Scotland, and taking occasion of the king's hunting ir. '.he park 
at Stirling, he casts himself to be in his way. as he 'vas coming 
home to the castle. So soon as the king saw him afar oflT, ere 
he came near, he guessed it was he, and said to one of his 
courtiers, yonder is my Gray-Steill, Archibald of Kilspindie, 
if he be alive. The other answered, that it could not be »•., 
and thai he durst not come into the king's presence. The king 
approaching, he fell opon his knees and craved pardon, and 
promised from thenceforward to abstain from meddling w 
public aflairs, and to lead a quiet and private life. The kin| 

5 A champion ol' populur roniao'ie. See £lli» '« Ron\anrt§, vul. Iji. 



•266 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



went by witliout giving Iiim any answer, and trotted a good 
round pact- up the liill. Kilspiadie followed, and though lie 
wore on him a secret, or sliirt of mail, for his particular ene- 
mies, was as soon at the castle gate as the king. Tliere he sat 
him down upon a stone without, and entreated some of tlie 
king's senants for a cup of drink, being weary and thirsty ; 
but they, fearing the king's displeasure, durst give him none. 
When the king was set at his dinner, he asked what he liad 
dooe, whit he had said, and whither he had gone ? It was 
told hmi that he had desired a cup of drink, and had gotten 
i0&3. Tlie king reproved them very shar])ly for their discour- 
}e*y. and told them, that if he had not taken an oath that no 
Douglas should ever serve him, he would have received him 
into his service, for he liad seen him sometime a man of great 
ability. Then he sent him word to go to Leith, and expect 
nis further pleasure. Then some kinsman of David Falconer, 
ihe cannonier, that was slain at Tantallon, began to quarrel 
with Archibald about the matter, wherewith the king showed 
himself not well pleased when lie heard of it. Then he com- 
manded hini to go to France for a certain space^ till he heard 
farther from him. And so he'"did, and died shortly after. 
This gave occasion to the King of England (Henry VIII.) to 
blame his nephew, alleging the old saying, That a King's face 
ehould give grace. For this Archibald (whatsoever were An- 
gus's or Sir George's fault) had not beOTi principal actor of any 
thing, nor no counsellor nor stirrer up, but only a follower of 
his frienda, and that noways cruelly disposed.*' — Hume of 
Qodscrofty ii. 107. 



Note 3 T. 



Prize of the wrestling vtatch, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring. — P. 226. 

The nsnal prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the 
animaJ would have embarrassed my story. Thus, in the Cokes 
Tale of Gamelyn, ascribed to Chaucer : 

" There happed lo be there beside 
Tryed a wrestling : 
And therefore there was y-setten 
A ram and als a ring." 

Again the Litil Geste of Robin Hood ; 

" By a bridge was a wrestling, 

And there taryed was he. 
And there was all the best yemen 

Gf all the west countrey. 
A full fayre game there was set up, 

A white bull up y-pight, 
A great courser with saddle and brydte, 

With gold burnislied full bryght ; 
A payre of gloves, a red golderinge, 

A pipe of wyne, good fay ; 
What man bereth him best, I wis. 

The prize shall bear away." 

Ritson's Jiobin Hood, vol. i. 



■ Note 3 U. 

Thfse dre7P not for their fields the sword, 
X-ike tenants of a feudal lord, 
A''or own''d the patriai-chal claim 
Of Chieftain in their leadcr*s name ; 

^drtnturcrs they P. 230. 

Tlie Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and 
Darons with iheir vassals, who held lands under them, for mil- 

l TLptigli less (o my purpose, I cannot help in*tii;iDg a circuDiatjince ro- 
ftecting (mother of tliis Mr. Reid'e atteudanta, yrliich occurred during 



itary service by themselves and their tenants. The patriarcna 
influence exercised by the heads of clans in tne Kighls.nds anQ 
Borders was of a different nature, and sometimes at variancfl 
witli feudal principles. It flowed from the Patria Potestas, 
exercised by ih^cliieftain as representing the original father of 
the whole name, and was often obeyed in contradiction to tht 
feudal superior. James V. seems first to have introduced, in 
addition to the militia furnished from these sources, the serviea 
of a small number of mercenaries, wlio tbrmed a budy^naid, 
called the Foot-Band. The satirical poet, Sir David Lindiaj 
(or the person who wrote the prologue to his play of thl 
"Three Estailes"), has introduced Fiulay of the Fooi-Band 
who, after much swaggering upon the stage, is at length put 
to flight by the Fool, who territies him by means of a slieep'i 
skuH upon a pole. I have rather chosen to give them tha 
harsh features of tlie mercenary soldiers of the period, than of 
this Scottisli Thraso. These partook of tlie character of the 
Adventurous Companious of Froissart or the Condottieri 
Italy. 

One of the best and liveliest traits of such manners is the 
last will of a leader, called Geffroy Tete Noir, who liaving 
been slightly wounded in a skirmish, his intemperance brought 
on a mortal disease. When he found himself dying, he sum 
moned to his bedside the adventurers whom he commanded, 
and thus addressed them : — 

" Fayre sirs, qnorl GcfTray, I knowe well ye have alwaye? 
served and honoured me as men ought to serve tlieir soveraygne 
and capitayne, and I shal be the gladder if ye wyll agre to 
have lo your capilayne one tliat is discended of my blode 
Beholde here Aleyne Roux, my cosyn. and Peter his brother, 
who are men of amies and of my blode. I require you to 
make Aleyne your capitaynp, and to swere to hym faylhe 
obeysaunce, love, and loyalte, here in my presence, and a'-so 
to his brother : howe be it, I wyll that Aleyne have the sove- 
rayne charge. Sir, ijuod they, we arc well content, for ye 
hauve ryght well chosen. There all the companyons made 
them breke no poynt of that ye have ordayned and com* 
maonded." — LoRs Berners' Froissart. 



Note 3 V. 



Thou now hast glec-mniden and harp I 
Qet thee an ape, and trudge the land, 
The leader of a juggler band. — P. 21U. 

The jongleurs, or jugglers, as we learn from the elaborate 
work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports and pastimes of the 
people of England, used to call in tlie aid of various assist- 
ants, to render these performances as captivating as jiospible. 
Tlie glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty was 
tumbling and dancing ; and therefore the Anglo-Saxon ve^ 
sion of Saint Mark's Go.*i)el states Hcrodias to have vaulted 
or tumbled before King Herod. In Scotland, these poor crea- 
tures seem, even at a late period, to have been bondswomen 
to their masters, as appears from a case reported by Fountain* 
hall : — " Reid the mountebank pursues Scott of Harden aad 
his lady, for stealing away from him a little girl, calle- tJd 
tumbling-lassie, that danced upon his stage ; and he claimed 
damages, and produced a contract, whereby he bought hel 
from her mother for j£30 Scots. But we have no slaves id 
Scotland, and mothers cannot sell tlieir bairns ; and physiciaiB 
attested the emidoyment of tumbling wuutd kiil her; and hei 
joints were now grown stiff, and she declined to return ; though 
she was at least a 'prentice, and so could not runaway from hel 
master : yet some cited Moses's law, that if a servant sheltel 
himself with thee, against his master's cruelty, thou shall 
surely not deliver him up. Tlie Lords, renitente cancellario, 
assoilzied Harden, on the 27th of January (1087)."— Focs* 
Tainuall's Decisions, vol. i. p. 439.' 

James Il.'a zeiil for Catliolic iiroselytism, and is told by Fonntamhflll, 
with dry Scotch irony :—" Janwary \'\th, 1687.— Reid the loouniebank 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



26T 



The facetions qnalities of the ape soon rendered him an ae- 
■eplable a-Jdition to the strolling band of the jongleur. ISen 
ioiiBOii, in his sple-ielit! itilrodiiclion to llie comedy of " Bar- 
*Iioloiui'W Fair," is al pains to inform tlie audience " that lie 
lias iit^'er a sword-and-buckler man in his Fair, nor a juggler, 
with a weU-educaled ape, to come over the chaine for the 
King of England, and back agaii, for the Prince, and sit still 
on his haunches fo.' the Pope and the King of Spaine." 



Note 3 W. 



Tkat atxrring air that peals on high 
O'er Dcrmid's race our victory. — 
Strike it /—P. 233. 

There are several instances, at least in tradition, of persons 
H> mucli attached to particular tunes, as to require to liear 
neni on their deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by 
ne late Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, in his collection of Border 
tones, respecting an air called the " Dandling of the Bairna," 
for which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have evinced 
Ihis (<trong mark of partiality. It is popularly told of a fa- 
moos freebooter, that he composed the tune known by the 
name of Macpherson's Rant, while under sentence of death, 
and played it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words have 
been adajited to it by Burns. A similar story is recounted 
of a Welsh bard, who composed and played on his deathbed 
the air called Dofijdihj Onrfrg^r IVen. But the most curious 
example is given by Brantonie, of a maid of honor at the 
court of France, entitled, Mademoiselle de Limeuil. " Du- 
rant sa maladie, dont elle trespassa, jamais die ne cessa, ains 
causa tou^jours ; car elle estoit fort grande parleuse, brocar- 
deuse. et tr^s-bien et fort !i propoa, et Ires-belle avec cela. 
Uuand I'heure de sa tin fut venue, die fit venir a soy son valet 
(ainsi fiae le filles de la cour en ont chacune un), qui s'ap- 
oelloit Jnlien, et scavoit tres-bien joiier du violon. ' Jnlien,' 
loy dit elle, ' prenez vostre violon, et sonnez moy tou«jours jus- 
ques a ce que vous me voyez morle (car je m'y en vaisj la 
d^faite des Soisses, et le mieux qne vous pourrez, et quand 
voos serez sur le mot, " Tout est perdu," sonnez le par qoatre 
OD cing fois le plus piteufement que vous pourrez,' ce qui fit 
I'antre, et elle-mesme luy aidoit de la voix, et quand ce vint 
'tout est perdu,' elle le reitera par dcnx fois ; et se tournant de 
I'autre cost6 du chevet, elle dit -i ses compagnes : ' Tout est 
perdu a ce coup, et ;i bon escient ;' et ainsi dCceda. Voila une 
morte joyeuse et plaisante. Je liens ce conte de deux de ses com- 
pagnt-H, dignea de foi, qui virent jour ce mystere." — Oeuvrcs 
de Urantome, iii. 507. The tune to which this fair lady chose 
lo make her final exit, was composed on the defeat of the 
8wi^ at Marignano. Tlie bunlffn is quofed by Panurge, in 
Rabelais, and consisUi of these worda, imitating the jargon of 
liie Hwiss, which is a mixture of French and German : 

" Tout est verlore, 

La Tintelore, 

Tout est verlore, bi Got I" 



Note 3 X. 

Battle of BeaV an Duine.—V. 233. 

A fJcirmish actually took place at a pass thus called in the 
Tro^aciiB, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned 
in the text. It was greatly posterior in date to the reign of 
James V. 

■ received into the Popish church, and one of bis bliicknmnr^a wsi poreiiA- 
led lo Accept of tuptiem from the Poplah prirsls, nnd to turn Chriatiitn 
Hpisl ; irhich wac a great trophy : he was called Jomea, nfter the kin; 
Vii rbfjicPoT. ttj-O iLo Apoalle JamcR." IbuJ, p. 440. 



*' In this roughly- wooded iflland,' the country people an 
creteil their wives and children, and their most valuable eS 
fcuts. from tlie rapacity of Cromwell': soldiers, during th^ll 
inroad into this country, in the time of the republic. TheM 
invaders, not venturing to asecml by the ladders, along thi 
side oi' the lake, took a more circuitous road, through thd 
heart of the Trosachs, the most frequented path at that time, 
which penLtrales the wilderness about hall' way between Bi- 
neatt and the lake, by a tract called Yca-chilleach, or the Old 
Wife's Bog. 

" fn one of tlie defiles of this by-road, the men of the coan- 
try al that time hung upon the rear of the invading enemy, 
and shot one of Cromwcirs men, whose grave marks the scena. 
of action, and gives name to that p.'iss.^ In revenge of this 
insult, the soldiers resolveil to plunder the island, to violate 
the women, and put the children to death. With this brutal 
intention, one of the party, more expert than the rest, swam 
towards the island, to fetch the boat to his comrades, which 
had carried the women to their asylum, and lay moored in one 
of llie creeks. His companions ntood on the shore of the main- 
land, in full view of all that wa-s to pas.'), waiting anxiously for 
his return with the boat. But just as the swimmer had got to 
the nearest point of the island, and was laying hold of a black 
rock, to get on shcfc-e, a heroine, who stood on the very point 
where he meant to land, hastily snatching a dagger from he- 
low her apron, with one stroke severed his head from the 
body. His parly seeing this disaster, and relinquishing all fa 
tnre hope of revenge or conquest, made the best of their way 
out of their perilous situation. This amazon's great-grandson 
lives at Bridge of Turk, who, besides others, attests the anec- 
dote. — Sketch of the Scenery near Cii/!cndar, Stirling, 1806 
p. 20. I have onl^ to add to tliis account, that the lieroinw 
name was Helen Stuart. 



Note 3 Y. 



And Snowdoun^s Knight is Scotland's King. — P. 237. 

This discovery will probably remind the reader of the beauti- 
ful Arabian tale of // Bondocani. Yet the incident is not 
borrowed from that elegant story, but from Scotlisli tradition. 
James V., of whom we are treating, was a monarch whose 
good and benevolent intentions often renrlercd liis roniantio 
freaks venial, if not respectable, since, from his anxious at 
tention to the interests of the lower and most oppressed claM 
of his subject'), he was, as we have seen, popularly tenned 
the Kivg of the. Commons. For the purpose of seeing that 
justice was regularly administered, and fretpiently from the 
less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse tiw 
vicinage of his several palaces in various disguises. The two 
excellent comic songs, entitled, " The Gaberlunzie man," and 
" We'll gae nae mair a roving," are said to have been founded 
upon the success of his amorous adventures when travellitig 
in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the kwt 
comic ballad in any language. 

Another adventure, which had nearly cost James liu iftt, 
is said to have taken place at the village of Cramond, oeoi 
Edinburgh, where he had rendered his addresses accepiable 
Id a pretty girl of the lower rank. Four or five persons, 
whether relations or lovers of his mistress is uncertain, beset 
the disguised monarch as he returned from his rendezvous. 
Naturally gallant, and an admirable master of his weapon, 
the king took post on the high and narrow bridge over the 
Almond river, and defended himself bravely with his sword. 
A peasant, who was thrashing in a neighbbring barn, cam* 
out upon tbe noiie, and wlielher moved by compassion or bj 

1 That St lh« easttm extremity of Loch Katrine, so often uioatioaed )s 

the text. 

•i Heallnch an duiae. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



-jjtural gallantry, took the weaker side, and laid about with 
his flail so effectaally, as to disperse the assailants, well 
Ihrashed, e\'en according to the letter. He then condocte'' 
Uie king into hia barn, where his guest requested a basin and 

towe', to remove tlie stains of the broil. This being pro- 
toreu with difficulty, James employed himself in learning 
whtl was the summit of his deliverer's earthlj' wishes, and 
^-.lind that they were bounded by the desire of possessing, in 
property, the farm of Braehead, upon which he labored as 
a bondsman. Tiie lands chanced to belong to the crown ; 
mjid Jauiea directed iiim to come to the palace of Holyrood, 
aai inquire for the Guidman ((. e. farmer) of Ballengiech, a 
Dame by which he was known in his excursions, and which 
answered to the /I Bondocani of Haroun Airaschid^ He 
presented himself accordingly, and found, with due astonish- 
ment, that he had saved his monarch's life, and that he was 
to be gratified with a crown charter of the lands of Braehead, 
under the service of presenting a ewer, basin, and towel, for 
the king to wash his hands when he shall happen to pass the 
Bridge of Ciamond. This person was ancestor of the Howi- 
Bons of Braehead, in Mid-Lothian, a respectable family, who 
continue to hold the lands (now passed into the female line) 
under the same tenure. i 

Another of James's frolics is thus narrated by Mr. Camp- 
bell from the Statistical Account : — " Being once benighted 
when out a-hunting, and sejiaratcd from his attendants, he 
happened to enter a cottage in the midst of a moor at the foot 
of the Ochil hills, near Alloa, where, unknown, he was kindly 
received. In order to regale their unexpected guest, the g-ude- 
man (i. e. landlord, farmer) desired the gudewife to fetch the 
hen that roosted nearest the cock, which is always the plumj)- 
est, for the stranger's supper. The king, highly pleased with 
his night's lodging and hospitable entertainment, told mine 
host at parting, that he sliouti^ be glad to return hia civility, 
and requested that tlie first time he came to Stirling, he would 
call at the castle, and inquire for the Oudeman of Ballen- 

Donaldson, the landlord, did not fail to call onthe Oudeman 
of BuUrnffuuk, when Ids astonishment at finding that the king 
had been his guest aftbrded no small amusement to the merry 
monarch and his courtiers ; and, to carry on the pleasantry, 
he was henceforth designated by James with the title of King 
of the Moors, which name and designation have descended 
from father to i^on ever since, and tliey have continued in pos- 
lession of the identical spot, the property of Mr. Enikine of 
Mar, till very lately, when this gentleman, with reluctance, 
(urncd out the descendant and representative of the King of 
(he Moors, on account of his majesty's invincible indolence, 
and great dislike to reform or innovation of any kind, although, 
from the spirited example of his neighbor tenants on the same 
tstate, he is convinced similar exertion would promote his ad- 
vantage." 

Tlie author requests permission yet farther to verify the sub- 
ject of his poi?m, by an extract from the genealogical work of 
Buchanan of Aurhmar, upon Scottish surnames: — 

'■ This John Buchanan of An<dimar and Ampryor was after- 
(rsrt's termed King of Kipjien,^ upon the following account : 
iLag JiinesV.,a vtry sociable, debonair prince, residing at 
B'drUng, i-a Buchanan of Arnpiyor's time, carriers were very 
'rB.ientiy passing along the common road, being near Aru- 
pryor's house, with necessaries for Mie use of the king's fami y ; 
ind he, having sofne extraordinary occasion, ordered one of 
these carriers to leave his load at his house, and he would pay 
tim for it ; which the carrier refused to do, telling him he was 
|he king's carrier, and his load for his majesty's use ; to which 
Arnproyer seemed to have small regard, compelling the carrier, 

1 The refider will find this story told at grenter length, nnd with tho 
addition ill parlicul-ir, of the klug being recognized, like the Fitz-Jamea 
if the Lady of the Lake, by being the only p<^i8on covered, in the First 
9«hua of Tnici of a Grandfather, vol. iii. p. ST. The heir of Braehead 



in the end, to leave his load ; telling him, if King JameE wai 
King of Scotland, he was King of Kippen, fio that it was rea- 
sonable he should share with his neighbor king in some oi 
these loads, so frequently carried that road, Tlie carrier rep- 
resenting this usage, and telling the story, as Arnpryor spoke 
it, to some of the king's servants, it came at length to hii 
majesty's ears, who, shortly thei-eafter, with a few attendants, 
came to visit his naighbor king, who was in the mean time at 
dinner. Kiug James, having sent a servant to demand access, 
was denied the same by a tall fellow with a battle-axe, who 
stood porter at the gate, telling, there could he no access till 
dinner was over. This answer not satisfying the king, he sent 
to demand access a second time ; upon which he was desired 
by the porter to desist, otherwise he would find cause to re- 
pent his rudeness. His majesty finding this method would not 
do. desired the porter to tell Jiis mast('r that the Goodman ot 
Ballageich desired to speak with the King of Kippen. The 
porter telling Arnpryor so much, he, in all humble manner, 
came and received the king, and- having entertained him with 
much sumptnousness and jollity, became so agreeable to King 
James, that he allowed him to take so much of any provi-iiion 
he found carrying that road as he had occasion for ; and seeing 
he made the first visit, desired Arnpryor in a few days to retu.-n 
him a second to StirHng, which he performed, and continued 
in very much favor with the king, always thereafter being 
termed King of Kippen while he lived." — Buchanan's Essay 
upon the Family of Biichancn. Edin. 1775, 8vo. p. 74. 

The readers of Ariosto must give credit for the amiable fea- 
tures with which he is represented, since he is generally cod- 
sidered as the prototype of Zerbino, tlie most interesting heio 
of the Orlando Fnrioso 



Note 3 Z. 



• Stirling^^s tower 



Of yore the name of Snotodourt claims. — P. 238. 

William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the 
fifteenth ceutury, calls Stirling Castle Snuwdoun. ?ir David 
Lindsay bestows tiie same epithet upon it in ids complaint of 
the Papingo : 

" Adieu, fair Siiawdoun, with thy towers high. 
Thy chaple-royal, park, and table round ; 
May, June, and July, would [ dwell in thee, 
Were I a man, to hear tlie birdis sound, 
Whilk doth againe thy royal rock rebound." 

Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of Sir David Lind- 
SHv'^ works, has refuted the chimerical derivation of Snawdoon 
from snedding, or*cutting. It was probably derived from the 
romantic legend which connected Stirling with King Arthur, 
to whi<;h the mention of the Round Table gives countenance. 
The ring within which justs were lormerly practised, in the 
castle park, is still called the Rourui Table. I?nawdoun is the 
official title of one of the Scottish heralds, whose epithets seem 
in all countries to have been fantastically adopted from ancient 
history or romance. 

It appears (See Note 3 Y) that the real name by which 
James was actually distinguished in his private excursions, 
was the Goodman of Ballcnguich ; derived from a steep pass 
leading up to the Castle of Stirling, so called. But the ejdthet 
would not liave suited poetry, and would besides at once, and 
prematurely, have announced the plot to many of my country- 
men, among whom the traditional stories above mentioned ara 
still current. 

discharged hia duty at the banquet given to King Geo-gt- IV, io the Pit 
liament House at Edinburgh, in 1833. — E;>. 

' A siuall district of Perthshire. 



®l)e bi0ton of iDon Hobcrick.' 



Quid di^num memorare tuis, Hispania, terria, 
Voz humana valet I Claddian. 



PREFACE. 

The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish 
rradition, particularly detailed in the Notes ; but 
bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last 
Gothic King of Spain, when the Invasion of the 
Moors was impending, had tlie temerity to descepd 
nto an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of 
.vhich had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish 
Monarchy. Tlie legend adds, that his rash cm-iosity 
was mortified by an emblematical representation 
of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated 
him in battle, and reduced Spain under their do- 
minion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of 
the Revolutions of Spain down to the present 
eventful crisis of the Peninsula; and to divide it, 
by a supposed change of scene, mto Three Periods. 
The First of these represents the Invasion of the 
Moors, the Defeat and De.ith of Roderick, and 
closes with the peaceful occupation of the country 
by the Victors. The Second Period embraces the 
state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of the 
Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West 
Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renowu 
of their arms ; sullied, however, bv superstition and 
cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the 
Inquisition terminates this pictm'e. The Last Part 
of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous 
to the unparalleled treachery of Bon.\parte ; gives 

1 The Vision of Don Roderick appeared in 4to, in July 15, 
1811 : and in the course of the same year was also inserted in 
the second volump of the Edinburgh Annual Register — which 
wofk was the property of Sir Walter Scott's then publisheis, 
Mer_'rs. John Baltantyne and Co. 

^ The Right Hon. Robert Biair of Avontoun, President of 
the Court of ^^es»ions. was the son of the Rev. Robert Blair, 
Mthor of " The Grave." After long filling the office of Fo- 
licitor-General in Scotland with iiigh distinction, he was ele- 
f ated to the Presidency in 1808. He died very suddenly on the 
20th May, 1811, in the 70th year of his age; anQ his intimate 
friend, Henry Dundas, first Viscount Melville, having gone into 
Edinburgh on purpose to attend his remains to the grave, was 
taken ill not less suddenly, and diod tlier; the very hour that 
fc« funeral took place, on the 28th of the same month. 

' U a letter to J 8. S. Monilt, Esq.. Edinhurgli, July 1, 



a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon thai 
unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminate! 
with the arrival of the British succors. It may be 
farther proper to mention, that the object of the 
Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular 
incidents than to exhibit a general and impressive 
picture of the several periods brought upon the stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, 
especially by one who has already experienced more 
than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology fof 
the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly 
designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to 
mention, that while I was hastily executing a work, 
written for a temporary purpose, and on passing 
events, the task was most cruelly interrupted by the 
successive deaths of Lord Preside.nt Blair," and 
Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished 
characters I had not only to regret persons whose 
lives were most important to Scotland, but also 
whose notice and patronage honored my entrance 
upon active hfe ; and, I may add, with melancholy 
pride, who permitted my more advanced age to 
claim no common share in their friendship. Under 
such interruptions, the following verses, which my 
best and happiest efforts must have left far unworthy 
of theh theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appear- 
ance of neghgence and incoherence, which, in other 
cu-cumstances, I might have been able to remove. 

Edinburgh, June 24, 1811. 

1811, Scott says — *' I nave this moment got your kind Wttsr, 
just as I was packing up Bon Roderick (or yon. This patlf* 
otic puppet-show has been finished under wretcl-ed aus^ioet' 
poor Lord IWelville's death so quickly succeeding that ol 
President Blair, one of the best and wisest judges that ever dis- 
tributed justice, broke my spirit sadly. My official situation 
placed me in daily contact with the President, and his ability 
and candor were the source of my daily admiration. As for 
poor dear Lord Melville, * 'tis vain to name him whom we 
mourn in vain.' Almost the last time I saw him, he was ujk- 
ing of you in the highest terms of regard, and expressing great 
hopes of again seeing you at Dunira this summer, where I pro* 
posed to attend you. Hei mihi! quid hci inihi? humana 
pcrprsst siimus. His loss will be long and severely felt here 
and Envy is already paying her cold tribute of applause to tht 
worth which she maligned while it walked upon earth.*' 



270 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WuRKS. 



®l)c l)ision of iDou Hobcvirk. 



JOHN WHITMORE, Esq. 

AND TO THE 

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBER!^ FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 

IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

(THE VISION OF DON RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT,' 

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BV 

WALTER SCOTT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 
LtTES there a strain, whose sounds of mounting 
fire 
■May rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war ; 
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, 

"Who sung beleaguer d Iliou's evil star?'* 

Such, Wellington, niiglit reach thee from afar. 

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 

Nor shouts, nor clashing ai'ras, its mood could niiir. 

All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud triunpet- 

change,^ 

That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge !* 

1 " The letters of Scott to all his friends have sufficiently 
ghou'n the unflagging interest witli which, among all his per- 
sonal labors and anxieties, he watched the progress of the great 
contest in the Peninsula. It was so earnest, that he never on 
any journey, not even in his very lre(|uent passages between 
Edinburj^li and Ashestiel, omittfed to lake witli him the largest 
and bo-st map lie had been able to procure of llie seat of war ; 
upon this he was perpetually pouring, tracing the marches and 
tountei^'narches of tlie French and English by means of black 
and white j)in3 ; and not seldom did Mi-s. Scott comjilain of 
Ihis constant occupation of his attention aitd her carriage. In 
ihe beginning of 1811, a committee was formed in London to 
collect subscriptions for the relief of the Portuguese, who had 
Been their lands wasted, their vines torn up, and tlieir houses 
burnt in the course of Massena's last unfortunate campaign ; 
and Scott, on reading the advertisement, immediately addressed 
Mr. Wliitmofe, the cliairman, begging tliat the committee 
would allow him to contribute to their fund the profits, to 
whatever they might amount, of a poem which he proposed to 
write upon a subject connected with the localities of the patri- 
otic struggle. His olTer was of course accepted; and The 
■ /isiON OF Don Roderick was begun as soon as the Sjiring 
vacation enabled him to rr*ire to Ashestiel. 



II. 

Yes ! euch a strain, with all o'er-pouring Hica- 

sure, 
llight melodize with each timiultuous sound, 
Each voice of fear or trimnph, wpe or plea- 
sure, 
Tliat ruigs Mondego's ravaged shores aroimd 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest 
crown'd, 
Tlie female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, 
The shout of captives from their chains im- 
bound, 
The foil'd oppressor's deep aiid sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hynui for tyi'anny o't:rthro^vn, 

■ " The poem was published, in 4to, in July ; and the imme- 
diate proceeds were forwarded to the board in London. His 
frienil tlie Earl of Dalkeith (afterwards Duke of Bucclench) 
writes thus on the occasion: — 'Those with ampler fortunes 
and thicker heads may easily give one hundred guineas to a 
'iubsLTiption, but the man is really to be envied who can draw 
that sum from his own brains, and apply the produce so b-m? 
ficially and to so exalted a purjiose.' " — /.»/(• uf Scutt, vol ■;! 
pp. 312, 315. 

2 MS. — " Who sung the changes of the Phrygian jp.r." 
SMS. — "Claiming thine ear 'twixt each loud irumjiel 
change." 

* "The too monotonous close of tlii stanza is sometimes 
diversified by the adoption of fourteen-foot verse, — a license in 
poetry which, since Dryden, lias (we believe) been altogether 
abandoned, bat which is nevertheless very deserving of revival, 
so long as it is only rarely and judiciously used. The very 
first stanza in this poem affords an instance of it ; and. intro- 
duced thus in the very front of the battle, we cannot help con- 
sidering it as a fault, especially clogged as it is with the asso- 
ciation of a defective rhyme — change, revenge." — Criticai 
Reoicw, Aug. 181L 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



271 



III. 
But we, -weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, 
Timid and rapturcless, can we repay' 

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age ! 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might en- 
gage [land, 
Tliose that could send thy name o'er sea and 
^V^)ile sea and land shaU last ; for Homer's rage 
A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty hand — 
Bow much umneet for us, a faint degenerate band !' 

IV. 
Ye mountains stern 1 within whose rugged 
breast 
The fiiends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 
Ye ton'ents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed 
their rest, 
Retiu'ning from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 
Say, have ye lost eacli wild majestic close, 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 
Wliat time their hymn of victory arose, [rung, 
And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph 
4jjd m3-stic Merlin harp'd, and gray-hair'd Uy- 
warch sung !' 

V. 
! if yom' wilds such minstrelsy retain, 

A.S sure your changeful g;iles seem oft to say. 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft agam. 

Like trumpet -jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 

Tlien lend the note to liim has loved you long ! 
Wlio pious gather'd each tradition gray. 

That floats your solitary wastes along, [song, 
And with affection vain gave them new voice in 

VI. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask. 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 

Tliey came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers lie now the prayer; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
l.i!>jorlal be thf verse ! — forgot the poet's name. 

VII. 
Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost :' 
" Minstrel 1 the fame of whose romantic lyre. 



1 MS. "Unform'd for rapture, how shall we repay." 
* MS.— " TlioQ givest onr verse a theme that might engage 
Lyres that coohl richlv yield thee back its due ; 
A theme, might kindle Homer's mighty rage ; 
A theme more grand tlian M.iro ever knew — 
low mach unmeet for os, degenerata, frail, and few !" 



Capricious-swelliug now, may soon be lost. 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 
If to such task presmnptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due : 
Age after age has gather'd son to sire. 

Since our gray cliffs the din of conflict knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugl«i 
blew. 

VIU. 
" Decay'd om- old traditionary lore, [''"'gi 

Save where the Gngering fays renew their 
By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, 
Or roimd the marge of Minchmore's haimted 
spring :' [sing, 

Save where their legends gray-hair'd shepherds 
That now scarce win a Ustening ear but thine, 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging. 
And rugged deeds recotmt in rugged line. 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, oi 
Tyne. 

IX. 
" No 1 search romantic lands, where the near Sun 

Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Wliere the rude viUager, liis labor done, [nasno, 

In verse spontaneous' chants some favor'd 
Wbether OlaUa's charms his tribute claim. 

Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; 
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme/ 

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet I 



" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, 
Where in the proud Alliambra's ruin'd breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot 
tlu'ows 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain 

XL 

" Tliere, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 

Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye ; 
■ The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 
Still mark endm-ing pride and constancy. 



a Bee Appendix, Note A. 

4 MS. — "Hark, from gray Needpath's mists, theBrothere' 

cairn, 
Hark, from the Brothers' cairn the answer toet. 

5 See Appendix, Note B. ' Ibid. Note C 
' Ibid. Note D. 



:;! 



And, if the glow of feudal chiralry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune 
fought and died. 

XIL 

" And cherish'd stUl by that unchanging race,' 

Are tliemes for minstrelsy more high than 
thine •, 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace. 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Wliere wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade, 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line, [said ; 

Go, seek such theme !" — The Mountain Spirit 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obey'd." 



5ll)e tlision of JDon HoDerick. 
I. 

Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies. 

And darkly clustering m the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of .silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept tlie sight 

Of the broad bui'ial-gi-ound outstretch'd below, 
And naught disturbs the silence of the night ; 

AU sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, 
\ 11 save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.' 

II. 

AU save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen 
ride. 
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog roUing damp. 

Was many a proud paviUon dimly seen,' 
Which glinimer'd back, against the moon's fair 
lamp, 



' MS. — " And lingering still 'mid that unchanging race." 

' " The Introduction, we confess," says tlie (iaarterly Re- 
Fiewer, " does rot please ds so well as the rest of the poem, 
IhoQgh the reply of the Mountain Spirit is exquisitely writ- 
ten." The Edinburgh critic, after quoting stanzas ix. X. and 
vi. says: — "The Introduction, though splendidly written, is 
too long for so short a poem ; and the poet's dialogue with his 
native moontains is somewhat too startling and unnatural. 
The roost spirited part of it we think, is their direction to 
Spanish themes." 

^ The Monthly Review, for 1811, in quoting this stanza, 
says — " Scarcely any poet, of any age or country. lias excelled 
Mr. Bcott in bringing before our sight the very scene which he 
M describing — in giving a reality of existence to every object on 



Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen. 
And standards proudly pitch' d, and warders orm'd 
between. 

IIL 

But of then' Monarch's person keeping ward, 
Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespoi i 
toll'd, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold : 
A band tmlike their Gothic sii'es of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, 
Bear slender darts,' and casques bedeck'd with 
gold. 
While sUver-studded belts their shoulders 
grace. 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's 
place.* 

IV. 

In the Ught language of an idle court. 

They murmur'd at their master's long delay. 
And held his lengthen'd orisons in sport : — 
" What I will Don Roderick here tiU morning 
stay, 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

And are liis hours in such dull penance past. 
For fair Florinda's plunder'd channs to pjiy ?" — ^ 
Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer 
forth at last. 

V. 

But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King; 
The sUver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing: 
For Roderick told of many a liidden thing, 

Such as ai*e lotlily utter'd to the air. 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom 
wring. 
And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear. 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from De- 
spair. 



which he dwells ; and it is on such occasions, especially suited 
as they seem to the liabits of his mind, that his style itself 
catches a character of harmony, which is far from being oni* 
veisally its own. How vivid, yet how soft, is this picture 1'* 

i MS "For, stretch'd beside the river's margin damp. 

Their proud pavilions hide the meadow green." 

^ MS. — " Bore javelins slight." 

s The Critical Reviewer, having quoted stanzas i. ii. and iii. 
says — " To the specimens with which his former works abound, 
of Mr. Scott's unrivalled excellence in the descriptions, both 
of natural scenery and romantic manners and costume. theN 
stanzas will be thought no mean addition." 

' See Appendix, Note E 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



273 



VI. 
Full on the Prelatc'j face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failin;,' light was feebly roll'd :' 
But Roilerick's visage, though his head was bare, 
Was shadow'd by liis hand anil mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook,' 
That mortal man his bearing should behold, . 
Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience 
.shook, [look.' 

Fear tame a monarch's brow. Remorse a warriora 

VII. 
The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale. 

As many a secret sad the King bewray'd ; 
\8 sign and glance eked out the unfinish'd tale, 

When in the midst Ids faltering whisper staid. 
' Thus royal Witiza' was slain," — he said ; 

" Yet. holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. — 

" Oh ! rather deem 'twas stern necessity ! 
*^lf-preaervation bade, and I must kill or die. 

VIII. 
" And if Florinda's shi'ieks alarm'd the air, 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain. 
And on her Ivuces implored that I would spare. 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! 
All is not as it seems — the fem.ile train 
Know by tlieir bearing to disguise their 
mood :" — 
But Ci mscience here, as if in lii^'h ..sdain. 
Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning 
blood — [stood. 

He stay'd his speech abrupt — and np the Prelate 

' MS. — " Tlie fecblp lamp in d)'ing lustre i .., . ,, 

Tlie w.ivpj! nf broken light were feebly ) 

» MS. — " Tlie haughty monarch's heart could evil brook." 

3 The Qoarlerly Reviewer says — "The moonlight scenery 
of the caniji and burial-ground is evidently bj- the same pow- 
erfnl hand vliich sketched the Abbey of Melrose ; and in this 
picture of Roderick's confession, there are traits of even a 
higher cast of sublimity and pathos." 

The Edinburgh Reviewer introduces his quotations of the i. 
ii. V. and vi. stanxas thus — "The poem is substantially di- 
vided into two compartments ; —the one representing the fabu- 
lous or prodigious acts of Don Roderick's own time. — and the 
other the recent occurrences which have since signalized the 
tTjne quarter of the world. Mr. Scott, we thinit, is most at 
home m the fir^it of these fielt^g ; and we think, upon the whole, 
haji most success in it. The opening aflbrds a fine specimen of 
Wl ncrivalled powers of description." 

The reader may be gratified with having the following lines, 
fiom Mr. SouUiey's Roderick, inserted here : — 



' Then Roderick knelt 



Before the holy man, and strove to speak : 
'Thouseest,' — he cried, — ^liou seest' — but memory 
Anf^ a-iffocating thoughts represt the word, 
And shudderings. like an ague fit, from head 
To foot coavuHed him : till at length, subduin|; 



IX. 

" O harden'd offspring of an iron race I [say I 

What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I 
Wliat alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away I 
I'^or the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 

Who, scarce repentant, makes liis crkne hia 
boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay. 

Unless m mercy to yon Christian host, 
He spare the shepherd,' lest the guiltless sheep 
be lost." 

X. • 

Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood, 

And to Ilia brow retm-n'd its dauntless gloom; 
"And welcome then," lie cried, "be blood for 
blood, 
For treason treachery, for dishonor doom ! 
Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. 
Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated ]:ey, 
And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious roor:!,* 
Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see."* 

XI 

" ni-fated Prince 1 recall the desperate word 

Or pause ere yet the onieu thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford* 

Never to foimer Monarcli entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, 

Save to a Kijig, tlie last of all his line, 
Wliat time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneatli, her fatal mine,. 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." 

His nature to the effort, he excIaimM, 
Spreading his hands, and lifting up iiis face, 
As if resolved in penitence to hear 
A human eye upon his shame — ' Thoa eeest 
Rodpfiok the Goth ! Tliat name sliould have sufGced 
To tell the whole abhorred liistory : 
He not the less pursued, — the ravislier, 
Tlie cause of all this ruin !' — Having said, 
lit the same posture motionless he knelt, 
Arms ^railen'd down, and hands outspread, anJ eyes 
Raised to the Monk, like one who t^oin his voice 
Expected Ufe or death." — 
Mr. Pouthey, in a note to these lines, says, " The viscD OJ 
Don Roderick supplies a singular contrast to the [jicture wiiich 
is represented in tiiis passage, f have great pleasure in : uoting 
the saii^zas (v. and vi.) ; if the contrast had been inte/itiona' 
it could not have been more complete." 

* Tlie predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
slain by his connivance, as is affirmed by Rodriguez ofToledo. 
the father of Spanish history. 

6 MS.—" He spare to smite the shepherd, lest the aheep bl 

lost." 
8 MS. — " And guide me, prelate, to that secret room,*' 

* See Appendix, Note F. 

h MS.—" Or paase the omen of thy fate to weigh ! 

Bethink, that brazen portal would afford." 



274 



SCOTT'S POKTIUAL WORKS 



XII. 
" Prelate 1 a Monarch's fate brooks no delay; 
Lead on 1 " — Tlie ponderous key the old man 
took, 
And '>eld the winking lamp, and led the way, 

Bj winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate King essay'd, 

liow mutter'd thunders the Cathedral shook. 

And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort 

made, [bray'd. 

Till the huge bolts roll'd back, and the loud hinges 

* xm. 

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, waUs, and floor, were all of mai-ble stoue ; 
Of polish'd marble, black as fimeral pall. 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. 
A paly Ught, as of the dawning, shone [not spy ; 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
For window to the upper au- was none ; 

Yet. by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 
ulrim sentinels, against the upper wall, [place • 
Of molten bronze, two Statues held theii- 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, 

Tlieir frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kmgs of giant race, 
t lived 
flood ; 

This grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 
This spread his wings for flight, that ponder- 
ing stood, [mood. 
Each stubborn seem'd and stem, immutable of 

XV. 
Kx'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book. 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a fallen land, 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
And o'er that pan- their names in scroll expimd — 

" Lo, Destixv and Time 1 to whom" by Heaven 
He guidance of the earth is for a season given ' — 

XVI. 
Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes 
_ away ; 
And, as tlie last and liigging grains did creep, 
That right-hand Giant 'gan his club' upsway, 
As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 

1 MS. — " .^rm — mace — eluli.'* 
a See AppendLx, Note G 



FuU on the upper waU the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder 
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, 
The maible boundary was rent asunder. 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of feai 
and wonder. 

XVIL 
For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach 
Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in dxie proportion each, 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray 'd : 
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade, 
And boundless plains that tire the traveller'* 
eye; 
There, rich with vineyard and with oUve glade, 
Or deep-embrowu'd by forests huge and high, 
Or wash'd by mighty streams, that slowly mur- 
mur'd by. 

■ XVIII. 
And here, as erst upon the antique stage, 

Pass'd fortli the band of masquers trimly led. 
In various forms, and various equipage, 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 

Successive pageants fiU'd that mystic scene, 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, 
And issue of events that had not been ; 
And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard 
between. 

XIX. 
Fij-st slu-ill'd an unrepeated female shriek ! — 
It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.— 

Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal-chmk the ear appal. 
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lehe's yell,' 
Ring wildly dissonant along the haU. 

Needs not to Roderick tlieir dread import 

teU— [Tocsin bell ; 

" The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out tht 

XX. 

" They come 1 they come ! I see the groaning lanni 
White with the turbans of each Arab horde; 

Swai't Zaai"ah joins her misbelieving bands, 
Alia and Mahomet their battle-word, 

The choice thej' yield, the Koran or the Sword- 
See how the Christiims rush to iirms amain !— 

In .yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd,' 
The shadowy hosts axe closuig on the plain- 
Now, God and Saint lago .strike, for the good causn 
of Spain ! 

' '* Oh, who could tell what deeds were wroiio'tt Uiat day 
Or wlio endure to hear the tale of rage, 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



273 



XXL 

* By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Chiistians 
yield ! 
Tlieir coward leader gives for flight the sigii ! 
TTie sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine !' 
But TicTsr was she turn'd from battle-line : 
Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and 
stone ! 
Oorees pm-sue the slave, and wrath divine ! 
Rivers ingulph him I" — " Hush," in shudder- 
ing tone, [form's thine own." 
Hie Prelate said; — "rash Prince, yon vision'd 

XXTI. 
Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 

But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and 

horse, 

bwept hke benighted peasant down the tide ■' 

And the proud Mosleraah spread far and wide. 

As nimierous as theu* native locust band ; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, , 
With naked cinieters mete out the land, 
And for the bondsmen base the freeborn natives 
orand, 

XXIIL 
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest miiidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, 

By impious hands was from the altai' thi'own, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echo'd, for holy hj'mn and org;in-tone, [moan. 
Ihe Santou's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick? — E'en as one who 
spies [woof, 

, Flames dai't their glare o'er midnight's sable 
And hears around liis children's piercing cries. 

Hatred, and madness, and despair, and fear, 
Horror, and wounds, and agony, and death. 
The cries, the blasphemies, the shrieks and groans. 
And prayers, which mingled in the din of arms, 
II one wild uproar oflen-ilic sounds." 

Sotthey's Roderick, vol. ii. p. 171. 
' Pee Appendix. Note H. 

" Upon the banks 

Of Sella was Orelia foond, his legs 
And flanks incarnadined, his poitrel sraear'd 
With frolli anj foam and gore, his silver mane 
Sprinkled with blood. Thich hnng on every hair, 
Aspersi?d like dew-drops ; trembling there he stood, 
From the toil of battle, anil at times sent forth 
His ti^mulons voice, far-echoing, loud and shrill, 
A freciuenl. anxious cry. with which he seem'd 
To call tbo ma.ster whom he loved so well 



And sees tlie ptde assistants stand aloof; 
Wliile cruel Conscience brings liim bitter proof 
His fully or his crime have caused his grief; 
And wliile above him nods the crumbling roof, 
He curses eartli and Heaven — liimself in 
chief — [liefl 

Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's re 

XXV 

That scythe-arm'd Giant turn'd his fatal glass 
And twilight on the landscape closed hei 
wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs 
Bazaars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, 
And on the land as evening seem'd to set, 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or 
minai'et.' 

XXVI. 
So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came,' 
The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke, 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by shcetii 
of flame ; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had biu'st then 
yoke, [falone i 

And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gon- 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder waa 
her tone. 

XXVIL 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away — ■ 
The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 

Before the Cross h.as waned the Crescent's ray 
And many a monastery decks the stage. 

And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 
Tlie land obeys a Hermit and a Ifnight, — 

The Genii those of Spain for m.iny an age ; • 

And who had thus again forsaken Itim. 
Siverian's helm and cuirass on the grass 
Lay near; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain 
Clotted with blood ; but where was he whose hand 
Had wielded it so well that glorious day V 

Southet's RaderieK 

s '* The manner in which the pageant disapjiears is vei^ 
beautiful." — Quarterly Review. 

* " We come now to the Second Period of the Vision : and 
we cannot avoid noticing with much commendation the dex- 
terity and graceful ea.se with which the first two scenes ar* 
connected. Without abruptness, or tedious njiology for tran- 
sition, they melt into each other with very harmonious effect . 
and we strongly reconiinemi thLi e.vample of skill, perhaps, ex- 
hibitetl without any rtlbrl. to the imitation of -^n/emporan 
poets." — Monthly Rcoiew 



?76 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



This clad in sackcloth, that in armor bright, 
And that was \'ai.ou ujuned, this Bigotry waa 
hight.' 

xxviri. 

Valor was harr.o-<s'd like a chief of old, [gest ;' 

Arni'd at all points, and prompt for knightly 
His sword was teuiper'd in the Ebro cold, 

Morena's eagle plmne adorn'd his crest. 
The spoils of AlVio's lion bound liis breast, [gage ; 

Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his 
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 

Him foUow'd his Companion, dark and sage, 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and langu.age proud as proud might be, 
Vauntmg his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame : 

Yet was that barefoot monk more proud than 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, [he : 

So1"ound the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till erminod Age and Youth in arms renown'd. 
Honoring his scourge and hau*-cloth, meekly kiss'd 
the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valor, peerless knight, 

Who ne'er to King or Kaiser veil'd liis crest, 
Victorious still in buU-feast or in fight, 

Smce first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong. 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, [along, 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 

XXXI. 

Oft his proud gaUeys sought some new-found 

world, 

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 

StUl at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hm-l'd, — 

'ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 

I " These allegorical personages, which are thus ilescribed, 
are sketched in the true spirit of Spenser ; but we are not sure 
that we altogether approve of the .tssociation of such imagi- 
nary beings with the real events that p.ass over the stage : and 
these, as well as the form of ambition wliich precedes the path 
of Bonaparte, liave somewhat the air of the immortals of the 
Luxemburg gallery, whose naked limbs and tridents, thundei^ 
bolts and caducei. are so singularly contrasted with the ruffs 
and whiskers, the queens, archbishops, and cardinals of France 
»nd Navarre." — Quarterly Rcviezo. 

3 " Armed at all points, exactly cap-a-pee." — Hamlet. 

3 See Appendix, Note I. 

* " The third scene, a peaceful state of indolence and ob- 
icurity, where, though the court was degenerate, the peasant 
was merry and contented, is introduced with exquisite hgiit- 
i*ti and gayety. '*—Qurtr(cr/'y Review. 



Crowns by Caciques, aigrettei by Omrahs worn 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
foul; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, 

Bedabbled all witli blood. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stams, and smiled beneath . 
his cowL 

XXXIL 

Then did he bless the offering, and ba'ie make 
Tribute to Heaven oi gratitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral liymns awake. 

And many a hand the silver cenfjer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 
Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the 
fire; 
The groans of prison'd victims n";.r the lays, 
And shrieks of agony confound the quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled souEui-j, tlie darken' J 
scenes expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding light, were strainn of music heard. 

As once again revolved that measured sand ; 
Such soimds as when, for syl > an dance prepared, 

Gay Xeres summons fort h her vmtage band ; 
Wlien for the light bolero ready stand 

The mozo bhthe, with gay muchacha met," 
He conscious of liis broider'd cap and band. 

She of her netted locks aiid light corsette. 
Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV. 
And well such strains the opening scene became ; 

For Valor had relax'd liis ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, [brook • 
Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to 
And soften'd Bigotry, upon liis book, 
Patter'd a task of little good or ill : 
But tlie bhthe peasant pUed his pruning-hook, 
■Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from vill.ige-gi'een the merry segni- 
dille.* 

" The three grand and comprehensive pictures in which Mr. 
Scott has delineated the state of Ppain, during tlie three pe- 
riods to which we have alluded, are conceived with much 
genius, and executed with very considerable, tliougli unequal 
felicity. That of the Moorish dominion, is drawn, we think, 
witli llie greatest spirit. The reign ot Chivalry and Super 
stition we do not think so happily represented, by a long and 
labored description of two allegorical personages called Bigotry 
and Valor, Nor is it very easy to conceive how Don Roderick 
was to learn the fortune? of Ins country, merely by inspecting 
the physiognomy and furnishing of these two figurantes. Th« 
truth seems to be, that Mr. Scott has been tempted on this oo 
casion to extend a mere metaphor into an jllegory ; and to 
prolong a figure which might have given great grace and spirit 
to a single stanza, into th» heavy subject of seven or eight. Hii 
representation of the recent state of Spain, we think, displayt 



XXXV. 
Gray royalty, grown impotent of toil,' 

Let the grave seeptrfi slip liis lazy hold ; 
And, careless, saw his rulo become the spoil 

Of a loose Female and her minion bold. 
But peace was on the cottage and the fold, [far ; 
From court intrigue, from bickering faction 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told, 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
■■vett .ti.op'd the western sun, sweet rosfl the 
V vening star. 

XXXVL 

A.S that sea cloud, in size like human hand. 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Oame slowly o\Jlsh,^dowing Israel's land," 
A while, pe/CJa.ice, bedeck'd with colors 
sheen, 
Wiile yet the sunbeams ou its skirts had been. 
Limning with pm'ple a.nd with gold its shrond, 
Till darker folds obscured tho blue .^rene. 
And blotted heaven with ono '^road sable 
cloud,' 
Then sheeted rain bui'st down, and v'j-rlwinds 
howl'd aloud : — 

XXXVIL 
fiven so, upon that peaceful scene was pcur'J, 
Like gathering clouds, fuD many a foreig.i 
band. 
And He, their leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And oflfer'd peaceful front and open hand, 
Veiling the perjured treachery be plann'd. 

By friendsliip's zeal and honor's specious guise, 

Until he won the passes of the land ; 

Then burst were honor's oath, and friendship's 

ties 1 [his prize. 

>i€ clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain 

XXXVIIL 
An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 

And well such diadem his heart became. 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er. 

Or check'd liis course for piety or shame ; 
Wlio, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 

Might flom-ish in the wreath of battles won. 
Though neither truth nor honor dcck'd his name ; 

Uje talent and address of the autiiorto the greatest advantage; 
(br the subject was by no means inspiring ; nor was it easy, we 
■boold imagine, to malie the picture of decay and inglorioos in- 
dolence so engaging."— £t/iTiiur^A Review, which then qnotea 
•iBBzu xxxiv. and xxxv. 

' "The opening of the third period of the Vision is, perhaps 
Mcewarily, more abrupt than that of the second. No circom- 
Mance, equally marked with the alteration in the whole system 
•f ancient warfare, could be introduced in this compartment 
■f the poem ; yet, when we have been told that ' Valor had 
"•laxfe' hi5 ardent look,' and that ' Bigotry' was ' softened ' we 



Wlio, pl.aced by fortime on a Monarcn s tliron^ 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingl] 
tone. 

XXXIX. 
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 

The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's heiirtli 
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame. 

Hath i;ot a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him wa^te the eanh— ^ 
The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure. 
That poisons the glad husband-field with de.arth, 
And by destruction bids its fame endure. 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and iin- 
pme.' 

XL. 
Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form ; 
Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor 
show'd, [storm, 

With which she beckon'd hun through fight and 
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate 
road, [trode. 

Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what ha 
Reahns could not glut liis pride, blood coiild 
not slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
It was Ambition bade her terrors wake, 
^^or deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 

.XLL 

No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge, 

Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan ; 
. ill when, the fates of aged Rome to change, 

By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon. 
Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won. 
As when the banded powers oT Greece were 
task'd ' 

To w!tr beneath the youth of Macedon : 
No seemly veil her modem minion ask'd, 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend un- 
mask'd. 

XLIL 
That Prelate mark'd his march — On banner! 
blazed 
With'biittles won in many a distant land, 

are reasonably prepared for what follows." — J\Ionthitj R» 
view. 

3 See I, Kings, chap, xviii. v. 41-45. 

3 1. T^Q are as ready as any of our counltrmen can be, t% 
designate Bonaparte's invasion of Pjiain by its proper epitheta ; 
hot we must decline to join in the author's decamation again4 
the low birth of the invader ; and we cannot help reminding 
Mr. Scott that suc'i a topic of censure is unworthy of him, 
both as a poet and as a Briton." — Monthly Review. 

" The picture of Bonaparte, considering the diffically of aV 
contemporary delineations, is not ill executed."-— £din6ttr^jl 
Heview. 



278 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed ; 
" And hopest thou then," he said, " thy power 
shall stand ? 
O. thou hast builded on the shifting sand, [flood ; 
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, 
Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud, 
&iid by a bloody death, shall die the Man of 
Blood !"' 

XLIII. 

The ruthless Leader beckon'd from liis train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel. 

And paled his temples with the crowu of Spain, 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, 

" Castile !"" 

Not that he loved liim — No ! — In no man's weal. 

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 

Yet roimd that tluono he bade his warriors 

wheel, 

That the poor Puppet might perform liis part, 

Ac d be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 

XLIV. 

But on the Natives of that Land misused. 

Not long the sileuce of amazement hung, 
Nor brook'd they lung their frieudly faith abused ; 
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, " To arms !" — and fast to arms they 
sprimg. 
And Valor woke, that Genius of the Land I 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung, 
As burst th' awakening Nazarite his band. 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his 
dreadfvd hand." 

XLV * 

That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, 
Now doff'd his royal robe in act to fly. 

And from his brow the diadem unboimd. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 

From Tarick's walls to Bilboa's mountains 
blown. 
These martial satellites hard labor found. 

To guard a wliUe liis substituted throne — 
liighf recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

XLVL 

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung. 

And it was echo'd from Coruima's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, 

» " We are not altogether pleased with the lineg which fol- 
dOw the description of Bonaparte's hirth and country. In his- 
^rical troth, we believe, his family was not plebeian ; and, 
letting aside the old saying of ^ genus et proavos,' the poet is 
■ere evidently becoming a chorus to his own scene, and ex- 
mining a fact wli h cciuld by no means be inferred from the 



Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall. 

Wild Biscay shook his moimtain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 

And, foremost still where Valor's sons are m 
First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. 

xLvn. 

But unappall'd, and burning for the fight, 
The Invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And train'd ahke to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensiu'e, 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 
Wliile naught agamst them bring the unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands fot 
Freedom's blow. 

XLVIII. 
Proudly they march — but, ! they march not 
forth 
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when their Eagles, sweeping through the 
North, 
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign I 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ; 
In vain the steel, in vam the torch was plied, 
New Patriot armies started from the slain, 
High blazed the war, and long, and &r, and 
wide,* 
And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 

XLIX. 

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
Remain'd their savage waste. With blade 
and brand, 
By day the Invaders ravaged hUt and dale. 
But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, 

And claim'd for blood the retribution due. 

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'roua 

hand; 

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams 

site threw, [knew. 

Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpsei 



What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may 
tell. 
Amid the vision'd strife from sea to eea, 

pageant that passes befon- the eyes of the King and Pff' :t* 
The Archbishop's observation on his appearance is free how 
ever, from every objection of this kind." — Quarterly Review 

2 See Appendix, Note K. 

3 See Book of Jndges, Chap. iv. &-16. 
1 See Appendix, Note L. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



279 



How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honor'd in ilefeat as victory I 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show'd every form of fight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and lliuu, shouting forth their glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, 
rhe waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd 
with blood ! 

LI. 
Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honor due I 
For never hath the harp of'Minstrel rung. 
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true I 
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew, 

Each art of war's extremity had room, 

Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe with- 

diew, 

And when at length stem fate decreed thy 

doom, [tomb." 

rhey won not Zaragoza, but her'children's bloody 

LII. 

Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 

Enthrall'd thou canst not be ! Arise, and claim 

Reverence from every heart where Freedom 

reigns, [dame, 

For wliat thou worshippest ! — thy sainted 
She of the Column, houor'd be her name, 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honor love ! 
And like the sacrej relics of the flame, 

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove 1 

LIU. 

Nor thine alone such wreck. Geroua fair 1 
Faithful to death thy heroes sh.all be sung. 

Manning tlie towers while o'er their heads the air 
Swart as the smoke from raging fiu^nace hung ; 

Now thicker d.ark'ning where the mine was 
sprimg, 
Now briefly hghten'd by the cannon's flare, 

* See Appendix, Note M. 

"J MS. — " Don Roderick tarn'd him at the sadden cry." 

* MS.— " Right for the shore nnnnm'aer'd barges row'd." 

I * Com^aji with tliis passage, and the Valor, Bigotry, and 

Ambition g.'" Ihe previons stanzas, the celebrated persooifica- 
1 lop of War, JL 'Lb3 first canto of Childe Harold : — 

' Lo ! where the Giant on the t^nntain stands, 
Hm blooii-red tresses deep'ning in tiie sun, 
With deatli-shot glowing in his fiery handa 
And eye that seorL-heth all it glares upon : 
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 
Dealrnclion cowers, to mark what deeds ate done ; 
For on this morn three potent nations meet 

Ti fhed liefore his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 



Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the' bomb wa» 
flung. 
And redd'nlng now with conflagration's glare 
While by the fatal hght the foes for storm preparei 

LIV. 
While all around was danger, strife, and fear, 
Wliile the earth shook, and darkeu'd was the 
sky, 
And wide Destruction stimn'd the listening ear, 
Appall'd the heart, and stupefied the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite. 
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats higli, 
Wliether it hail the wine-cup or the fight. 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be 
light. 

LV. 

Don Roderick tum'd him as the shout grew 
loud—' 
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd. 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 
Mottlmg the sea their landward barges row'd,* 
And flash'd the sim on baj'onet, brand, ant' 
spear, [cheer.* 

And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial 

LVL 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foani'd beneath a thousand oars. 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, 

Legions on legions bright'ning all the shores. 
Tlien baimers rise, and cannon-signal roars, 

Then peals the warhke thunder of the drtin. 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flotu'ish pours, 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are 

dumb, [come I 

For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bauds of Oceaz 

" By heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) 
Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, 
Their various arms, that glitter in the air I 
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair 
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey I 
All join tlie chase, but few the triumph share, 
The grave shall hear the chiefest prize away, 

And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. 

" Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high I 
Three gaudy standards (lout the pale blue skie« j 
The shouts are France, Spain. Albion, Victory I 
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 
That figiu for all, but ever fights in vain. 
Are met — as if at home they conld not dio- 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 

A Id fertilize the Beld that each pt«t«"d» t» (ala. 



880 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lva 

A various host they came — ^^hose ranks display 
Each mode in wliich the warrior meets the 
fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman Ught ; 
Fai- glance the light of sabres flashing bright, 
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing 
mead,' 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night. 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
fhat rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.' 

Lvni. 

A various host — fi*om kindred realms they came,'* 

Bretliren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 

And with then deeds of valor deck her crown. 
Hers then- bold port, and hers their martial frown. 
And hers their scom of death in freedom's 
cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown. 
And the blunt speech that bursts without a 
pause. 
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier 
with the Laws. 

LIX. 
And, ! loved wamors of the Minstrel's land 1 

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain band, 
And harsher featm'es, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave. 
As that which beats beneath the Scottish 
plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 
And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Where Uves the desperate foe that for such onset 
staid! 

LX. 

Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter 
rings. 
Mingling wild mirth with war's stem min- 
strelsy. 



MS.- 



-" tlie (Insty mead." 



' The landing of the English ia admirably described ; nor 
I there any thing finer in the wliole poem than the following 
-aasage (atanzaslv. Ivi. Ivii.), with the exception always of the 
ihree conclnding lines, which appear to us to be very nearly as 
iHid as possible." — Jeffrey. 

** " The three concluding stanzas (Iviii. lix. Ix.) are elaborate ; 
9ut we think, on the whole, successful. They will probably 
oe oftener quoted than any other passage in the poem." — Jef- 
frey. 
' MS. — " His jest each careless comrade round him flings." 
» For details of the battle of Viraeira, fought 21st Aug. 1808 
-of Corunna. 18lh Jan. 1809— of Talavera. 28tli July. 1809— 
»nd of Busaco, 27th ?ept. 1810— See Sir Walter Scott's Life of 
*I«poie< ^, \ ^lume vi, under these dates. 



His jest while each bUthe comrade round hint 
flings,* 
And moves to death with mihtary glee : [free, 
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and 
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger knowi^ 
Rough nattu-e's children, humorous as she : 
And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest 
tone [owiL 

Of thy bold harp, green Isle 1 — the Hero is thin* J 

LXL 

Now on the scene Vimena should be shown. 

On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
And hear Coruiuia wail her battle won. 

And see Busaco's crest with hghtning blaze : — ' 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ! 

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs 
room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays, 

That claim a long eternity to bloom [tomb I 
Around the wanior's crest, and o'er the warrior'a 

LXIL 

Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
Tliat hides futinity from anxious hope. 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Eiu'ope rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
Wliile kindling nations buckle on theij' mail, 

And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings un- 

furl'd, [World J' 

To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured 

LXIIL 

O vain, though anxious, ia the glance I cast, 

Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own : 

Y.f t fate resigns to worth the glorious past, 

The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 

Then, though the Vault of Destiny' be gone. 

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, 
Tet grant for faith, for valor, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting 
strain !' 



• " The nation will arise regenerate ; 

Strong in her second youth and beautiful, 
And tike a spirit that hath shaken off 
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain 
Arise in glory.' — Southky's Roderick, 

' Fee Appendix, Note N. 

" " For a mere introduction to the exploits of oar Englilt 
commanders, the story of Don Roderick's sins and confessioni, 
— the minute description cf his army and attendants, — and th« 
whole interest and machinery of the enchanted vault, with tlrt 
greater part of the Vision itself, are far too long and elaborate. 
They withdraw our curiosity and attention from the objects toi 
which they had been bespoken, and gradually engage theni 
upon a new and independent series of romantic adveotuies, i> 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



281 



®l)e Uisiou of Oon Uobcruk. 



OONOLDSION. 



" Who Bhall romraand Estrella's mountain-tide' 
Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to 
hie) 
Who, when Gascogne's vex'd gulf is raging wide. 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
•■•'•'4 magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And when the torrent shall his voice cbey. 
And Biscay's whirlwinds Ust his hiUaby, 

Let liim stand forth and bar mine eagles' way. 
And they shaU heed his voice, and at his bidding 
stay. 

n 

" Else nu er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whehn'd yon red-cross 
Powers 1" 
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 
To Marsh.ol, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader 
spoke. 
Wliile downward on the land his legions press, 
l^efore them it was rich with vine and flock, 
Aud srai! ed like Eden in her summer ch-ess ;— 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilder- 
ness.' 

IIL 

And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of 
the hmd. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword. 
Though Britons arm and Wellington com- 
mand ! 
No 1 grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adiuuantine barrier to his force ; [band. 

And from its base shall wheel his shattcr'd 

A? from the unshaken rock the toiTent hoarse 

Betrs ot; :!3 broken waves, and seeks a devious 



*myli t 'm rot easy to see hotv Lord Wellington and BonEk- 
**rte ca ii's any concern. But, on the other hand, no 
•Doner U this new interest excited, — no sooner liave we sorren- 
iered our imaginations into the hands of this dark enchanter, 
and heated our I'aiicies to 'lie proper pilch for sympathizing in 
ihe fortunes of Gothic kings and Moorish invaders, with their 
'mposing accompaniments of harnessed knigiits. ravished dam- 
lels, and enchanted slaloes, than the whole romantic gioap 
vanishes at once from our sight ; and we are hurried, with ' 
minds yet disturhcd with those powerful apparitions, to the 
ioirparativrly soher and cold narration of Bonaparte's villa- 
«ei, and to draw battles between mere mortal coir.oatanta in 
3U 



IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 

Hath on liis best and bravest m.ade her food, 
ill numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood 
For full in view the promised conquest stood. 

And Lisbon's matrons from their walla, mighl 
stun 
Tlie myriads that had half the world subdued. 

And hear the distant thunders of the drum. 
That bids the bands of France to storm and ha^ot 



Four moons have heard these thtmders idly roll'd. 
Have seen these wistful myi'iads eye their 
prey, 
As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle fi-ay, 
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manlj 
fight; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite [flight I 
To damn with double shame theu- ignomioious 

VL 

triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, [path I 
What wanton hoiTors mark'd their wreckfoJ 

The peasant butcher'd in his ruiu'd cot. 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot, [flame, 

Cliildhood and age given o'er to sword and 
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot, 

By which inventive demons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great 
name! 

VIL 

The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch for 

lorn,' [o™^ 

Wiped his stem eye, then fiercer grasp'd hi» 

Nor with less zeal shall Britain's^ peaceful son 
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 

English and French uniforms. The vast and elaborata ve«ti 
bule, in short, in wliich we had been so long detained, 

' Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 
With Gothic imagery of darker shade,* 

has no corresponding palace attached t» it ; and the long no 
vitiate we are made to serve to the mysterious powers of IV 
mance is not repaid, after all,«by an introduction to their awful 
presence." — Jeffrey. 

MS. — " Who shall command the torrent's headlong tide.* 
2 See Appendix, Note O. 3 Ibid. Note P 



•282 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Riclies nor po\ erty the tax shall shun, 

Nor prince nor peer, the ■wealthy nor the gay. 
Nor the poor peasant's might, nor bard's more 
worthless lay'. 

VIII. 

But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

ilinion of Fortune, now miscaU'd in vain 1 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain ? 
Vainglorious fugitive !" yet turn again ! 

Behokl. where, named by some prophetic Seer, 
Flows Honor's Fountain,' as foredoom'd the stain 

From thy dishonor'd name and arms to clear — 
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favor 
here! 

IX. 

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid ; 

Those chief that never heard the hon roar I 
Witliin whose souls hves not a trace portray 'd, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
MiU'sh.al each band thou hast, and smnmon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron poiu'. 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roU, [soul. 
And weaiy out his arm— thou canst not quell hia 

X. 

O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain. 
And front the flying thunders as they I'oar, 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain !' 

And what avails thee that, for Cameron olait,' 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was 

given— [rein, 

Vengeance and grief gave mouut-aiii-rage the 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong 

driven, [heaven. 

Fhy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of 

XI. 
Go, bafiled boaster 1 teach thy haughty mood 
To plead at thine imperious master's throne, 

1 Ihe MS. has, for the preceding five lines — 

*' And in pursuit vindictive hurried on, 

And O, survivors sad ! to yon belong 
Tributes from each that Britain calls her son, 

From al! her nobles, all her wealthier throng, 
To ner poor peasant's mite, and minstrel's poorer song." 

' See Appendix, Note ti. 

> The literal translation of Ftienies d' Honoro. 

• See Appendi-i, Npte R. » Ibid. Note S. 

' Ontlie2Glliof April, 1811, Scott writes thus to Mr. Morritt : 
—"1 rejoice with Ihe heart of a Scotsman in the success of 
'lOrd Wellington, and with all the pride of a seer to hoot. I 
imve been for three years proclaiming him as the only man we 
•ad to trust tii — a man ol' talent and genius — not deterred by 
^listacles, not fettered by prejudices, not immured within the 



Say, thou hast left hia legions m their blood, 

Deceived liis hopes, and frustrated tliine own 
Say, that thine utmost skill and valor shown, 

By British skill and valor were outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington !• 
And, if he chafe, be liis own fortune tried- — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture wn'ti 
abide. . 

XIL 

But you, ye heroes of tlmt well-fought day. 

How shall a bai'd, unknowing aiid unknown, 
Hia meed to each victorious leader pay. 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won ?' 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, 

O'er the wide sea to haU Cadogan bi ave ; 
And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might 
own, 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantis 



xnL 

Yes 1 hard the task, when Britons wield the 
sword. 
To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark I Albuera thunders Beresford, 

And Red Barosa sliouts for dauntless Gr^^meI 
for a verse of tumult and of flame. 

Bold as the bursting of their caimon soimd, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame I 
For never, upon gory battle-ground. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were bravoi 
victors crown'd 1 

XIV 

O who shaU grudge him Albuera's bays,' 
Who brought a race regeneratn to the field, 

Roused them to emul.ate tlieir fathers' praist:, 
Temper'd their headlong rage, theu' couraj,6 
steel'd," 

And raised fau' Lusitania's fallen sliield. 
And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 

And taught her sons forgotten arras to wield— 

pedantries of his profession — but playing the gi.eiat ar.d Jje 
hero when most of our military commanders would h'.*v 
exhibited the drill sergeant, or at best the adjutant. 7fte« 
campaigns will teach us what we have long needed tc know, 
that success depends not on the nice drilling of regiments, bnl 
upon the grand movements and combinations of a . army. 
We have been hitherto polishing hinges, when we should have 
studied the mechanical union of a huge machine. Now, oor 
army begin to see that the grand secret, as tlie French call it, 
consists only in union. Joint exertion, and concerted move 
ment. This will enable us to meet tlie dogs on fair terms ai 
to numl>ers, and for the rest, ' My soul and body jn the actio! 
both.' "—IJfc. vol. iu. p. 313. 

' See .\ppendix. Editor's Note T. 

8 MS. — " O who shall grtdge yon chief the victor '8 bavi ' 

8 See Appendix, Note U. 



i 



. THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



28? 



Sliiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorioufi Beeesfobd ! 

XV.' 
Not on that bloody field of battle won, 
Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist 
away, 
Waa half his self-devoted valor shown, — 

He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
But wV.ca he toil'd those squadrons to array, 

Wl' ^ fought like Britons in the bloody game, 
Sharper thai' Polish pike or assagay, 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame. 
And, dearer far than Ufe, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 

Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
Whose wish Heaven for liis country's weal de- 
nied ;' 
Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound. 
The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still' 
Thine was his thought in march and tented 
ground ; 

' MS. — " Not greater on that moant of strife and blood, 

While Gaul's prond legions roll'd like mist away, 
And tides of gore stain'd Alhuera's flood. 

And Poland's shatter'd lines before him lay, 
And clarions hail'd him victor of the day. 

Not greater when he toil'd yon legions to array, 
'Twas life be perill'd in that stubborn game. 
And life 'gainst honor when did soldier weigh 3 

But, sell'-devoteU to his generous aim. 
Far dearer than his Ufe, the hero pledged his fame." 
MS. — " Nor be bis meed o'erpast who sadly tried 

With valor's wreath to bide affection's wound. 
To whom bis wish Heaven I'orour weal denied." 
' M.?. — " From war to war the wanderer went bis round, 
Yet was his sonl in Caledonia still ; 
Hers was his tbonght." &c. 
' MS. " fairy rill." 

" These lines excel the noisier and more general panegyrics of 
Ihr commanders in Portugal, as much as the sweet and thrill- 
ing tones of thu harp surpass an ordinary flourish of drums and 
ttflmpets." — Quarterly Rcvicic. 

' Perhaps it is our nationaUty which makes us like better 
lie tribute to General Grabame — though there is something, 
«* Relieve, In the softness of the sentiment that will be felt, 
FTen by English readers, as a relief from the exceeding clamor 
lAd loud joas^if.^ jf all the surrounding stanzas." — Edin- 
VnrgA Review. 

* See Appenuu, Note V. 

• " N-^w, rik your sailes. yee iolly marineia, 

»or we be come unio a quiet rode, 
Where we must land some of oar passengers, 

And light this weary vessell of her lode. 
ilere she a while may make her safe abode. 

Till she repaired have her tackles spent 
And wants sapplide ; and then againe abroad 



He dream'd 'mid Alpine clif& of Athole'e bill 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. 

XVII. 
O hero of a race renown'd of old, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-aweL 
Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold. 

Wild soiuiding when the Roman rampart fell 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 

Alderne, ICilsythc, and Tibbor, own'd its fame. 
Tunnnell's rude pass can of its terrors tell. 
But ne'er from prouder field arose the name. 
Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering 
shout of Ge.eme 1' 

XVIII. 
But all too long, through seas tmknown and dark 

(Wit)i Spenser's parable I close my tale,)" 
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my ventiu'oua 
bark, 
And landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore I h.iil. 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail. 

And as the prow light touches on the strand. 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff tc 
land.' 

On the long voiage whereto she ii^ent : 
Well may she speede, and tairely ftiish her intent 1" 

Fairic Quccne, book i. canto 12 

' " No comparison can be fairly instituted between couiposi 
tions so wholly different in style and designation as the present 
poem and Mr. Scott's former productions. The present poom 
neither has, nor, from its nature, could have the interest which 
arises from an eventful plot, or a detailed delineation of chap* 
acter ; and we shall arrive at a far more accnrale estimation of 
its merits by comparing it with ' The Bard' of Gray, or that 
particular scene of Ariosto, where Bradamante heholds thg 
wonders of Merlin's tomb. To this it lias many strong and 
evident features of resemblance ; but, in our opinion, greatly 
surpasses it both in the dignity of tlie objects represented, am. 
the picturesque effect of the machinery. 

" We are inuline<l to rank The Vision of Don Roderick, no( 
only above ' The Bard,' but (excepting Adam's Vision from 
the Mount of Paradise, and the matchless beatities of the sixth 
book of Virgil) above all the historical and poetical prospects 
which liave come to our knowledge. The scenic representation 
is at once gorgeous and natural; and the language, and io- 
agery, is altogether as spirited, and bears the stamp of more 
care and polish tlian even the most celebrated of the auifior'l 
former productions. If it please us less than these, vfe must 
attribute it in part perhaps to the want of con'xivance, and to 
a still greater degree to the nature of tlie subject itself, whkh u 
deprived of all '"i3 interest derived from suspense or sympathy, 
and, as far as it is connected with modern politics, represcnta I 
scene too near our immediate inspection to admit '.he interpo- 
sition of the magic glass of fiction and »vietry." — QuarUrlf 
Review, October, 1811. 



*'The Vision of Don Roderick has been received with Itai 
interest by the public than any of the author's other per 



'Z9i 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



fim-mances ; and has been read, we should imagine, with some 
degree of disappoinlraenl even by tliose who took it up with 
the most reasonable expectations. Yet it is written with very 
considerable spirit, and with more care and effort than most 
of the author's comjiositions ; — with a degree of eflbrt, indeed, 
which could scaji:ely have failed of success, if the author had 
not succeeded eo splendidly on other occasions without any 
eftbrt at all, or had chosen any other subject than that which 
alls the cry of our alehouse politicians, and supplies the gabble 
<>*"aU the quidnuncs in this country, — our depending campaigns 
;n opJiin and Portugal, — with the exploits of Lord Wellington 
md the spoliations of the French armies. The nominal sub- 
ject of the poem, indeed, is the Vision of Don Roderick, in the 
eighth century ; but this is obviously a mere prelude to the 
grand piece of our recent battles, — a sort of machioery devised 
to give dignity and effect to their introduction. In point of 
fact, the poem begins and ends with Lord WelUngton ; and 
being written for the benefit of the plundered Portuguese, and 
upon a Spanish story, the thing could not well have been 
otherwise. The public, at this moment, will listen to nothing 
about Spain, but the history of the Spanish war ; and the old 
Gothic king, and the Moors, are considered, we dare say, by 
Mr. Scott's most impatient readers, as very tedious interlopers 

in the proper business of the piece The Poem has 

scarcely any story, and scarcely any characters ; and consists, 
in truth, almost entirety of a series of descriptions, intermingled 
with plaudits and execrations. The descriptions are many of 
them very fine, though the style is more turgid and verbose 
than in the better parts of Mr. Scott's other jtroductions ; but 
the invectives and acclamations are too vehement and too 
frequent to be( either graceful or impressive. Tlicre is no 
climax or progression to relieve the ear, or stimulate the imagin- 
ation. Mr. Scott sets out on the very highest pitch of his 
voice, and keeps it up to the end of the measure. There are 
QO grand swells, therefore, or overpowering bursts in his song. 
All, from first to last, is loud, and clamorous, and obtrusive, — 
indiscriminately noisy, and often ineffectually exaggerated. 
He has fewer new images than in iiis other poetry — his tone 
ia less natural and varied, — and he moves, upon the whole, 
with a slower and more laborious pace." — Jeffeet, Edin- 
burgh Review, 1811. 



" Tbe Edinburgh Reviewers have been down on ray poor 
Don hand (o fist ; but, truly, as they are too fastidious to ap- 
prOt'e oi me campaign, I should he very unreasonable if I ex- 
pected them to like the celebration of it. I agree with them, 
liowevir, as to the lumbering weight of the stanza, and I 
ihrewdiy suspect it would require a very great poet mdeed to 



prevent the tedium arising from the recurrence of thyuiei 
Our language is unable to support the expei.iliture of so mao 
for each stanza ; even Spenser himself, with all the license o 
using obsolete words and uncommon spellings, scmietimes fa 
lignes the ear. They are also very wroth with me for omittiug 
the merits of Sir John Moore ;' but as I never exactly discov- 
ered in what these lay, unless in conducting his advance and 
retreat upon a plan the most likely to verify the desuonding 
speculations of the foresaid reviewers, I must hold iti^Sfcli 
excused for not giving praise where I was unable to see thai 
much was due." — Scott to Mr. Morritt, Sij}t. 26, 1811 
Ja/c, vol. iii. p. 328. 



" The Vision of Don Roderick had features of novelty, bolt 
as to the subject and the manner of the composition, winch 
excited much attention, and gave rise to some sliarp contro- 
versy. The main fable was indeed from the most picturesque 
region of old romance ; but it was made throughout the vehi* 
cle of feelings directly adverse to those with whii;h the Whig 
critics had all along regarded the interference of Britain In 
behalf of the nations of the Peninsula; and the silence wliich, 
while celebrating our other generals on that scene of action, 
had been preserved with respect to Scott's own gallant coun- 
tryman. Sir John Moore, was considered or represonleJ by 
them as an odious example of genius hoodwinked by the influ- 
ence of party. Nor were there wanting pereons who affected 
to discover that the charm of Scott's poetry had to a great 
extent evaporated under the severe test to which he had ex- 
posed it, by adoplmg, in place of those comparatively lighl 
and easy measures in which he had hitherto dealt, the most 
elaborate one that our literature exhibits. The production, 
notwithstanding the complexity of the Spenserian stanza, had 
been very rapidly executed ; and it shows, accordingly, many 
traces of negligence. But the patriotic inspiration of it found 
an echo in the vast majority of British hearts ; many of the 
Whig oracles themselves acknowledged that the difficulties 
of the metre had been on the whole successfully overcome ; 
and even the hardest critics were compelled to express un- 
qualified admiration of various detached pictures and pas- 
sages, which, in truth, as no one now disputes, neither he noi 
any other poet ever excelled. The whole setting or framework 
— whatever relates in eiiort to the last of the Goths himself— 
was. I think, even then unanimously pronounced admirable; 
and no party feeling could blind any man to the heroic splen- 
dor of such stanzas as those in which the tiiree equally gii 
lant elements of a British army are contrasted." — LockuarI 
JJfe, vol. iii. p. 319. 

I See Appeudu, Editor's NoU T. 



I 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



28d 



APPENDIX. 



Note A, 

^nd Cat treath^s glens with voice of triumph rung. 
And mystic Meriin harped, and gray-hair' d Llywarck 
sun^.'— P. 271. 

This locality may startle those readers who tlo not recollect 
(hat niucli of the ancient poetry preserved in Wales refers less 
to the history of the Principality to which that name is now 
Emiteii, tlian to events which happened in the northwest of 
England, and southwest of Scotland, where the Britons for a 
long time made a etand against tlie Saxons. The battle of 
Cattreath, lamented by the celebrated Aneurin, is supposed, 
by the learned Dr. Leyden, to have been foaght on the skirts 
of Etirick Forest. It is known to the English reader by the 
paraphrase of Gray, beginning, 

" Had I but the torrent's might, 
With headlong rage and wild affright," &c. 

Bf t it is not so generally known that the champions, mourned 
in Ihis beautiful dirge, were the British inhabitants of Edin- 
burgh, who were cut off by the Saxons of Dciria, or Norlhum- 
jerland, about the latter part of the sixth century. — Turner's 
I History of the ^nglo-SoTons, eA\\.\on 1799, vol. i. p. 222. 
' Llywarcii, the (celebrated bard and monarch, was Prince of 
1 Aigood, in Cumberland ; and his youthful exploits were per- 
I formed upon the Border, although in bis age he was driven 
: Into Powys by the successes of the Anglo-Saxons. As for 
: .Merlin Wyllt, or the Savage, Ins name of Caledonia, and his 
retreat into the Caledonian v/ood, appropriate him to Scot- 
land. Fordun dedicates the thirty-first chapter of the third 
book of his Scoto-Chronicon, to a narration of the death of 
I this celebrated bard and prophet near Drumelzier, a village 
- opon Tweed, which is sop|)Osed to have derived its name 
I (quasi Tumulus JMctlinf) from the e\ent. The particular spot 
'i in which he is buried is still shown, and appears, from the 
', followini: qnotation, to have partaken of his prophetic quali- 
I ties: — " Til ere is one thing remarkable here, whicii is, that 
I the burn called Pausayl runs by tlie east side of this church- 
I yard into the Tweed ; at the side of which burn, a little below 
(he churchyard, the famous prophet Merlin is said to he bu- 
ried. The particular place of his grave, at the root of a thorn- 
tree, w:u3 shown me, many years ago, by tlie old and reverend 
•ninisier of the place, Mr. Richard Brown ; and here was 
' ihe old prophecy fulfilled, delivered in Scots rhyme, to this 
I torpose : — 

' When Tweed and Pausayl meet at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland and England shall one Monarch have.' 

For, the same day that our King James the Sixth was 
►owned King of England, the river Tweed, by an extraordi- 
Alry flood, so far overflowed its banks, that it met and joined 
*ith the Pausayl at the said grave, w!iich was never before 
loserved to fall out." — Pennycuick's Description of Ttcccd- 
iole. Edin. 1715, iv. p. 26. 



Note B. 

Minehmore's haunted spring. — P. 271. 

A belief i:' the existence and nocturnal revels of the /airier 



Btill lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copioQB fonft 
tain upon the ridge of Minchmore, called th^ Ciicesewei], H 
supposed to be sacred to these fanciful spiriis, and it was cus 
tomary to propitiate them by throwing in something upon pass- 
ing it. A pin was tlie usual oblation ; and the ceremony is 
still sometimes practised, though rather in jest tlian earnest. 



Note C. 



The rude villager, his labor done. 

In verse spontaneous chants some favor^ d name. — P. 27( 

The 6exibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, and 
perhaps tlie liveliness of their genius, renders these countriei 
distinguished for the talent of improvisation, which is found 
even among tlie lowest of the people. It is mentioned bv Ba 
retti and other travellers. 



Note D. 

- Kindling at the deeds of C/rirme. — P. 271. 



Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet may be 
allowed to exercise some power. I have used the freedom, 
here and elsewhere, to alter the ortliography of the name ol 
my gallant countryman, in order to apprise the Soatiiem 
reader of its legitimate sound ; — Grahame being, on the othe» 
side of the Tweed, usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 



Note E. 



fVhat ! will Don Roderick hei'e till morning stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

Jiiid are his hours in such dull penance past, 
For fair Fiorinda''s plundered charms to pay 7 — P. 272. 

Almost all the Spanish hBtorians, as well as the voice o* 
tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to ll'- forcible vio- 
lation committed by Roderick upon Florin(5 ailed by the 
Moors, Caba or Cava. She was tlie daughei of Count Ju- 
lian, one of the Gothic monnrch's principal lieutenants, who, 
when tire crime was |)erpetrated, was engaged in The defence 
of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingrati* 
tude of his sovereign, and the dislionor of his danghter, C93GI 
Julian forgot the duties of a 'Christian ir*l a patriot, and, 
forming an alliance with Musa, then the Ca .ph's .ieutcnant 
in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body ol 
Saracens and Africans, commantied by the celebrated "xarik ; 
the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, ana 
the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors 
Voltaire, in his General History, expresses his doubts of tliil 
popular story, and Gibbon gives him some conntenance ; but 
the universal tradition is quite sufficient for the purposes ol 
poetry. The Spaniards, in dete.station of Florinda's memory, 
are said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon anif 
human female, reserving it for their dogs. Nor is the tradi- 
tion less inveterate among the Moors, since the same authoi 
me.itioiis a proraortory on the coast of Barhary, called '■ The 
Caue of the C:iba Rumia, which, in our tongue, is the i^p€ 



286 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



of ihe Wicked Christian Woman ; and it is a tmtlition among 
the Moors, that Caba, the daugliter of Count Julian, who was 
the cause of the loss of Spain, lies buried there, and they think 
it ominous to be forced into that bay ; for tliey never go in oth- 
erwise than by neceesity." 



Note F. 



And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious room, 
Where, if avgkt true in old tradition he. 
His nation* s future fate a Spanish King shall see, — P. 273. 

The transition of an incident from liistory to tradition, and 
from tradition to fable and romance, becoming more marvel- 
lous Qt each step from its original eimplicity, is .not ill exem- 
plified in the account of the " Fated Chamber" of Don Rod- 
erick, as given by Iiis namesake, the historian of Toledo, con- 
trasted with subsequent and more romantic accounts of the 
same subterranean discovery. I give the Archbishop of Tole- 
do's tale in the words of Nonius, who seems to intimate 
(though very modestly) that the fatale palntium, of which so 
nnch had been said, was only the ruins of a Roman amphi- 
theatnj, 

" Extra maros, septentrionem versus, vestigia magni dim 
theatri sparsa visuntur. Auctor est Rodericns, Toletanus 
Archiepiscojius ante Arabum in Ilispanias irruptionem, hie 
^atalr. palatium fuisse ; quod invictl vecles sterna ferri robora 
claudebant, ne reseratum HispanijE excidium adferret ; qood 
ill fatis non vulgus solum, sed et prudentissimi quique. crede- 
bant. Sed Roderici ultimi Gothorum Regis aninium infelix 
cnriositas subiit, sciendi quid sub tot vetitis claustris observa- 

lur ; ingentea ibi superiorum regum opes et arcanos tliesau- 
os scrvari ratus, Seras et pessulos perfringi curat, invitis 
omnibus; nihil prseter arculam repertum, et in ea linteum, 
quo explicato nova; et insolentes hominum facies liabitusque 
apparuere, cum inscriptione Latina, HispaniiE excidium ab 
ilia gcnte imviincre ; Vultus habitusque Maurorum erant. 
Qcamobrem ex Africa tantam cladem instare regi cEeterisque 
persuasum ; nee falso ut Hispaniie annates etiamnum que- 
runtur." — Hispania Ludovic. J^onij. cap. lix. 

But, about the term of the expulsion of the Moors from 
Grenada, we find, in the " Historia Vtrdadeyra del Rey Don 
Rodrigo,'" a (pretended) translation from the Arabic of the 
sage Alcayde Abulcacim Tarif Abenlarique, a legend which 
pats to shame the modesty of the historian Roderick, with his 
chest and prophetic picture. The custom of ascribing a pre- 
tended Moorish original to these legendary histories, is ridicoled 
by Cervantes, who affects to translate the History of the Knight 
of the Woful Figure, from the Arabic of the sage Cid Hamet 
Benengeli. As I have been indebted to the Historia Vcrdadiy- 
ra for some of the imagery employed in the text, the following 
literal translation from the work itself may gratify the inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

" One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among 
lome rocks, was situated an ancient tower, of a magnificent 
ftiucture, though much dilapidated by time, whicli consumea 
all ■■ four estadoes (;'. e. four times a man's height) below it, 
there was a cave with a very narrow entrance, and a gate cut 
etil of the solid rock, lined with a strong covering of iron, and 
fastened with many locks; above the gate some Greek letters 
»re en^aved, which, although abbreviated, and of doubtful 
meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition of 
learned men : — ' The King who opens this cave, and can dis- 
cover the wonders, will discover both good and evil things.' — 
Many Kings desired to know tlie mystery of this tower, and 
lought to find out tiie manner with much care ; but when they 
opened the gate, such a tremendous noise arose in the cave, 
that it api)eared as if the earth was bursung ; many of tiiose 
present sickened witli fear, and others lost their lives. In order 
to prever snchgreat perils (as they supjiosed a dangerous cn- 
thoDtmenT A'as contained within), they secured the gate with 



new locks, concluding, that, though a King was destined ttt 
open it. the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don 
Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opener) 
the tower; and some bold attendants, whom he had broughf 
with him, entered, although agitated with fear. Having pn^ 
ceeded a good way, they fled back to the entrance, terrified 
with a frightful vision which they liad beheld. The Khigwai 
greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so contrived that tl" 
tempest in the cave could not extinguish them, to be lighted 
Then the King entered, not without fear, before all the other* 
They discovered, by degrees, a eplendid hall, apparently bafll 
in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle stood a Bronz« 
Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a battle-axfl 
in its hands. With this lie struck tlie floor violently, giving il 
such heavy blows, that the noise in the cave was occasioned 
by the motion of the air. The King, greatly aflrighted, and 
astonished, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that 
he would return without doing any injnry in the cave, after he 
had obtained a siglit of what was contained in it. The statoo 
ceased to strike the floor, and the King, with his followers,' 
somewhat assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded into 
llie hall ; and on the left of the &tatue they found this inscrip- 
tion on the wall, ' Unfortunate King, thoo hast entered here io 
evil hour.* On the right side of the wall these words were in- 
scribed, ' By strange nations thou shall be dispossessed, and thy 
subjects foully degraded.' On the shoulders of the statue othei 
words were written, whicli said, ' I call upon the Arabs.' 
And upon his breast was written, * I do my office.' At the 
entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, from which 
a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They found 
no other thing in the hall : and when the King, sorrowful and 
greatly allected, had scarcely turned about to leave tlie cavern, 
the statue again commenced his accustomed blows upon the 
floor. After they had mutually promised to conceal what tJiey 
had seen, they again closed the tower, and blocked up the gat* 
of the cavern with earth, that no memory might lemain in the 
world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The en- 
suing midnight they heard great cries and clamor from the 
cave, resounding like the noise of battle, and the groond ■ 
^haking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice of tbe , 
old tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly ' 
ufl'Hghted, the vision which they had beheld appearing to them ■ 
as a dteam. 

" The King having left the tower, ordered wise men to ex* > 
plain what the inscriptions signified ; and having consulted 
U)ion and studied their meaning, tliey declared that the staloe 
of bronze, with the motion which it made with its battle-axe, 
signified Time ; and that its office, alluded to in the inscription 
on its breast, was, that he never rests a single moment. The 
words on the shoulders, ' I call upon the Arabs.' they expound- 
ed, that, in lime, Spain would be con<iuered by the Arabs. 
The words upon the left wall signified the destruction of King 
Rodrigo; those on the right, the dreadful calamities which 
were to fall upon the Spaniai'ds and Goths, and that the un* 
fortunate King would be dispossessed of all his stales. Finally 
the letters on the |)ortal indicated, that good would betide & ■ 
the conquerors, and evil to the conquered, of which experienoft i' 
proved the truth." — Historia Verdadnjra del Rey Don Rn' 
rigo. Q,uinta impression. Madrid, 1654, iv. p. 23. 



Note G 



The Trcbir war-cry and the Leltf^s yetl.—V. 274. 

The Techir (derived from the words Alia acbar, Go<l is most 
mighty) was the original war-cry of the Saracons. It is cele 
orated by Hughes in the Siege of Damascus : — 

'* We heard the Tecbir ; ao these Arabs call 
Their shoot of onset, when, with loud appeal 
They cha'/ange Heaven, as if demanding conqnest 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



2S\ 



"Tlie Lf/ie, wnl known to the Christians iloring the cni- 
lades, in the sliout of .^ila ilia ,911a, tlic Mahomedan con- 
fession of taitli. It is twice used in poetry hy my friend Mr. 
W. Stewart Uose, in the romancii of Part(;nopex, and in Uie 
Crosaue of St. Lewis 



Note H. 



By Heaven, the Monrs prevail! the Christians yield !- 
Their coward leader gives for flight the si<^i! 

The sccptcr^d craven mounts to ^uit the field — 
Is tiol tjon steed Orelia? — Yes, His mine! — l*. 275. 

Couut Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, wilh the 
connivance and assistance of Oppas, ArclihUhop of Toledo, 
invited, in 713, the Saracens into Spain. A considerable army 
wrived under the command of Tarik, orTarif. who bequeathed 
Uie well-known name of Gibraltar {Qibel al Tarik, or the 
mountain of Tarik) to the place of Ids landin<^. He was joined 
by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, and took Seville. In 714, 
*.hey returned wilh a still greater force, and Roderick marched 
Into Andalusia at the head of a great army, to give thera 
battle. Ttie lield was chosen near Xeres, and Mariana gives 
Uie following account of the action ; — 

"Both armies being drawn up, the King, according to the 
eostoin of the Golliic kings when they went to battle, appeared 
in an ivory chariot, clothed in cloth of gold, encouraging his 
men; Tarif, on the oUier side, did the same. The armies, 
thus i)repared, waited only for the signal to fall on ; the Goths 
gave the charge, their drums and trumpets sounding, and Uie 
Moois received it with t)ie noise of keuluwirums. Such were 
tbe shouts and cries on boili sides, that the motintains and 
, valleys seemed to meut. First, ihey began witli slings, darts, 
. iavelins, and lances, then came to the swords ; a long time the 
battle was dubious , hut the Moors seemed to have the worst, 
till D. 0[ipas, the archbishop, having to that time concealed 
his treachery, in "Zie he:*l of the fight, with a great body of his 
followers went over to the infidels. He joined Connt Julian, 
wilJi wiiom '.vas a great number of Goths, and both together 
I fell upon the Ilank of our array. Our men, terrified with that 
, inpaniUeled treachery, and tired wilh fighting, could no longer 
iUstain tiir.*. charge, but were easily put to flight. The King 
performed the oart not only of a wise general, hut of a resolute 
, loldier, relieving the weakest, bringing on I'rosh men in jilace of 
those that were tir?d, and stopping those that turned their 
backs. At length, setirg no hopes left, he alighted out of his 
chariot for fear of being taken, and mounting on a horse called 
■ Orelia. lie v.ithdrew out of the battle. The Goths, who still 
Mood, mis-ving him, v/erc most part put to the sword, the rest 
betook tliemselves to llight. The camp was immediately en- 
tered, and the baggage taken. What number was killed was 
not known : I suppose they were so many it was hard to count 
. U**:^; f:^-»h*-j sLigle battle robbed ^'pain of all its glory, and in 
I it perftied t).; > t.-vued name of the Goths. The King's hoi-se, 
Ofper 1 1 lien! a^.i ji'skJns, covered with pearls and precious 
I ftone*, were found ot the bank of the river Guadelite, and 
\aei* being no news of him afterwards, it was supposed he was 
iniwned pa<,»ia£ the river." — Makian&'s II i^ to nj of Spain. 
'eiok, vi. chap 9. 

Oreiia, the t nrser of Don Roderick, mentioned in the text, 
udin the above quotation, was celebrated for her speed and 
form She is mentioned repea'^dly in Spani.sh romance, and 
»!» >• Cervantes. 



Note I. 



JFhen for the Hg'tt bolero ready stand 

The mozo blithe, with gay muchaeha met. — P. 976. 

▼be holero ts a vcrj light and a ;e 'e dance, much practised 



by the Spaniards, in which castanets are always used. Jlfott 
and muchadia are equivalent to our phrase of lad and laaa. 



Note K. 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried "Castue. 



P 278 



Tlie heralds, at the coronation of a SpaoiBh rrunarch i)rc 
claim his name three times, and repeat three times ma wot*. 
Ca.ttilla, Castillo, Castilla ; which, with all other ceremoniei 
was carefully copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Boitft* 
parte. 



Note L. 



High blazed the war. und long, and far, and vide. — P. 278 

Those who were disposed to believe that mere virtue and 
energy are able of themselves to work forth the salvation of an 
oppressed people, surprised in a moment of confidence, deprived 
of tlieir officers, armies, and fortresses, who had every mean 
of resistance to seek in the very moment when they were to be 
made use of, and whom the numerous treasons among tlie 
higher orders deprived of confidence in their natural leadei-s, — 
those who entertained this enthusiastic but delusive opinion 
may be pardoned for expressing their disappointment at the 
protracted warfare in the Teninsula. There are, however 
another class of persons, who, having tliemselves the highest 
dread or veneration, or something allied to both, for the powet 
of the modern Attila, will nevertheless give tlie hcroical Span 
iards little or no credit for the long, stubborn, and unsubdued 
resistance of three years to a power before whom their formei 
well-prepared, well-armed, and numerous adversaries fell in the 
course of as many months. While these gentlemen plead for 
deference to Bonaparte, and crave 

•' Respect for his great place, and bid the devil 
Be duly honor'd for his burning throne," 

it may not be altogether unreasonable to claim seme modili ' 
cation of censure upon those who have been long and to a 
great extent suecessfnlly resisting this great enemy of man- 
kind. That the energy of Spain has not uniformly been 
directed by conduct equal to its vigor, iias been loo obvious ; 
that her armies, under their complicated disadvantages, have 
shared the fate of such as were defeated after taking the field 
with every possible advantage of arms and discipline, is surely 
not to be wondered at. But that a nation, undel- the circonv- 
stances of repeated discomfiture, internal IreaKon, and the mis- 
management incident to a temporary and hastily adopted gov- 
ernment, should have wasted, by its siubborn. uniform, anil 
prolonged resistance, myriads after myriads of those soldiers 
who had overrun the world — that some of its provinces should, 
like Galicia. after being abandoned by their allies, and overrar 
by their enemies, have recovered their Ireedom by (heir own 
unxs-sisted exertions ; that others, like Catalonia, undismajv^rt 
by the treason which betrayed 5!ome fortresses, and 'he force 
whiidi subdued others, should not only have continued theii 
resistance, .tut have attained over their victorious enemy a 
superiority, which is even now enabling them to besiege an- 
retake the places of strength wliich had been wrested from 
them, is a tale hitherto untold in the revolutionary xvar. To 
say that such a people cannot he subdued, would b« prfr 
sumption similar to tliat of those who protested that Spain 
could not defend herself for a year, or Portugal for a month, 
but that a resistance which has been continued for so long a 
space, when the usurper, except during the short-lived Ati» 
trian campaign, had no other enemies on tlie continent, should 
he now less successful, when repealed defeats have broken the 
reputation of the French armies. auJ when they are likely (il 
would seem almost in desperation) lo seek occupation el»* 



288 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



where, is a prophecy as improbable as ungracious. And while 
we are in the humor of severely censuring our allies, gallant 
and devoted as they have shown themselves in tlie cause of 
national Hbeny, because they may not instantly adopt those 
measures which we in our wisdom may deem essential to suc- 
cess, it might be well if we endea*'ored first to resolve tlie pre- 
vious questions, — 1st, Whe'J-.w w/: do not at this moment know 
much less cf tlie PpacUh armies tlian those of Portugal, which 
were so pron-.p'. r condemned as totally inadequate to assist in 
the niinervation of their country ? 2d, Whether, independ- 
?itry of any right we have to oifer more than advice and 
assistance to our independent allies, we can expect that they 
•hoald renounce entirely the national pride, which is insepar- 
Hble from patriotism, and at once condescend not only to be 
eaved by our assistance, but to be saved in our own way ? 
3d, Whether, if it be an object (as undoubtedly it is a main 
one) that the Spanish troops should be trained under British 
discipline, to the flexibility of movement, and power of rapid 
concert and combination, which is essential to modern war; 
such a consummation is likely to be produced by abusing them 
in newspapers and periodical publications 1 Lastly, since the 
undoubted authority of British officers makes us now ac- 
quainted with part of the horrors that attend invasion, and 
wlMch the providence of God, the valor of our navy, and pei^ 
haps the very efforU of these Spaniards, have hitiierto diverted 
from us, it may be modestly questioned whether we ought to 
be too forward to estimate and condemn the feeling of tem- 
porary stupetaction which they create; lest, in so doing, we 
Bhoald resemble the worthy clergyman who. while he had him- 
self never snuffed a candle with his fingers, was disposed se- 
verely to criticise the conduct of a martyr, who winced a little 
among his flames. 



Note M. 



They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. — 

■p. 279. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vaughan has made most 
readers acquainted with tlie first siege of ZaragozaJ The last 
and fatal siege of that gallant and devoted city is detailed with 
great eloquence and precision in the " Edinburgh Aimual Re- 
gister'" for 1809, — a work in wliich the affairs of Spain have 
been treated of v;itli attention corresponding to their deep in- 
terest, and to tlie peculiar sources of information open to the 
historian. The following are a few brief extracts from this 
splendid historical narrative : — 

" A breach was soon made in the mud walls, and then, as in 
the former siege, the war was carried on in the streets and 
houses ; but the French had been tauglit by experience, that 
ir. this species of warfare the Zaragozans derived a superiority 
from the feeling and principle which inspired them, and the 
cause for which they fouglit. The only means of conquering 
Zaragoza was to destroy it house by house, and ?trect by street ; 
and tt M>n this system of destruction they proceeded. Three 
companies of miners, and eight companies of sappers, carried 
on this subterraneous war ; the Spaniards, it is said, attempted 
to oppose them by countermines ; these v/ere operations to 
which they were wholly unused, and, according to the French 
■tatcment. tlieir miners were every day discovered and suffoca- 
ted. Aleantime, the bombardment was incessantly kept up. 
' Wn.iin the last 4fl hours,' said Pahifos in a letter to his friend 
General I^oyle, 'fiUDO shells have been thrown in. Two-thirds 
of the town arc in ruins, but we shall perish under the ruins of 
Uie remaining third rather than Kurrender.' In the course of 
\iie siege, above 17.000 bombs were thrown at the town ; the 
stock of powder with which Zaragoza liaa been stored vas ex- 
hausted ; they liad none at last but what they manufactured 

1 See Nnrrntivt' of the Siege of Zarupoza, by Richard Charles Vaughno, 
Ck). 1809- Thi- Right Honorable R. O. Vaughan ia now British Miniater 
Waahinctoo IS.,;.. 



day by day ; and no other cannon-balls than those which uetc 
shot into the town, and which they collected and fired Satk 

upon the enemy,'* 

In the luidst of these horrors and privations, ihe pestilenca 
broke out in Zaragoza. To various causes, enumerated by the 
annalist, he adds, "scantiness of food, crowded quarters, unu- 
sual exertion of body, anxiety of mind, and the impossibility 
of recruiting their exhausted strength by needful rest, ia a city 
which was almost incessantly bombarded, and where every 
hour their sleep was broken by the tremendous explosion ol 
mines. There was now no respite, either by day or night, fOf 
this devoted city ; even the natural order of light and darknees 
was destroyed in Zaragoza ; by day it was involved in a red 
sulphureous atmosphere of smoke, which hid the face of 
heaven ; by night, the fire of cannons and molars, and the 
flames of burning houses, kept it in a stale of terrific illumina- 
tion. 

" When once the pestilence had begun, it was impossible to 
check its progress, or confine it to one quarter of tlie city. Hos- 
pitals were immediately established, — there were above thirty 
ofthem ; as soon as one was destroyed by the bombardment, 
the patients w'ere removed to another, and thus the infection 
was carried to every part of Zaragoza. Famine aggravated 
the evil ; the city had probably not been sufficiently provided 
at the commencement of the siege, and of the provisions which 
it contained, much was destroyed in the daily ruin which the 
mines and bombs effected. Had the Zaragozans and their gai* 
rison proceeded according to military rules, they would have 
surrendered before the end of January ; their batteries had then 
been demolished, there were open breaches in many parts of 
their weak walls, and the enemy were already within the city. 
On the 30th, above sixty houses were blown up, and tlie 
French obtained possession of the monasteries of the Angus- 
lines and Las Monicas, which adjoined each other, two of the 
last defensible places left. Tlie enemy forced their way into 
the church ; every column, every chapel, every altar, became 
a point of defence, wliicli was repeatedly attacked, taken and 
retaken ; the pavement v/as covered with blood, the aisles and 
body of the church strewed with the dead, who were trampled 
under foot by the combatants. In the midst of this conflict, 
the roof, shattered by repeated bombs, fell in ; the few who 
were not crushed, after a short pause, which this tremendoiiB 
shock, and their own unexpected escape, occasioned, renewed 
the fight with rekindled fury ; fresh parties of the enemy pour 
ed in ; monks, and citizens, and soldiers, came to the defence 
and the contest was continued upon the ruins, and tlie bodies 

of the dead and the dying." 

Yet, seventeen days after sustaining these extremities, din 
the heroic inliabitants of Zaragoza continue their defence ; nor 
did they then surrender until their despair had extracted from 
the French generals a capitulation, more honorable than Jias 
been* granted to fortresses of the first order. 

Who shall venture to refuse the Zaragozans the eulogiom 
conferred upon them by the eloquence of Wordsworth '— 
"Most gloriously have the citizens of Zaragoza proved thai 
the true army of Spain, in a contest of this naiuri', is the 
whole people. The same city has also exemplified a melan- 
choly, yea, a dismal truih, — yet consolatory and full of joy.— 
that when a people are called suddenly to fisht for their liberty 
and are sorely i)ressed upon, their best field o: battle is th« 
floors upon which their children have playecl ; the chambert 
where the family of each man has slept (hie own or his neigh- 
bors') ; upon or under the roofs by which they have been shel- 
tered ; in the gardens of their recreation ; in the street, or in 
the market-place ; before the altars of tiieir tem|)lcB, and among 
their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted. 

" The government of Spain must never Ibrget Zaragoza for 
a moment. Nothing is wanting to produce the same efl'ects 
everywhere, but a leading mind, such as that city was blessed 
with. In the latter contest this has been proved ; for Zarago- 
za contained, at the time, bodies of men from almost all parti 
of Spain The _narrative of tliose two sieges should be tbf 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



289 



nanaal of ev.Tv Spaniard. He may add to it the ancient sto- 
nes of Numcntia and Saguntum ; let him sleep upon the book 
hs a pillow, and, if he he a devout adherent to llie religion of 
his countrt , let him wear it in his bosom for his L-ruoitix to rest 
iipOQ." — WoRDSV . aru .>»•. ^\e Convention of Cintra 



Note N. 



The Fault of Destiny.— V. 280. 

before finally dismissing the enchanted cavern of Do» Rod- 
erick, it may be noticed, that the legend occurs in one of Cal- 
deron's plays, entitled. La Virgin del Stigrarto. The scene 
,pens witli the noise of the chase, and Recisundo, a predeces- 
tor of Rodt-rick upon the Gothic throne, enters pursuing a stag. 
The animal assumes the form of a man, and defies the king to 
enter the cave, which forms the botlom of the scene, and en- 
gage wilii him in single combat. Tlie king accepts tlie chal- 
lenge, and they engage accordingly, but witlioul advantage on 
either side, wb'ch induces the Genie to inform Recisundo, that 
be is not the n. narch for whom the adventure of tiie enchant- 
ed cavern is reawr^'ed, and he proceeds to predict the downfall 
of the Gothic r onarchy, and of the Christian religion, which 
ebail attend tl ; discovery of its mysteries. Recisundo, ap- 
palled by these prophecies, orders the cavern to be secured by 
a gate and bolt, of iron. In the second part of the same play, 
we are informe ' that Don Roderick had removed the harrier, 
and transgressci.. tlie prohibition of his ancestor, and had been 
apprized by the prodigies which he discovered of the approach- 
log ruin of his k ogdom 



Note 0. 



While downicard on the land his legions press. 
Before them it was rich with vine andjlock, 

^nd smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness. — P. 281. 

[ have ventured to apply to the movements of the French 
trray that sublime passage in the prophecies of Joel, wliich 
leems applicable to them in more respects than that I have 
adopted in the text. One would think their ravages, their mil- 
itary appointments, the tenor which they spread among invaded 
nations, their military discipline, their arts of political intrigue 
and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses 
of Scripture : — 

"2. A day of darUnesse and of glooininesse. a day of clouds 
and of tliick d'irknesse. as the morning spread upon the moun- 
tains; a great people and a strong, there hath not been ever 
the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the yeares 
of mifcBjr generations. 3. A fire devouretli before them, and 
behicJ V/i?m a fiame bnrnelh ; the land is as the garden of 
Eden before them, and bchinde them a desolate wilderness, 
yea, and nothing siiall escape them. 4. Tlic appearance of 
ihem IB as the appearance of horses and as horsem'^n, so shall 
Ihey runoe. 5. Like the noise of chariots on the tops of moun- 
Uins. shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that de- 
Tooreth llic stubble, as a strong people set in battel array. 
f». Betore their face fchall the people be much pained ; all faces 
^all gather blacknesse. 7. They shall run like mighty men, 
tbey shall climb the wall like men of warre, and they shall 
march every one in his wayes, and they shall not break their 
ranks. 8. Neither shall one thrust another, they shall walk 
every one in his path : and when they fall upon the sword, 
they shall not le wounded. 9. They shall run to and fro io 
the citie ; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climbe up up- 
on the houses : they shall entei in at llie windows like a thief. 
10. The earth shall qualie before th^ :, the heavens shall 
37 



tremble, the sunne and the moon shall be dark, and the Btanrei 
shall withdraw their shining." 

In verse 20th also, whi':h announces the retreat of the nor 
them army, rfopcribed in such dreadful colors, into a "land 
barren and desolate," and the dishonor with which God afihc' 
ed them for having " m.ignitied themselves to do great things, 
these are particulars not inapplicable to the retreat ot Massena : 
— Divine Providence having,- in all ages, attached uisgrace as 
tlie natural punishment of cruelty and presumntion 



Note P. 



The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom 

IVitn horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Oave his poor crust fo feed some wretch forlorn. — P. 281. 

Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the 
campaign of 1810-11, aljiough they never fought but to coq- 
qMer, will do them less honor in history than their humanity, 
attentive to soften to the utmost of their power the horrors 
which war, in its mildest aspect, must always indict upon the 
defenceless inhabitants of the country in which it is waged, 
and which, on this occasion, were tenlbid augmented by tiie 
barbarous cruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were estab- 
lished by subscription among tlie officers, wherever the Jroojis 
were quartered for any length of time. The commissaries con- 
tributed the heads, feet, &c. of the cattle slaughtered for tlie 
soldiery: rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be had 
were purchased by the officers. Fifty or si.viy slarv iiig peas- 
ants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishments, 
and carried home the relics to their famishing households. The 
emaciated wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, were 
speedily employed in pruning their vines. VVliile jiursuing 
Massena, the soldiers evinced tlie same spirit of humanity, and 
in many instances, when reduced themselves fo short allowance 
from having out-marched their supplies, they shared their pit- 
tance with the starving inhabitants, who had ventured back to 
view the ruins of their habitations, burnt by the retreating en- 
emy, and to bury tlie bodies of their relations whom tliey liad 
butchered. Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a 
sort of confidence, that those who so well deserve victory are 
most likely to attain it t — It is not the least of Lord Welling- 
ton's military merits, that the slightest disposition to« ards ma- 
rauding meets immediate punishment. Independently of all 
moral obligation, the army which is most orderly in a friendly 
country, has always proved most formidable to an armed en. 
emy. 



Note Q. 

Vain-glorious fugitive ! — P. 282 

The French conducted this memorable retreat with much y. 
the fan fa no node proper to their country, by which they at- 
tempt to impose upon others, and perhaps on themselves, a \.o 
lief that they are triumphing in the very moment of their dia- 
comfiture. On the 30th iflarch. 1811, their rear guard wa* 
overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being well posted, 
and conceiving themselves safe from infantry (who were mdeed 
many miles in the rear), and from artillery, they indulged theno- 
selves in parading their bands of music, and actually performed 
"GM save the King." Their minstrelsy was. however, de- 
rangeo by the nndesired accompaniment of the Britisn horse- 
artillery, on whose part in the concert they had noi calculated. 
The surprise was sudden, and the rout complete ; for the artil- 
lery and cavalry did execution upon them for about four miles, 
pursuing at the gallop as often as they got beyond the njyge 
the euDS 



290 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note R. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
Jind front the flying thunders as they roar, 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain I — P. 2K!. 

In 'he severe action of Fuentea d'Honoro, npon 5th May, 
. Jli, the grand mass of the French cavalry attacked the right 
ff the British position, covered by two guns of the horse-ariil- 
'ery, and two squadrons of cavaliy. After suffering considera- 
&!»' ^'im the fire of the guns, which annoyed them in every at- 
u:mpt at formalion, the enemy turted their wrath entirely to- 
wards them, distributed brandy among tlieir troopers, and ad- 
vanced to carry the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken 
fury. They were in nowise checked by the heavy loss which 
Uiey sustain-id in this daring attempt, but closed, and fairly 
mir.gled with tiie British cavalry, to whom they bore ihe pro- 
portion often to one. Captain Ramsay (let me he permitted 
to name a gallant countryman), who commanded the two guns, 
dismissed them at the gallop, and putting himself at the head 
of the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall upon the 
French, sabre-in-liand. Tliis very unexpected conversion of 
artillerymen into dragoons, contributed greatly to the defeat of 
the enemy, already disconcerted by the reception they had met 
from the two British squadrons; and the appearance of some 
small reinforcements, notwithstanding the immense dispropor- 
tion of force, put them to absolute rout. A colonel or major 
of tlieii cavalry, and many prisoners (almost all intoxicated), 
remained in our possession. Those who consider for a moment 
the difference of the services, and how much an artilleryman is 
necessarily and naturally led to identify his own safety and 
Dtility with abiding by the tremendous implement of war, to 
the exercise of which he is chiefly, if not exclusively trained, 
will know how to estimate the presence of mind wliich com- 
manded so bold a manoeuvre, and the steadiness and confidence 
wiLli which it was executed. 



Note S. 



W«d what aiuiUs thee that, for Cameron slajn, 
IVild from his plaidcd ranks the yell was given. — P. 282. 

The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during 
Me desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes 
J'llonoro. He ftdl at the liead of his native Higlilanders, the 
71st and 79th, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. 
They charged, with irresistible fury, the finest body of French 
grenadiers ever seen, being a part of Bonaparte's selected 
gnard. The officer who led the French, a man remarkable for 
Etature and symmetry, was killed on the spot. Tlie French- 
man who stei)]ie(l out of his rank to take aim ai Colonel Cam- 
eron was also bayoneted, pierced with a thousand wounds, and 
almost torn to pifcea by the furious Highlanders, who, under 
the command of Colonel Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the 
contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Massena pays 
my countrymen a singular compliment in his account of the at- 
tick and defence of this village, in which he says the British 
j3Kt many officers, and Scotch. 



NoteT. 
But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, S,-c. — P. 282. 

[The Edintmrgh Reviewer offered the following remarks on 
what he 'considered aa an unjust omission in this part of the 
■oem : — 

"We are not very apt," he says, "to quarrel with a poet 
ibr JitB politics ; and really supposed it next to impossible that 
Mr. Scott shou'd ii.ive given us any ground of dissatisfaction 
*n this score ii the management of his present theme Lord 



Wellington and his fellow-soldiers well deserved tho laoreli 
they have won : — nor is there one British heart, we believe, 
that will not feel proud and grateful for all the lienors with 
which British genius can invest their names. In the praisei 
which Mr. Scott has bestowed, therefore, all his readers wili 
sympathize; but for those which he has withheld, there are 
some that will not so readily forgive him : and in our eyes we 
will confess, it is a sin not easily to be expiated, that in a pocim 
written substantially for the purpose of commemorating the 
brave who have fought or fallen in Spain or Portuga. — and 
written by a Scotchman — there should be no mention of the 
name of Moore ! — of the only commander-in-chief who haa 
fallen in this memorable contest ; — of a commander who wai 
acknowledged as the model and pattern of a British soldier, 
when British soldiers stood most in need of such an example 
— and was, at the same time, distinguished not less for every 
manly virtue and generous affection, than for skill and gallantry 
in his profession. A more pore, or a more exalted character, 
certainly has not appeared upon that scene which Mr. Scot! 
has sought to illustrate with the splendor of his genius ; and il 
is with a mixture of shame and indignation that we find him 
grudging a single ray of that profuse and readily yielded glory 
to gild the grave of his lamented countryman. To offer a la^ 
ish tribute of praise to the living, whose task is still incomplete, 
may be generous and munificent ; — but to departed merit, it U 
due in strictness of justice. Who will deny that Sir JohD 
Moore was all that we have now said of him ? or who will 
doubt that his untimely death in the hour of victory would 
have been eagerly seized upon by an impartial poet, as a noble 
theme for generous lamentation and eloquent praise 1 But Mr 
Scott's political friends have fancied it for their interest to ca« 
lumniate tlie memory of this illustrious and accomphshfid per- 
son, — and Mr. Scott has permitted the spirit of party to stand 
in the way, not only of poetical justice, but of patriotic and 
generous feeling. 

"It is this for which we grieve, and feel ashamed; — this 
hardening and deadening effect of political animosities, in cases 
where politics should have nothing to do ; — this apparent per- 
version, not merely of the judgment, but of the lieart ; — this im- 
placable resentment, which wars not only with the Hving, bul 
with the dead ; — and thinks it a reason for defrauding a de- 
parted warrior of his glory, that a political antagonist has been 
zealous in his praise. These things are lamentable, and they 
cannot be alluded to without some emotions of sorrow and re- 
sentment. But they affect not the fame of him on whose ac- 
count these emotions are suggested. The wars of Spain, and 
the merits of Sir John Moore, will be comniemoi*ted in a more 
impartial and a more imperishable record, than the Vision of 
Don Roderick ; and his liumble monument in the Citadel of 
Corunna will draw the tears and the admiration of thousands, 
who concern not themselves about the exploits of his more for- 
tunate associates." — Edinburgh Review, vol. xviii. 1811. 

The reader who desirea to understand Sir Walter Scott's de 
liberate opinion on the subject of Sir John Moore's military 
character and conduct, is referred to the Life of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, vol. vi. chap, xlvi. But perhaps it may be neither 
unamusing nor uninstruclive to consider, along with the dia- 
tribe just quoted from the Edinburgh Review, some reflection! 
from the pen of Sir Walter f^cott himself on the injustice done 
to a name greater than Moore's in the noble stanzas on the 
Battle of Waterioo, in tlie third canto of Childe Harold— an 
injustice which did not call forth any rebuke from the Edio 
burgh critics. Sir Walter, in reviewing this canto, said, 

*' Childe Harold arrives on Waterloo — a bcene where all 
men. where a poet esnecia-ly, and a poet such as Lord Byron, 
must needs pause, and amid the quiet simplicity of whose 
scenery is excited a moral interest, deeper and more potent even 
than that which is produced by gazing npon tlie sublimefc 
efforts of Nature in her most romantic recesses, 

"That Lord Bvron'r sentiments do not correspond with 
curs, is obvious, and w ; are sorry for both our sakes. For OZM 
own — because we have lost that note of triumph with which 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



201 



feU harp woald otherwise have rung over a field of glory each 
u Britain never reaped before ; and on Lord Cyron'3 account. 
— because it is melancholy to see a man of genius duped by the 
mere cant of words and phrases, even when facts are most 
broadly confronted witli them. If the poet has mixed witli the 
original, wild, and niagiulicent creations of his imagination, 
prejudices winch he coutil only have caught by the contagion 
which he most professes to despise, it is lie himself that mast 
De the loicr. If his lorty muse has soared in all her brilliancy 
over tlie field ot Waterloo without dropping even one leaf of 
'aurel on the head of Wfllington, his merit can dispense even 
H'ith the praise of Lord Byron. And as when the images of 
Brutus were excluded from tlie triumphal procession, his mem- 
ory became only llie more powerfully imprinted on the souls of 
the Romans — the name ol" llie British iiero will be but more 
eagerly recalled 10 remem' ranee by the very lines in which his 
praise is forgotten." — Qu HctIij Review, vol. xvi. 1816. 

Ed. 



XOTE U. 

O who shall grudf < Aim Alhutra^s bays^ 
fVho brought a rac- -e^renerate to the field, 

Roused them to t alate their fathers* praise, 
Tempered their he long rage, their courage stcel'd, 

And raised fail Lusitania' s fallen shield.~~P. 282. 

Nothing during Ihf war of Portugal seems, to a distinct ob- 
terver. luore deservi ^ of praise, than the self-devotion of 
Field-Marshal Bere*' rd, who was contented to undertake all 
the hazard of obU .-^y which might have been founded upon 
any miscarriage in .'.e highly important e.\periment of trainmg 
Ihe Portuguese tr«V(ps to an improved state of discipline. In 
exposing his mili^uy reputation to the censure of imprudence 
from the most > j .derate, and all manner of unutterable calum- 
oies from the i/^orant and malignant, he placed at stake the 
dearest pleib 3 *hich a military man bad to offer, and nothing 
bat the dee;.' .' conviction of the high and essential importance 
Itttacb*'! t' b access can be supposed an adequate motive. 
How ffri>^ Uie chance of iciscarriage was Apposed, may be 



estimated from the general 'opinion of otficers of unquestioned 
talents and experience, possessed of eve y opportunity of ;nfo^ 
mation ; how completely the experiment has succeeded, ana 
how much the spirit and patriotism of our ancient aUtes had 
been underrated, is evident, not only from those victories ia 
wliicli they have borne a distinguished share, but from the lib- 
eral and highly honorable manner in wiiich these opitiions have 
been retracted. The success of this plan, with all i:^ important 
consequences, we owe to the indefatigable exertions of Field- 
Marshal Beresford. 



Note V. 



-a race rmo7on'd of old. 



W hose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell. 



-the coiiquc 



r shout of Gr(pme.—F. 2fl3. 



This stanza allades to the various achievements of the war- 
like family of Grieme, or Grahame. They are said, by tradi- 
tion, to have descended from the Scottish chief, under whose 
command his countrymen stormed the wall built by the Em- 
peror Se%'crus between the Friths of Forth and Clyde, the 
fragments ol which are still popularly called Grueme's Dyke. 
Sir Joiin the Grieme, "the hardy wiglit, and wise," is well 
known as the friend of trir William Wallace. Alderne, Kil- 
sythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of the he- 
roic Marquis of Montrose. Tlie pass of Killycrankie is famoas 
for the action between King William's forces and the High- 
landers in 1G89, 

" Where glad Dundee in faint hnzzas expired." 

It is seldom that one line can number so many heroes, and 
yet more rare when it can appeal to the glory of a living de* 
Bcendant m support of its ancient renown. 

The allusions to the private history and character of General 
Grahame, may be Ulustrated by referring to the eloquent and 
affecting speech of Mr. Bberidan, upon the vote of thaukB U 
ibe Victor of Baroaft. 



E k £ b 1) : 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

SiE Walter Scott commenced the composition 
of RoKEBT at Abbotsford, on the I5th of Sep- 
tember, 1812, and finished it on the last day of the 
following December. 

The reader may be interested with the follow- 
ing extracts jom his letters to his friend and 
printer, Mr. Ballantyne. 

" Abbotsfari, 28(/i Ocl., 1812. 
" Dear James, — I send you to-day better than 
the third sheet of Canto II., and 1 trust to send 
the other three sheets in the course of the week. 
I expect that you will have three cantos complete 
before I quit this place — on the 1 1th of Novem- 
ber. Surely, if you do your part, the poem may 
be out by .Christmas ; but you must not dauclle 
over yom- typographical scruples. I have too 
much respect for the pubHc to neglect any thing 
in my poem to attract their attention; and you 
misunderstood me much when you supposed that 
I designed any new experiments in point of compo- 
sition. I only meant to say that knowing well that 
the said pubhc will never be pleased with exactly 
the same thing a second time, I saw the necessity 
of giving a certain degree of novelty, by tlu-owing 
the interest more on character than in my former 
poems, without cert,iinly meaning to exclude either 
incident or description. I think you will see the 
same sort of diifereuce taken in all my former po- 
ems, of which I would say, if it is fair for me to 
lay any thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown 
on style, in Marniion on description, and in the 
Iiady of the Lake on incident." 

** Zd Noveynhtr, — As for my story, the conduct 
of tne plot, which must be made natural and easy, 
prevents my introducing any tiling hght for some 
time. You must advert, that in order to give 
poetical effect to any incident, I am often obhged 
to be much longer than I expected in the detail 
Tou are too much like the country squire in the 
what d'ye call it, who commands that the play 
should not only be a tragedy and comedy, but 
that it should bo crowned with a spice of your 
Uastoral. As foi what is popular, and what peo- 



ple like, and so forth, it is all a joke. Be interat- 
iiiff ; do the thing weU, and the only difference 
will be, that people will Uke what they ne^ct 
hked before, and will like it so much the better 
for the novelty of then- feelings towards it. Dul- 
neas and lameness are the only irreparable faults.' 

"December 31 s(. — With kindest wishes on the 
return of the season, I send you the last of the 
copy of Rokeby. If you are not engaged at home, 
and hko to call in, we will drink good luck to it ; 
but do not derange a family party. 

" There is something odd and melancholy in con- 
cluding a poem with the year, and I could be al- 
most silly and sentimental about it. I hope you 
think 1 have done my best. I assure you of my 
wishes the work may succeed ; and my exertions 
to get out in time were more inspu-ed by your in- 
terest and John's, than my own. And so vogtu 
la galcre. W. S," 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1880. 

Between the pubUcation of " Tlia Lady of the 
Lake," which was so eminently successful, and 
that of" Rokeby," in 1813, three years had inter- 
vened. I shall not, I beheve, be accused of ever 
having attempted to usurp a superiority over 
many men of genius, my contemporaries ; but, in 
point of popularity, not of actual talent, the ca- 
price of the pubhc had certainly given me such a 
temporary superiority over men, of whom, in re- 
gard to poetical fancy and feeling, I scared) 
thought myself worthy to loose the shoe-latcK 
On the other hand, it would be absm-d affectation 
in me to deny, that I conceived myself to imder* 
stand, more perfectly than many of my contempO' 
raries, the manner most likely to interest the grea< 
mass of mankind. Yet, even with this behef, 1 
must truly and fairly say, that I always considered 
myself rather as one who held the bets, in time to 
be paid over to the winner, than as hiiving any 
pretence to keep them in my own right. 

In the mean tune years crept on, and not with- 
out their usual depredations on the passing gee 
eration. My sons had arrived at the age when 
the paternal home was no longer their best abode 



ROKEBY. 



293 



ta both ^vsrt destined t\. ac.tivo I'fo. The field- 
sports, to -which 1 was peculiarly attached, had 
now less interest, aiid were lophiced by other 
amusements of a more quiet character ; and the 
means and opportunity of pursuing tliese were to 
be sought for. I liad, indeed, for some years at- 
tended to farming, a knowledge of wliich is, or at 
least was then, indispensable to the comfort of a 
fiimily residing in a solitary country-house ; but 
although this was the favorite amusement of many 
of my fiiends, I hare never been able to consider 
it as a somce of pleasure. I never could think it 
a matter of passing importance, that my cattle or 
ci'ops were better or more plentiful than those of 
my neighbors, and nevertheless 1 began to feel the 
necessity of some more quiet out-door occupation, 
diiferent fi-om those I bad hitherto pursued. I 
purchased a small farm of about one himdicd 
acres, with the purpose of planting and improving 
it, to wliich property cu"cumstances afterwards 
enabled me to make considerable additions ; and 
thus an era took place in my Hfe almost equal to 
the important one mentioned by the Vicar of 
Wakefield, when he removed from the Blue-room 
to the Brown. In point of neighborhood, at least, 
the change of residence made Uttle more diifer- 
ence. Abbotsford, to which we removed, was 
only six or seven miles down the Tweed, and lay 
on the -same beautiful stream. It did not possess 
the romimtic character of Ashestiel, my former 
residence ; but it had a stretch of meadow-land 
tlong the river, and possessed, in the phrase of 
»he landscape-gardener, considerable capabilities. 
Above all, the hmd was my own, like Uncle To- 
by's Bowling-green, to do what I would with. It 
bad been, though the gratification was long post- 
poned, an early wish of mine to connect myself 
with my mother earth, and prosecute those exper- 
iments by which a species of creative power is 
exercised over the face of nature. I can trace, 
even to childhood, a pleasure derived from Bods- 
ley's account of Shenstone's Leasowes, and I cn- 
ried the poet much more for the pleasure of ac- 
complisliing the objects detailed in liis friend's 
sketch of his grounds, than for the possession of 
pipe, crook, flock, and Phillis to boot. My mem- 
ory, ahn, tenacious of quamt expressions, still re- 
tuned a phrase which it had gathered fr«m an old 
almanac of Charles the Second's tune (when every 
thing down to almanacs affected to be smart), in 
which the reader, in the month of June, is advised 
for health's sake to walk a mile or two every day 
before breakfast, and if he can possibly so man- 
age, to let his exercise be taken upon his own land. 
With the satisfaction of having attained the 
fulfilment of an early and long-cherished hope, I 
commenced my improvements, as debghtful in 
Iheir progress as those of the child who fiist makes 



a dress for a new doll. The nakedness of the land 
was in time hidden by woodlands of considerable 
extent — the smallest of possible cottages was pro- 
gressively expanded into a sort of dream of a 
mansion-house, wlumsical in the exterior, but con- 
venient within. Nor did I forget what is the nat- 
ural pleasm'e of every man who has V^een a reaJ 
er; I mean the filUng the shelvfiS of a tolerablv 
large hbrary. All these objects I kept in view, 
to be executed as convenience should serve ; and, 
although I knew many years must elapse before 
they could be attained, I was of a disposition to 
comfort myself with the Spanish proverb, ' Time 
and I against any two." 

The difficult and indispensable point, of finding 
a penn;uient subject of occupation, was now at 
length attained ; but there was annexed to it the 
necessity of becoming again a candidate for pubUc 
favor ; for, as I was turned improver on the earth 
of the every-day world, it was under condition 
that the small f enement of Parnassus, which might 
be accessible to my labors, should not remain un 
cultivated. 

I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject Oi 
Bruce, hi which I made some progress, but after 
wm-ds judged it advisable to lay it aside, suppo 
sing that an English stoi-j' might have more nov- 
elty ; ui con.sequence, the precedence was giver 
to " Rokeby." 

If subject iuid scenery could have inilueneed the 
fate of a poem, that of " Rokeby" should have been 
eminently distinguished ; for the gromids belonged 
to a dear friend, with whom 1 bad lived in habits 
of intimacy for many years, and the place itself 
united the romantic beauties of the wilds of Scot 
land with the rich and sniUing aspect of the south 
ern portion of the island. But the CavaUers and 
Roundheails. whom 1 attempted to summon up to 
tenant this beautiful region, bad for the public 
neither the novelty nor the peculiar interest of the 
primitive Highlanders, Tliis, perhaps, was scarce- 
ly to be expected, considering that the general 
mind sympathizes readUy and at once with the 
stamp wliich nature herself has affixed upon the 
manners of a people living in a simple and patri- 
archiil state ; whereas it has more difficulty in 
understanding or interesting itself in manners 
founded upon those peculiar habits of thinldng or 
actmg, which are produced by the progress of so- 
ciety. We could read with pleasure the tale of 
the adventures of a Cossack or a Mongol Tartar, 
while we only wonder and stare over those of the 
lovers in the " Pleasing Chinese Histoiy," where 
the embaiTassments turn upon difficulties arising 
out of unintelligible delicacies peciiUar to the ens 
toms and manners of that affected people. 

The c;xuse of my failure had, however, a far 
deeper root. The manner, or style, which, by it» 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



novelty, attracted the |niblic in an unusual degi'ee, 
had now, after having been tliree times before 
them, exhausted the patience of the reader, and 
began iu the fourth to lose its charms. The re- 
viewers may be said to have apostrophized the 
author in the languime of Pai-nell's Edwin : — 

" And here reverse the charm, lie cries, 
And let it fairly now auHice, 
The gamhol has heen shown." 

The hcentious combination of rhymes, in a man 
oer not perhaps very congenial to our language, 
had not been coriined to the author. Indeed, in 
most similar cttses, the inventors of such novelties 
have their reputation destroyed by their own inii- 
lators, as Actteon fell under the fury of his own 
doge. Tht! present author, like Bobadil, had taught 
his trick of fence to a hundred gentlemen (and la- 
dies'), who could fence very nearly or quite as 
well as Iiimself. For this there wtis no remedy ; 
the harmony became tiresome and ordinary, and 
both the original inventor and his invention must 
have fallen into contempt if he had not found out 
another road to public favor. What has been said 
of the metre only, must be considered to apply 
equally to the structure of the Poem and of the 
style. The very best passages of any popular 
si le ar£ not, periiaps, susceptible of imitation, 
btt they may be approached by men of talent ; 
and those who are less able to copy them, at least 
lay hold of their pecuhar features, so as to pro- 
duce a strong burlesque. In either way, the effect 
of the manner is rendered cheap and common ; 
and, in the latter case, ridiculous to boot. The 
evil consequences to an author's reputation are at 
least as fata! as those which come upon the musi- 
cal composer, when liis melody falls into the hands 
of the street ballad-singer. 

Of the unfavorable species of imitation, the au- 
thor's style gave room to a very large numt^ir, 
owuig to an appearance of facility to wliich some 
of those who used the measure unquestionably 
leaned too far. The effect of the more ftxvorable 
imitations, composed by persons of talent, was al- 
most equally unfortunate to the original minstrel, 
by showing that they could overshoot him with liis 
own bow. In short, the popularity which once at- 
tended the School, as it wa.s called, was now fast 
decaying. 

» " Scott found peculiar favor and imitation among the fair 
Bex: there was iVlisa ilalford. and Miss Mitford, and Miss 
Francis ; but, with the greatest respect be it spoken, none ol 
his. imitators did much honor to the original, except Hogg, the 
Ettrick Shepherd, until tlie appearance of the ' Bridal of Trier- 
main', anil 'Harold the Dauntless,' which, in the opinion of 
some, equalled, if not surpassed, him ; and to 1 after three or 
four years, they turned ont to ho the Master's own composi- 
uont>." — Byron's fiorks. vol. xv. p. 96. 

* " Those two Caftos were publislie{i in London in March, 



Besides all this, to have kept liis gi'ound at iha 
crisis when " Rokeby" appeared, its author oughi 
to have put forth his utmost strength, aud to have 
possessed at least all liis original advantages, for a 
mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on 
the stage- a rival not in poetical powers only, but 
hi that art of attracting popularity, m which the 
present vrriter had hitherto preceded bettor men 
than himself. The reader will easily see that 
Byron is here meant, who. after a Uttle velitation 
of no great promise, now appeared as a serious 
canditlate, in the " First two Cantos of Childe Har- 
old."* I was astonished at the power evinced by 
that work, which neither the " Hom-s of Idleness," 
nor the " Enghsh Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 
had prepared me to expect from its author. There 
was a depth in his thought, an eager abundance in 
his diction, which arguetl full confidence in the in- 
exhaustible resources of which he felt lumself pos- 
sessed ; and there was some appearance of that 
labor of the file, which iadicaif f that the autlior 
is conscious of the necessity of doing i^very justice 
to liis work, that it may pass warrant. Z-ord By- 
ron was also a traveller, a man wh^.'se ideas we:e 
fired by having seen, in distant scenes of difficulty 
and danger, the places whose very names are re- 
corded in our bosoms as the sliruies of ancient 
poetry. For liis own misfortune, perhaps, but cei^ 
tainly to the high increase of his poetical charac- 
ter, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system thrvi* 
passions which agitate the human heart with most 
violence, and which may be said to have hurried 
his bright career to an early close. There would 
have been little wisdom in measuring my force 
with so formidable an antagonist ; .and I was aa 
Ukely to tire of playing the second fiddle iu the 
concert, as my audience of hearing me. Age also 
was advancing. I was growing insensible to those 
subjects of excitation by wliich youth is agitated. 
I had around me the most pleastmt but least ex- 
citing of all society, that of kind friends and an af 
fectionate family. My circle of employments was 
a narrow one ; it occupied me constantly, and it 
became daily more tlifiicult for me to uiterest my- 
self in poetical composition : — 

" How happily the days ofThalaha went by I'-* 

Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the 
opinion of good judges, inferior to thn place I had 

1812, and immediately placed their author on a level with tho 
very highest names of his age. The impression they created 
w.ia more uniform, deci:. e, and triumphant than any that 
had heen witnessed in this country for at least two generations. 
' I awoke one morning,' he says, ' and found myself famous. 
In truth, he had fi.Ted hiraself, at a single bound, on u sum 
mit, such a3 no English poet had ever before attained, but 
after a long succession of painful and comparativoly neglected 
efforts." — .advertisement to Byron's JA'e and IVorkB, vof 
viii. 



KOREBY. 



291 



fcr four or five years held in letters, and feeling 
alike thiit the latter was oni; to which I had only 
a temporary right, I coidd not brook the idea of 
relinquishing hterary occupation, which had been 
80 long my chief diversion. Neither was I disposed 
to choose the alternative of sinking into a mere 
editor and commentator, though that was a species 
of labor which I had practised, and to wliich I was 
attached. But 1 could not endure to think that I 
might not, whether known or concealed, do some- 
thing of more importance. My inmost thoughts 
were those of the Trojan captain in the galley race,— 

" Non jam, prima jielo. Mneslhea?, neque vincere certo ; 
Qnanquara O ! — sed siipereiil, quibos hoc, Neplune, dedisti ; 
Extremos puileat rediisse : hoc vincile, cives, 
Et proliihete nefas."> — Ais. lib. v. 194. 

I had, indeed, some private reasons for my 
'Quanquam I" which were not worse than those 

1 *' I seelt not now the foremost palm to gain ; 

Tliough ytl — bat ah 1 that haughty wish is vain t 
Let tliose enjoy it wliom Ilie gods ordain. 
B-jt to be last, llie lags of all tlie race ! — 
Rfdeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.'* 

Dryi>kn. 
a * Tieorge KJlis and Murray t^ive been talking something 
ibom Scott &nd me, George pro Scoto, — and very right too. 



of Mnestheus. 1 have already hinted that the ma 
terials were collected for a poem on the stibject of 
Bruce, and fragments of it had been shown to somis 
of my friends, and received with applause. Not- 
withstanding, therefore, the eminent success of 
Byron, antl the great chimce of his taking the wind 
out of my sails,* there was, I judged, a species of 
cowardice in desisting from the task wliich I had 
undertaken, and it was time enough to retreat 
when the battle sliould be more decidedly lost. 
The sale of " Rokeby," excepting as compared with 
that of " The Lady of the Lake," was in the high- 
est degree respectable ; and as it included fifteen 
hundred quartos,' in those quarto-reading days 
the trade had no reason to be dissatisfied. 



W.S. 



Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 



If they want to depose him, I only wish they would not set mo 
up as a competitor. I like the man — and admire his works to 
what Mr. Braham calls EnUisymusy. All such stuff can only 
vei him, and do me no good." — Byron's Diary, JVoo., VdVi 
— Works, vol. ii. p. 259. 

3 The 4to Edition was published by John Ballantyneand Cc 
£2 2a. in Jauu aiy, 1813. 



Hokcbg: 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



J H N B. 8. M O R R I T T, E s Q.. 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY, 
JS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY 

WALTER SCOTT* 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokehy^ near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjactn^ 
fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that Vicinity. 

TJie lime occupied by the Action is a space of Five Bays, Three of which are supposed to elapst 
between the end of tite Fifth and heginniyiy of the Sixth Canto. 

The date of the supposed evcjits is immediately subsequent to the great Battle of Marston Moor, Sd 
■Inly, 1644. This period of public confusio?i has been chosen, without any purpose of combini7ig the 
Fable With the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of proba- 
bility to the Fictitious Narrative 7iow presented to the Public.^ 



Holfcbg. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 

The Moon is in her summer glow, 
But hoarse and liigh the breezes blow. 
And, racking; o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her slu-oud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees'a stream,* 
She changes as a guilty dream, 

Oet, 31. 1812. 

' " Beliold another lay from the harp of that indefatigp-ble 
D.instie' w!io has so often provoked the censare, and exiortdi 
the admliation of his critics ; and who, regardless of both, and 
following every impulse of his own inclination, has yet raised 
himself at once, and apparently with little effort, to tlie pinnacle 
of pnblic favor. 

" A poem thus recommended may be presumed to have 
already reached the whole circle of our readers, and we be- 
rieve that all those readers will concur with us in considering 
Rokeby as a composition, which, if it had preceded, instead of 
following, Marmiori, and the Lady of the Lake, would have 
Dontributed, as effectually as they have done, to the establish- 
wen< «f Mr. Scott' high reputation. Whether, timed as it 



When conscience, with remorse and fear, 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame, 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame. 
Shifting that shade, to come ar*! go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glo\v 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies in dai'kness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth, 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 

now i3, it be lik v to aatisfy tlie just expectations wnicn in.* 
reputation has e 'ited, j a question whicli, perhaps, will iic 
be decided with tne same unanimity. Oar own opinion ia in 
the affirmative, but we confevis that this is our revised opinion , 
and that when we concluded our first perusal of Rokeby, our 
gratificatici was ;iot quite unmixed with disappointmen:. 
The refiections by whicli this impression has been subseqcent- 
ly modified, aiiae cat of our general view of the poem ; of ttic 
interest inspired by the fable; of the masterly delineations of 
the charac'.ers by whose agency the plot is unravelled ; and of 
the spirited nervous conciseness of the narrative." - Quarterly 
RtvieiB, No. xvi. 

5 See Aiuiendix. Note A. 



CANTO I. ROKEBY. 29? 


Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 


Relax'd that gra.sp, the heavy sigh, 


By fits tlie plasliing riiin-drop fall,' 


The tear in the half opening eye. 


Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 


The pidUd cheek and brow, confess'd 


And wiap3 his shaggy mantle round. 


That grief was busy in his breast ; 




Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 


II. 


Impell'd tho life-blood from the heart ; 


rbose ton-er.s, which in the changeful gleam' 


Features convulsed, and mutterings dread. 


Tlirow murky shadows on the stream, 


Show terror reigns in sorrow's .stead. 


Those towers of Barnard hold a guest. 


That pang the painful slumber broke,* 


The eKotions of whose troubled breast. 


And Oswald with a start awoke.' 


In wild and strange confusion driven. 




Rival the flittuig rack of lieaven. 


IV. 


Ere sleep stem Oswald's senses tied. 


He woke, and fear'd again to close 


Oft had he changed liis weary side. 


His eyeUds in such dire repose ; 


Composed liis Umbs, and vainly sought 


He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 


By effort strong to banish thought. 


From hoiu" to hour the castle-bell. 


Sleep came at length, but with a train 


Or liaten to the owlet's cry. 


Of feehngs true' and fancies vain. 


Or the sad breeze tliat whistles by. 


MingUng, in wild disorder cast, 


Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rliyme 


The expected future with the past. 


With which the warder cheats the timo. 


Conscience, anticipating time, 


And envying think, how, when the sun 


Already rues the enacted crime, 


Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 


Ajid rails her furies forth, to shake 


Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free, 


Tlie sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 


He sleeps like ctireless infancy. 


■While lier poor victim's outwai-d throes 




Bear witness to liis mental woes, 


V. 


And show what lesson may be read 


Far town-ward sounds a distant tread 


Beside a sinner's restless bed. 


And Oswald, starting from liis bed, 




Hath caught it, though no Imman ear 


III. 


Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear. 


Thus Oswald's laboring feelings trace 


Could e'er distinguish horse's clank 


Strange changes in liis sleeping face. 


Until it reach'd the castle bank.' 


Rapid and ominous as these 


Now nigh and plain the sound appears. 


With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 


The wartler's challenge now he hears ;' 


There might be seen of shame the blush. 


Then clanking chains and levers tell, 


There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 


That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 


While the perturbed sleeper's band 


And, in the caatlo com't below. 


Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 


Voices are heard, and torches glow. 


' Tilts couplet is not in the original MS. 


The spur hath lanced his coureer's sides; 


' iVIS. " shifting g!eam." 


Away, away, for life he ricies. 


8 MS.—'- Of feelings real, and fancies vain.'" 


'Twas but a moment that he stood, 


* MS. — " Nor longer nature bears the shock. 


Tlipn sped as if by death pursued, 


Tliat pang the siumherer awolte." 


But in that instant o'er his soul. 


* There appears some reseriiblance betwLxt the visions of 
>>iralil's sleep and the waking-dream of the Giaour ; — 


Winters of memory seera'd to roll. 

And gatlier in that drop of time. , 

A life of pain, an age of crime." 


'* He t'ood.— Some dread waa on his face. 


BvRON'a Works, vol. ix. p. 1.11 


Boon Hatred settled in its place ; 


• MS — " Till underneath the castle bank. 


It rose not with the reddening flush 


J^^igh and more nigh the sound appeals. 


Of transient Anger's hasty blush, 


The warder's challenge ne.\t lie hears " 


But pale as marble o'er the tomb, 
Wl.ose ghastly whitenes-s aids it.s gloom. 


' See Appendix, Note B. 


ll'j brow was bent, his eye was glazed ; 


"The nat'jral superiority of the instrument over the em 


He raised his arm, and fiercely raised. 


ployer, of bold, unhesitating, practised vice, over timiil, sel 


And r.ernly shook his hand on high. 


fish, crafty iniquity, is very finely painted ihroughout the whoU 


Ab doubting to return or fly ; 


of this scene, and the dialogue that ensues. That the mind oi 


liUNatient of his flight delay'd. 


Wyclifl'e, vvroQght to the utmost agony of suspense, has givea 


Hero loud his raven charger neigh'd— 


such acuteness to his bodily organs, as to enable him to ilistin 


Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade ; 


guish the approach of his hired bravo, while at a distance b^ 


That sound had burst Iiis waking-dream. 


yond the leacli of common hearing, is grandly imagiiied« altd 


As slumber starts at owlet's scream. 
38 


admirably true to natun-."— Crt/icay Review 



298 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As marshalUug the stranger's way, 


Tidmgs of deep and dread concern, 


Straight for the room where Oswald lay ; 


Cursing each moment that liis guest 


The cry was,—" Tidings from the host,' 


Protracted o'er his ruffian feast." 


')( weight — a messenger comes post." 


Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, 


Stifling the tumult of his breast, 


The end of that uncouth repast, 


His answer Oswald thus express'd — 


Almost he seem'd then- haste to rue, 


' Brinf,' food and wme, and trim the fire • 


As, at his sign, liis train withdrew, 


Admit the stranger, and retire. ' 


And left Mm with the stranger, free 




To question of liis mystery. 


VI. 


Then did his silence long proclaim 


The stranger came with heavy stride, 


A struggle between fear and shame. 


rhe morion's plumes his visage liide, 




And the buff-coat, an ample fold. 


VIII. 


Mantles his form's gigantic mould.' 


Much in the stranger's mien appears, 


Full slender answer deign'ed he 


To justify suspicious fears. 


To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 


On his dark face a scorchuig clime, 


But mark'd, by a disdainful smile. 


And toil, had done the work of tune, 


He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 


Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared. 


When Oswald changed the torch's place. 


And s,able hairs with silver sh.ared. 


Anxious that on the soldier's face* 


Yet left — what age alone could tame — 


Its par-tial lustre might be tlu-own, 


The lip of pride, the eye of flame ;" 


To show his looks, yet hide liis own. 


The full-drawn lip that upward curl'd. 


His guest, the while, laid low aside 


Tlie eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. 


The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 


That hp had terror never blench'd ; 


And to the torch glanced broad and clear 


Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd 


The corslet of a cuirassier ; 


The flash severe of swarthy glow, 


Then from liis brows the casque he drew, 


Tliat mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 


And from the dank plume dash'd the dew 


Inured to danger's cUrest form. 


From gloves of mail reheved his hands," 


Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm. 


And spread them to the kindUng brands, 


Death had he seen by sudden blow, 


And, turning to the genial board,' 


By wasting plague, by tortures slow," 


' 'Without a liealth, or pledge, or wo) ' 


By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 


Of meet and social reverence said, 


Knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all 


Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ;' 




As free from ceremony's sway. 


IX. 


As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 


But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look, 




Unmoved, could blood and danger brook, 


VII. 


Still worse than apathy had place 


With deep impatience, tinged with fear^ 


On his swart brow and callous face ; 


His host beheld him gorge liis cheer 


For evil passions, cherish'd long. 


And quaff the full carouse, that lent 


Had plough'd them with impressions sfrong 



His bi't)w a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
Now paced the room with hasty stride. 
In feverish agony to learn 



1 MS. — ** The cry was — ' Heringham cornea posl, 
With tidings of n battle lost.' 
As one that roused himself frorr rest, 
His answer," Stc. 

> MS." " with heavy pace, 

The pinmed morion iud his face " 
3 See Appendix, Note C. 
MS. — " That fell npon the stranger's face." 

■ MS. '* lie freed his hands." 

" MS. — " Then tumM to the replenish'd board.'' 
' " The description of Bertram whicli follows, is highly pic- 
turesque ; ard tiie rude air of conscious superiority with which 
ae treats his employer, prepares the reader to enter into the 
full Hpiril of "lis character. These, and many other little cir- 



All tliat gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, past with youth away, 
But rooted stood, in manliood's hour, 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 



cnmstances, which none but a poetical mind could have coii 
ceived, give great rehef to the stronger touches with whicl 
this excellent sketch is completed.*'— Critical Review. 

s MS. — " Protracted o'er his savage feast. 
Vet with alarm lie saw at last." 

» " As Roderick rises above Marmion, so Bertram ascends 
above Roderick Dhu in awfulness of stature and strength o( 
coloring. We have trembled at Roderick ; but we look with 
doubt and suspicion at the very shadow of Bertram — and, ar 
we approach him, we shrink with terror and antipathy Iiona 

' The lip of pride, the eye cf flame.' " 

British Critte. 
*» See Apl^endix, NoLe D. 



CANTO 1. 



ROKEBY. 



299 



And yet the soil in which they grew, 
Had it been tamed when life was new, 
Had depth and vigor to bring forth' 
Tne hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had been reiiued 
To bounty in liis chasten'd mind. 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed. 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic then no more, liis pride 
Had ta'en fair vutue for its guide. 



Even now, by conscience umestrain'd, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain'd, 
Still knew his dai'ing soul to soar. 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heai't less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard.' 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train, 
To lure lis sidien guest to show, 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know. 
While on fiir other subject hung 
His heart, than falter'd from his tongue.' 
Yet naught for that liis guest did deign 
To note or spare liis secret pain. 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
Return'd him answer dark and short. 
Or stai'ted from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange, 
And forced the embarrass'd host to buy. 
By query close, duect reply. 

XI. 

A wliile he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church Ref.irm'd — but felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look, 
Then stammer'd — " Has a field been fought ? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought? 



1 MS. — " Show'd deptli and vigor to bring forlli 
The jtol/iest fruits of virtuoas worth. 
Then had the last of gold accoret 
Been jost ;n glory's nobler tliirst. 
And deep revenge for trivial cause, 
Beer, zew fof freedom and for laws 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair honor for its goide." 

' MS. " stern regard.'* 

' "The ' mastery' obtained by such a being as Bertram ovei 
the limij wickedness of inferior villains, is well delineated in 
the conduct of Oswald, who, though he had not hesitated to 
TTOpo^ to him the murder of his kinsman, is described as feai^ 
Ing to ask him the direct question, johether the crime has 
teen accomplished. We must confess, for our own parts, that 
^9 did not, till we came to the second reading of the canto, 
jerceivethe propriety, and even the moral beauty, of this cir* 
'omslance. We are now quite convinced that, in introaucing 



For sure a soldier, famed so far 

In foreign fields for feats of war, 

On eve of fight ne'er left the host. 

Until the field were won and lost." 

" Here, in your towers by circUng Tees, 

You, Oswald WycUfte, rest at ease ;* 

Why deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home. 

From fields where danger, death, and toil, 

Are the reward of civil broU ?" — " 

" Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we know 

The near advances of the foe. 

To mai- our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,' 

And must have fought — how went the day V - 

XII. 

" Wouldst hear the tale ? — On Marston heatV 

Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 

Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, aud now 

Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow 

On either side loud clamors ring, 

'God and the Cause !' — ' God and the King I 

Right Enghsh all, they rush'd to blows, 

With naught to win, and all to lose. 

I could have laugh'd — but lack'd the timfr- 

To see, in phrenesv sublime, 

How the fierce zealots fought and bled. 

For king or st.ate, as humor led ; 

Some for a dream of public good. 

Some for church-tippet, gown and hood. 

Draining their veins, in death to claim 

A patriot's or a niarryr's name. — 

Led Bertram Risiiigham the hearts,' 

That counter'd there on adverse parts. 

No superstitious fool had I 

Sought EI Dorados in the sky ! 

Chili had heard me through her states, 

And Lima oped her silver gates. 

Rich Mexico I had march'd tlirough. 

And sack'd the splendors of Peru, 

it, the poet has been guided by an accurate perception of th« 
intricacies of human nature. The scene between King Jcha 
and Hubert may probably have been present to his mind wneo 
he composed the dialogue between Oswald and his terrible 
agent ; but it will be observed, that the sitaa'ions of the re- 
epective personages are materially difl'erent ; the mysterious 
caution in which Shakspeare's usurper is made to involve th() 
proposal of his crime, springs from motives undoubtnily mora 
obvious and immediate, but not more consistent with truth ant" 
probability, than that with which Wycliffe conceals the drift 
of his fearful interrogatories." — Critical Revieio. 

* MS. — " Safe sit you, Oswald, and at ease." 

s MS. — " Award the meed of civil broil." 

" MS. — *' Thy horsemen on the outposts lay." 

' See Appendix, Note E. 

f MS.—" Led f but half of such bold hearU 
/i» counter'd there," &c 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO L 



Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Coitez, thine, in Bertram's fame." — ' 
" Still from the purpose wUt thou stray I 
Good gentle friend, hovr went the day !" — 

XIII. 
" Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound. 
And good where goblets dance the round, 
Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now, 
With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. — 
But I resume. The battle's rage 
Was like the strife wliich currents wage. 
Where Orinoco, in liis pride, 
RoUs to the main no tribute tide. 
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
A rival sea of roaring war ; 
While, in ten tliousand eddies driven, 
The billows fling their foam to heaven, * 

And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 
Wliere rolls the river, where the main. 
Even thus upon the bloody field. 
The eddying tides of conflict wlieel'd^ 
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame, 
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came 
Hurling against our spears a line 
Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 
Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 
In zeal's despite began to reel. 
What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost, 
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 
A thousand men who drew the sword 
For both the Houses and the Word, 
Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and down, 
To curb the crosier and the crown. 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in gore. 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
Thus fared it, when I left the fight. 
With the good Cause and Commons' right," — 

XIV. 
" Disastrous news 1" dark WycUffe said ; 
Assumed despondence bent liis head. 



' Tlie Uuarterly Reviewer (No. xvi.) thus slates Ihu canses 
if the hesitation he had Jiad in arriving at the ultimate opin- 
on, Ihttt Rokeby \v:\3 worthy of the " liigh praise" already 
quoted from the commencement of his article : — " We con- 
fess, then, that in ihe language and versification of Ihis poem, 
)re were, in tlie first instance, disappointed. We do not mean 
lo f^y that either is invariably faulty ; neither is it within the 
power of accident that the conceptions of a vigorous and highly 
cultivated mind, should uniformly invest themselves in trivial 
expressions, or in dissonant rhymes; hut we ilo think that 
those golden lines, which spontaneously fasten themselves on 
the memory of the render are more rare, and that instances of 
& culpable and almost slovenly inattention to the usual rules 
of diction and of metre, are more liequent in this, than in any 
preceding work of Mr. Scott. In sujiport of this opinion, we 
adduce the following quotation, which occurs in stanza xii. : 
and in the course oif a description which is, in some parts, un- 
'nually splendid^ 



While troubled joy was in his eye, 

The weil-feign'd sorrow to behe, — 

" Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 

Told ye not that yoiu: chiefs were lost ? 

Complete the woful tale, and say. 

Who fell upon that fatal day ; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame.' 

If such my direst foeman's doom, 

My tears shall dew his honor'd tomb. — 

No answer ? — Friend, of all our host. 

Thou know'st whom I should hate the most. 

Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate. 

Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate." — 

With look uimioved, — " Of friend or foe, 

Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst tliou know 

Dem.and in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; — 

For question dark, or riddle high, 

1 have nor judgment nor reply." 

XV. 
The wrath his art and fear suppress'd, 
Now blazed at once in WycUffe's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly born, 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
"Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ' 
Philip of Mortiiam, lives he yet ? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Ti'ait'rous or perjured, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight ?" — 
Then from liis seat the soldier sprtmg. 
And WycUffe's hand he strongly wrimg ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
Forceil the red blood-drop from the nail — 
" A health !" he cried ; and, ere he quaff'd, 
Flung from him Wyoliffe's hand, and laugh'd : 
— " Now, Oswald Wy clifFe, speaks thy heart I 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear. 
Like me to roam a bucanier. 

' Led Bertram Risingham the hearts.' 

to 

' And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.' 

"The author surely, cannot require to be told, that t»t 
feebleness of these jingling couplets is less offensive tliau tlicii 
obscurity. Tlie first line is unintelligible, because the condi- 
tional worii 'if,' on wliicii the meaning depends, is neither ex . 
prcsseil nor implied in it ; and the tliird line is equally faulty, 
because the sentence, when r^tored to its natural order, car 
only express the exact converse of the speaker's intention. W« 
think it necessary to remonstrate against these barbarous iover 
sions, because we consider the rules of grammar as the oul] 
shackles by which the Uudibrastic metre, already so hcentioin 
can be confined within tolerable limits." tj 

2 MS.—" The doubtful tides of battle reel'il " " 
s MS. — " Chose death in oreterence to shame. 



SANTO I 



ROKEBY. 



301 



What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 


Wlien Mortham bade me, as of yore, 


If Morthani's wealth and liuida be tliiue i 


Be near liim in the battle's roar. 


"What carest thou for beleaguer'd York, 


I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 


If tliis good hand have done its work ? 


I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 


Or what, though Fairfiix and his best 


Lost was the war in inward strife,- 


Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 


Debating Mortham's death or hfe. 


If Phihp Morthara witli them lie, 


'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come, 


Lending his hfe-blood to the dye ? — * 


As partner of his wealth and home, 


Sit, then ! and as 'mid comrades free 


Years of piratic wandering o'er. 


Carousing after victory. 


With him I sought our native shore. 


When tales are told of blood and fear, 


But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 


That boys and womeu^ shrink to hear. 


From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 


From point to point I frankly tell' 


Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 


The deed of death as it befell 


Sadden'd and dimni'd descending years ; 




The wUy priests their victim sought, 


XVI. 


And damn'd each free-born' deed and thought 


" When purposed vengeance I forego, 


Then must I seek another home : 


Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 


My Ucense shook his sober dome ; 


And when an insult I forgive,* 


If gold he gave, in one wild day 


Then brand nie as a slave, and Uve ! — 


I revell'd thrice the sum away. 


Philip of Mortham is with those 


An idle outcast then I stray'd, 


Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 


Unfit for tillage or for trade. 


Or whom more sure revenge attends,' 


Deem'd, hke the steel of rusted lancp 


If number'd with ungrateful friends. 


Useless and dangerous at once. 


As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 


The women fear'd my hardy look, 


Along the marshall'd ranks he rode, 


At my approach the peaceful shook , 


And wore his visor up the while. 


The merchant saw my glance of flame. 


I saw his melancholy smile, 


And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came ; 


When, full opposed in front, he knew 


Each child of coward peace kept far 


Where Rokebv's kindred banner flew. 


From the neglected son of war-. 


' And thus,' he said, ' will fi'iends divide !' — 




I heard, and thought how, side by side, 


XVIIL 


We two had turn'd the battle's tide. 


" But civil discord gave the call, 


In many a well-debated field, 


And made my trade the trade of alL 


Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 


By Mortham urged, I came again 


I thought on Darien's deserts pale. 


His vassals to the fight to train. 


Where death bestrides the evenmg gale, 


What guerdon waited on my care ?* 


How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 


I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 


And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 


Som- fanatics each trust obtam'd. 


I thought on Quariana's cliff. 


And I, dishonor'd and disdain'd, , 


Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 


Gain'd but the high and happy lot, 


Through the white breakers' wiath I bore 


In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 


Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 


All this thou know'st, thy gestiu-es tell 


And when his side an arrow found. 


Yet hear it o'er, and mark it wolL 


I swck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 


'Tis honor bids me now relate 


These thoughts like torrents rush'd along,' 


Each circimistauce of Mortham's fate. 


To sweep away my purpose strong. 


XIX. 


■ XVIL 


" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part. 


" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent 


Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 


Heai'ts are not steel, and steel is bent. 


As my spur press'd my coiurser's side, 


.MS.—" And heart's-blood lent to aid tlie dye ! 


6 MS. — " Whom sorest his revenge attends. 


Sit, then ! and as to comrades boon 


If number'd once among his friends." 


Carousing for achievement won." 
MS. —"That boys and cowards," &c. 
• MS.—" Frank, as from mate to mate, I tell 
What way the deed of death befell." 


8 MS. — " These thoughts rush'd on, like torrent's twky 

To sweep my stern resolve away." 
' MS.—" Each liberal deed." 


' MS- -" Name when an insult I forgave. 


• MS.—" But of my labor what the meed J 


And, Oswald Wycliffe, cal me slave." 


I coula not cant of church or ci«»H * 



ao2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1 



Philip of Mortliam's cause was tried, 
And, ere the charging squadrons mbc'd, 
His plea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 
I watcli'd liim through the doubtful fray, 
That ch ringed as March's moody day,* 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank,'' 
Fierce Rupert thunder'd on our flank. 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
Where each man fought for death or life, 
'Twas tlien I fii'ed my petronel. 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast, 
Of wrath iuid anguish — 'twas his last. 
Think not that tliere I stopp'd, to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 
Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news,' 
How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.' 
Yet when I reach'd the banks of Swale, 
Had rumor learn'd another tale ; 
With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say. 
Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day :^ 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you." 

XX. 

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown. 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which liis complice, fierce and free. 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terrhs his speech he wove. 
Of endle.ss friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promised and vow'd in courteous sort. 
But Bertram broke profession short. 
" Wycliife, be sure not here I stay. 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warn'd by the legends of my youth,' 
f trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Train'd forward to his bloody fall. 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ?' 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side, 

I MS. — " That changed as with a vvliirlwinii's away." 

On thy war^hoRe through the ranks. 
Like a stream which burst its banks." 

Byron's ff^orks, vol. s. d. ' 

8 MS. — " Hot Rupert or the s|iur pnr^Qes ; 

VVliole troops of fliers choked the Otiae.'* 

* See Appendix, Note F. 

* 9ee Appendix, Koto G 



The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risingham,* 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has sho^vn 
An outlaw's image on the stone ;" 
ITmnatch'd in strength, a giant he. 
With quiver'd back," and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
Tlie tameless monarch of the wold. 
And age and infancy can tell. 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warn'd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 
" When last we reason'd of this deed. 
Naught, I bethink me, was agreed. 
Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list, while I the portion name. 
Our differing laws give eacli to clami. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's tlu-oue. 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 
And those I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the Bucanier." 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne, 
When falls a mate in battle broil, 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil; 
When dies in fight a daring foe. 
He clahns his wealth who struck the blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines. 
Hoarded in Mortliam's caverns dark ;. 
Ligot of gold and diamond spark, 
ChaUce and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn. 
Each string of pearl each silver bar, 
And all the wealtli of western war. 
I go to search, where, dark and deep, 
Tliose Trans-atlantic fieasm-es sleep. 
Thou must along — fnr, lacking thee. 
The heii- will scarce find entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to t"-y 

* MS. — '* Taught by the legends of m> y*-nt> 
To trust to no associate's tiUtS.'* 

' See Appendix, Note H. 

& MS.—" Still by the spot that gave me nar* 
The moated rain'i of K'singham, 
A giatit lurUi til,,' sLaugw-f se^. 
Half hid by rifled rocks ami tl«e«." 

8 See Appendix, Note I. 

10 MS.—" With bow in hand," &Q 

Ji See Appendix, Nate K 



jANTO I. ROKEBY. 


30iJ 


Each v.iried pleasure wealth can buy ; 


Of numerous sons were WyclilTe's grace, 


When cloy'd cadi wish, tliese wars airord 


On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand. 




Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 


For feeble heart and forceless liand ; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 




XXIL 


Were centred in her sickly boy. 




An undecided answer hung 


No touch of cliildhood's frolic mood 




On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 


Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 




Dejpite his craft, lie heiu-d with awe 


Hour after horn- he loved to pore 




ThJ3 ruffian slabber fix the law ; 


On Sh.akspeare's rich and varicil lore. 




While Ills Dwn troubled passions veer 


But turn'd from martial scenes and light. 




Thi-ough hatred, joy, regret, and fear : — 


From Falstaff's feast and Percy's flight. 




Joy'd at tl.3 soul that Bertram flies, 


To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 




He grudged the murderer's mighty prize. 


And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain , 




Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 


Anu weep himself to soft repose 




Aiid fear'd t') wend with him alone. 


O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 




At length, that middle comsc to steer. 






To cowardice and craft so dear. 


XXV. 




' His charge," he s.'ud, " would ill allow 


In youth he sought not pleasures found 




His absence from the fortress now ; 


By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 




Wilfrid on Bertram should attend, 


But loved the quiet joys that wake 




His son should jomney with his friend." 


By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to he. 




SXIII. 


Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 




Contempt ke])t Bertram's anger down. 


To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 




And wroathefl to savage smile liis frown. 


Or lone Pendragou's mound to suek.^ 




" Wilfrid, or thou^'tis one to me, 


Such was his wont ; and there his dream 




Whichever bears the golden key. 


Soar'd on som-? wild fantastic tlieme 




Yet thbik not but I mark, and smile 


Of faithful love, or ceaseless spiing, 




To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 


Till Contemplation's wearied wing 




If injury from me you fear. 


The enthusiast could no more sustain. 




What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here J 


And sad he sunk to eai'th again. 




Tve sprung from walls more high than these. 






I've swam through deeper streams than 


XXVL 




Tees. 


He loved — as many a lay can tell, 




Might I not stab thee, ere one yell 


Preserved in Staimiore's lonely dell ; 




Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 


For his was minstrel's skill, lie caught 




Start not — it is not my design. 


The art unteachable, untaught ; 




But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 


He loved — his soul did nature frame 




And, trust me, that, in time of need. 


For love, and fancy nm-sed the flame ; 




This hand hath done more desperate deed. 


Vftinly he loved — for seldom swain 




Go, haste and rouse tliy slumbering son; 


Of such soft mould is loved again ; 




Time calls, and I must needs be gone. 


Silent he loved — in every gaze 

Was passion,' frieudsliip in his phra.s». 




XXIV. 


So mused his life away — till died 




Naught of his sire's ungenerous part 


His brethren all, then- father's pride. 




Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 


Wilfrid is now the only heir 




A heart too soft from early life 


Of all his stratagems and care, 




To hold with fortune needful strife. 


And destined, darkhng, to pursue 




His sire, while yet a hardier race' 


Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue* 




MS. "while yft around Iiim stood 


Beattie's Edwin ; but in some essential respects it is 


madt 


A numeroQs race of hardier mood." 


more true to nature than that which probably served 


for its 


" And ofi the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 


original. The possibility may perhaps be questioned (it 


great 


When all in mist the world below was lost. 


improbability is unquestionable), of such excessive refinement, 


What dreadful pleasure 1 tiiere to stand sublime. 


SDch over-strained, and even morbid sensibility, as are pof 


Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast." 


trayed in the character of Edwin, existing in so rude a state ol 


Bkattie's Minstrel. 


society as that which Bcattie has represented,— but 


these 


MS. — ' Was love, hut friendship in his phrase.*' 


qualities, even when found in the most advanced and polished 


"The prototype of Wilfrid may perkaps be found in 


stages of life, are rarely, very rarely, united with a robust and 



304 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cank» i 


XXVII. 


XXIX. 


Wilfrid must love and woo' the bright 


The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight* 


Matilda, heir of Rokeby's laiight. 


Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 


To love her was an easy hest, 


For England's war revered the claim 


The secret empress of his breast ; 


Of every unprotected name. 


To woo her was a harder task * 


And spared, amid its fiercest rage, 


To one that durst not hope or ask. 


Childhood and womanhood and age. 


Yet all Matilda could, she gave 


But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe,' 


Ir pity to her gentle slave ; 


Must the dear privilege forego. 


Friendship, esteem, and fair regard. 


By Greta's side, m evening gray, 


And praise, the poet's best reward ! 


To steal upon Matilda's way. 


She read the tales his taste approved. 


Striving," with fond hypocrisy. 


And sung the lays he framed or loved; 


For careless step and vacant eye ; 


Yet, loth to nmse the fatal flame 


Claming each anxious look and glance, 


Of hopeless love in friendsliip's name, 


To give the meeting aU to chance, 


In kind caprice she oft withdrew 


Or framing, as a fair excuse. 


The favormg glance to friendsliip due,' 


The book, the pencil, or the muse : 


Then grieved to see her victim's pain, 


Something to give, to sing, to say, 


And gave the dangerous smiles again. 


Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 




Then, wliile the long'd-for minutes last,— 


XXVIII. 


Ah 1 minutes quickly over-past ! — ^ 


So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 


Recording each expression free, 


Wlien war's loud summons Waked the 


Of kind or careless comiesy. 


land. 


Each fi'iendly look, each softer tone. 


Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 


As food for fancy when alone. 


Tlie wo-foreboding peasant sees ; 


AU this is o'er — but still, unseen, 


In concert oft they braved of old 


Wdfrid may lurk in Eastwood green,' 


The bordering Scot's incursion bold ; 


To watch Matilda's wonted round. 


Frowning defiance in their pride,' 


While sprmgs liis heart at every sound 


Then- vassals now and lords divide. 


She comes !^'tis but a passing sight. 


From Ills fair hall on Greta banks. 


Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 


The Knight of Rokeby led liis ranks. 


She comes not — he will wait the hour 


To aid the valiant northern Karls, 


When her Lamp lightens m the tower ;" 


Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 


'Tis somethuig yet, if, as she past, 


Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 


Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 


His sister had been Rokeby's bride, 


" What is my life, my hope ?" he said ; 


Though long before the civil fray, 


" Alas ! a transitory shade." 


In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 




Philip of Mortham raised liis band. 


XXX. 


And march'd at Fairfa.^'s command 


Thus wore his life, though reason stroT» 


While -Wyclitfe, bound by many a train 


For mastei-y in vain with love, 


Of kindred art with wily Vane, 


Forcing upon liis thoughts the sum 


Less prompt to brave the bloody field. 


Of present woe and ills to come. 


Made Barnard's battlements Iiis shield. 


While still he turn'd unpatient ear 


Secured them with his Lunedale powers, 


From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 


And f jr the Commons held the towers. 


Gentle, indiS'erent, .and subdued. 


tfAlth5 itajiie of body. In both llicso p.irticulars, the char- 


Daughter and wife of Rokeby's Koigbt 


luier ol Wilfrid is exempt from tlie objections to wliich we 


Wait in hislmlls," &c. 


think tiiat of the Minstrel liable. At the period of the Civil 


6 MS.—" But Wilfrid, when the strife arose. 


Ware, in the higher orders of Society, intellectual retinement 


And Rokeby and his son wore foes. 


had advanced to a degree sufficient to give probability to its 


Was doom'd each privilege to lose, 


existence. The remainder of our argument will be best ex- 


Of kindred friendship and the mose.**^ 


plained by the beautiful lines of the poet," (stanzas xj- and 


6 MS. — " Aping, with fond hypocrisy. 


txvi.)— Critical lievieie. 


The careless step," &c. 


I MS.—" And first must Wilfrid woo," &c. 


' The MS. has not this couplet. 


a MS.—" The fuel fond her favor threw." 


« MS.—" May Wilfrid haunt the ) ,i,;„i,.,. „,_ 
W.lfrid haunt. Scargill'si"'"^''"''^^ 


3 MS. — " Now frowning dark on ditlerent side 


Their va.ssala and their lords divide. 


» MS. " watch tlie lionr, 


I MS.—" Dame Alice and Matilda bright. 


That her Is^moJcintUcti in her tower.*' 



5ANT0 1. 



ROKEBY. 



SOS 



tu all but tills, unmoved he view'd 
Each dutwai'd change of ill and good ; 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, aud mild, 
Was Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child ; 
In her bright' car she bade him ride, 
With one fau' form to grace liis e' te, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat,' 
Flimg her high spells around liis seat, 
Bathed in her dews liis languid heao', 

, Her fairy mantle o'er liim spread, 
For him her opiates gave to flow, 
Which he who tastes cm ne'er forego, 
And placed him hi her circle, free 

' From every stern reality, 
rill to tlie Visionary, seem 
Hjr Jay-dreiuns truth, and truH^%4feam. 

XXXL 

Woe to the youth whom fancy gains. 
Winning from Reason's hand the reins, 
Pity aud woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, coiitemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those wlio train such youth. 
And spare to press the rights of truth. 
The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
teach him, while your lessons last, '^ 
To judge the present bythe past ; 
Remuid him of each wish pursued, 
How rich it glow'd with promised good ; 
Remuul him of each wish enjoy'd. 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd I 
Tell him, we play unequal game, 
Whene'er we ehoot by Fancj''s aun ;' 
And, ere he strip him for her race, 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set, 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenciiants the winner's eyes. 
And strips of all its worth the prize.- ..•. 



' MS.—" Wild CM." 

* MS- — " Or in some fair bat lone retreat, 

Flung her wild spella aroand liig seat. 
For Iwm Iier opiates I gave to i n 

opiate S draughts bade J 
Wliich lie who tastes can ne'er forego. 
Taught him to tarn impatient ear 
From truth's intrusive voice sever*." 

' In the MS., after this couplet, the following lines coDclnde 
«e stanza : — 

•' That all who on her visions press, 
Find disappointment dog success ; 
But, miss'd their wish, lamenting hold 
Iter gilding false for sterling gold." 
' " Soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways. 
And yet, even there, if left without a guide, 
The young adventurer unsafely plays. 
Eyes, dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays. 
In modest Truth no light nor beauty find ; 
Aod who, my child, would trust the meteor blaze 
19 



While one .lugments its gaudy show. 
More to enhance the loser's woe.* 
The victor sees liis fauy gold 
Transform'd, when won, to drossy mold, 
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, 
And rues, as gold, that gUttering dross. 

XXXII. 
More wouldst thou know — yon tower survej 
Yon couch unpre.s.s'd since parting day, 
Yon untrhnm'tl lamp, wliose yellow gleam 
Is nihigling with the cold moonbeam. 
And yon thm form ! — the hectic red 
On his piile cheek unequal spread ;' 
The heatl reclined, the loosen'd hair, 
The hnibs reliix'd, the mournful air. — 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens liis wo-worn cheek a while, — 
'Tis liincy wakes some idle thought. 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, lilic the bat of Indian br.akes. 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes. 
And sootliing tlius the di'eamer's pain. 
She druiks his life-blood fi'om the vein' 
Now to the lattice turn liis eyes, 
Vain hope ! to see the stm arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast. 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another hour must wear away, 
, Ere the East kindle into day, 

And hark ! to waste that weary houi. 
He tries the minstrel's magic power- 

xxxm 

Soiifl. 

TO THE MOON.' 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 
P^e p'ilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
/ Hail, though the mists that Ver thee stream 



That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind. 
More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had sliined 

" Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart. 
And, while it d.iz/.les, wounds the mental si^'ht t 
To joy each heightening charm it can impirt. 
Bat wraps the hour of woe in tenfold nighi 
And often, where no real ills affright, 
Ita visionary tienda, an endless train. 
Assail with equai or soperior might. 
And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain, 
And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than moltal 
pain." Beattie 

6 MS. — '* On his pale cheek in crimson glow ; 
The short and painful sighs that show 
The shrivell'd lip, the teeth's white row. 
The head reclined," fitc. 

* MS. " the sleeper's pain. 

Drinks his dear lifi^blood from the vein.' 
^ *' The little poem that follows is in ooj judgment, oiM i*f 



306 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lend to thy brow tlieir sullen dye !* 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled ^iew our scenes below, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of wai" and woe ! 

Fail Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Kach little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I tlien could chide, 

Still are the thoughts to memoiy dear, 
For while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

"Was form'd to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers oidy seen, 

Reflected from the crystal well, 
Or sleeping on their, mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night 1 

XXXIV. 

He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 
A voice ! — liis father seeks the tower. 
With haggard look and troubled sense, 
Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address'd '? 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
M'-rtham has fall'n on Marston-moor ;' 
Bertram brings warrant to secure 
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 
For the State's use and public good. 
The menials will thy voice obey ; 
Let his commission have its way,^ ' 
In every point, in every word." — 
Then, in a whisper, — *' Take thy sword ! 
Bertram is — what I must not toll. 
I hear his hasty step — farewell '"* 

tlie be^t of Mr. ScoU's attempts in this kind. He, certainly, 
is hot in general successful as a song-writer ; bnt, witliont any 
sstraordiiiary eftbrt, liere are pleasing thoughts, polished ex- 
oressions, and musical versification." — Jlov'Jily Psvieic 
1 M^ — ' Are tarnishing thy lovely dye ! 
A 5ad excuse let Fancy try — 

How should so kind a planet show 
Her stainless silver's lustre high, 
To light a world of war and woe !" 
' MS. — " Here's Risingliani brings tidings sure, 
Morthani has fall'n on Marston-moor ; 
And he hath warrant to secure,** &c 
' MS. — " See that they give his warrant way." 
* Willi the MS. of stanzas xxviii, to xxxiv. Scott thus ad- 
dresses his printer:— "I send you the whole of tiie canto. I 
wish Erskine and you would look it over together, and con- 
nder wheiner upon the whole matter, it is likely to make an 
Impression. If it does really come to good, I think there are 
no limits to the interest of that slyle of composition; for the 
tihety of life and character are boundless. 



Eokfbj. 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

Fab m the chambers of the west, 
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The tliin gi*ay clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusletou and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale, that eastwiuxl lay, 
Waited the wakening touch of day. 
To give its woods and cultured plain. 
And towers and spires to light again. 
But, westward, Stamnore's shapeless swell, 
And Lunedale wUd, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begh'dled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; . 
While, as a liveher twiMght falls. 
Emerge proud Barnard's baimer'd walls. 
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale. 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

II. 
What prospects, from his watcli-tower high. 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
Far sweeping lo the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,' 
And tracks liis wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he paced his destined horn- 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,' 
These silver mists shall melt away. 
And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
Then m broad lustre shiiU be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone,' 
And each huge trunk that, from the sidf> 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tid" 

" I don't know whether to give Matild;i a mother or not 
Decency requires .she shouhl have one ; hul she is as hkely l« 
be in my way as the guderaan's mother, according to the prov 
erb, is always in tliat of the gudewife. Yours truly, W. S.— 
AUotsford," (Oct. 181S.) 

" We cannot close the first Canto williout bestowing tha 
highest praise on it. Tlie whole desi^ of tlie picture is ex- 
cellent ; and the contrast presented to tlie gloomy and fearful 
opening by the calm and innocent conclusion, is masterly. 
Never were two characters more clearly, and forcibly set ill 
opposition than those of Bertram and Wilfrid. Oswald com 
pletes the group ; and, for the moral jmrposes of the paintflf, 
is perhaps superior to the others. Fie is admirably designed 



' That middle cotirse to steer 



To cowardice and craft so dear.* " 

Monthly Revitv. 
5 See Appendix, Note Tj. 

« MS. — " Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower." 
' MS. — " Those deep-hewn banks of living etone." 



CANTO 11 ROKEBY. 307 


Where Tees, full many a fathom low, 


Their winding path then eastward oaat 


Wears with his r.ige no common foe ; 


And Eghston's gray ruins pass'd ;* 


For pebbly bank, nor sund-bed here, 


Each on liis own tleep visions bent. 


Nor clay-mound, chocks liis fierce career, 


Silent and sad they onward went. 


Coudemn'd to nune a channell'd way, 


Well may you tliink that Bertram's mood,' 


O'er eolid sheets of marble gray. 


To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 




WeU may you think bold Risiiigh,?ni 


III. 


Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame , 


Nor Tee3 lUone, in dawning bright. 


And small the mtercourse, T ween. 


Sha! rush upon the ravish'J sight ; 


Such uncongenial souls between. 


But many a tributai-y stream 




Each from its (mm dark dell shall gleam : 


V. 


Stiindrop, who, from her silvan bowers,' 


Stem Bertram shuim'd the nearer way, 


Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 


. Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay, 


Tile rural brook of Egliston, 


And, skirtmg high the valley's ridge. 


And Balder, nanitd from Odm's son ; 


They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge, 


And Greta, to whose Uinks ere long 


Descending where Iter waters wind 


We lead the lovers of the song ; 


Free for a space and unconfined, 


And silver Lune, from Sianmore wild, 


As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood glen 


And fau-y ThorsgUl's murraaring child, 


She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 


And last and least, but loveliest still. 


There, as Ids eye glanced o'er the mound, 


Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 


Raised by tliat Legion" long renowu'd. 


Who in that dim-wood glen hath sirayVl, 


Whose votive sluiue asserts then claim. 


Tet long'd for Roslin's magic glado / 


Of pious, fitithfid, conquering fame. 


Who, wandering there, hath sought to change 


" Stern sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sigh'd 


Even for that vale so stern and strai.ge. 


" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 


Wliere Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent. 


What now of all your toils are known 1 


Through her green copse Uke spires are Jeni ? 


A gr.xssy trench, a broken stone !"- 


Yet, Albiu, yet the praise be thine, 


Tliis to hunself ; for moral strain 


Thy scenes and story to combine ! 


To Bertram were addres.s'd m vain. 


Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays, 




List to the deeds of other days ■' 


VI. 


'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave 


Of different mood, a deeper sigh 


The refuge of thy champion brave ;' 


• Awoke, when Rokeby's tmrets higli' 


Giving each rock its storied tale, 


Were nortliward in the dawning seen 


Pourmg a lay for every dale. 


To rear them o'er the tliicket green. 


Knitting, .is with a moral band. 


then, though Spenser's self had stray''' 


Thy nat .\ e legends with thy land, 


Beside him through tlie lovely glade. 


To lend each scene the interest high 


Lending liis rich luxuriant glow 


Which £emu9 beams from Beauty's eye 


Of fancy, all its charms to show. 




Pointmg the stream rejoicing free, 


IV. 


As captive set at liberty, 


Bertram awaited not the sight 


Flasliing her sparkling waves abroad," 


Which sunrise shows from Barnard's heisht. 


And clamoring joyful on her road ; 


But from the towers, preventing day. 


Pointing where, up the sunny banks. 


With Wilfrid took his early way. 


The trees retire m .scatter'd ranks. 


Wliile misty dawn, and moonbeam pale. 


Save where, advanced before the rest. 


Still mingled in the sUeut dale. 


On knoll or hillock rears his crest. 


By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 


Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 


I'he southern bimk of Tees they won ; 


As champions, when their band is broke. 


MS. — '* Staindrop, who, on her silvan way. 


Such uncongenial so-ijis 'oetween ; 


Salutes proud Raby's turrets gray." 


Well may you think stern Risingham 


« See Notes to the song of Fair Rosabelle, in the Lay of the 


Held Wilfrid tri%-ial, poor, and tame ; 


uast Minstrel. 


Ar.il nauslit of mutual interest lay 


* Carttand Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the fa- 


To bind the comrades of the way." 


rorile ro'.r .ats of Sir WUliam Wallace. 


6 See Appendi.t. Note N. ' Ibid. Note 


' ?^ Appendi.x, Note M. 


f> MS.— " Flashing to heaven her sparkling spray. 


' MS.—-' For brief the intercourse, f ween, 


And cWmoring joyful on her way " 



!08 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Stand forth to guard the rearward post, 
The bulwark of tlie scutter'd host — 
All this, and more, might Spenser say, 
Yet wuf^te in vain his magic lay. 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower. 

VII. 
The open ra/e is soon pass'd o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ;' 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they keep, 
A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 
As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode !' 
Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 
Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 
It seem'd some moimtain, rent and riven, 
A channel for the stream had given. 
So high the cliffs of limestone gi'ay 
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 
Yielding, along theu' rugged base,' 
A flinty footpath's niggard sjjace. 
Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 
May hear the headlong torrent rave. 
And like a steed in frantic fit. 
That flings the frotli from curb and bit,* 
May view her chafe her waves to spray. 
O'er every rock that bars lier way. 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
Tliick as the schemes of human pride 
That down hfe's current di-ive amain, 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 

VIII. 

The clifl's that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed. 
Were now all naked, wild, and gray, 
Now waving aU witli greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And lliere, .ill splinter'd and uneven. 
The sliiver'd rocks ascend to heaven; 

1 MS.— ■ And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets green, 
Tlie journeyere seek another scene." 

' See Appeniiix, Note P. 

■ MS. — " Yielding Their rugged base beside 

A * *'"'>' > path by Greta's tide." 
f niggard ) 

MS.— "That flings thefoum from curb and bit, 

( tawny \ 

Chafing her waves to < whiten > wrath, 

( spongy J 

O'er every rock tliat bars lier path. 

Till down her boiling eddies ride," &c 

• MS. — *' The freqvent ivy swathed their breast, 

And wreathed its tendrils round their crest, 

Or from their summit bade them fall. 

And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl." 

' MS — " And so the ivy's banner j S^'^^- 
f gleam, 



Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,' 
And -wreathed its garland roimd their crest. 
Or from the spnes bade loosely flare 
Its tendrUs in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the liigh feast of Baron bold, 
Wlien revell'd loud the feudal rout. 
And the arch'd halls return'd thair shout : 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar. 
And such the echoes from her shore. 
And so the ivied banners gleam," 
Waved wildly o'er the brawlmg stream. 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede, 

But leave between no sunny mead. 

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 

Oft foimd by such a mountain strand ;' 

Forming such warm and dry retreat. 

As fancy deems the lonely seat. 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell. 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But liere, 'twist rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew," 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seem'd that the trees then- shadows cast, 

The earth that nourish'd tlicm to blast ; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love ; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flow >"r. 

Arose within its baleful bower : 

The daiik and sable earth receives 

tts only carpet from the leaves. 

That, from the withering branches cast, 

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hiU, 

In this dark spot 'twas twiliglit still,' 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewood 

glide ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 

\ Waved wildly trembUng o'er the scene, 

t Waved wild above the clamorous stream. ' 



' M8.- 



' a torrenVs strand ; 



Where in the warm and dry retreat. 
May fancy form some lierrait's seat." 

* MS. — " A darksome grove of funeral yew. 
Where trees a baleful shadow cast. 
The ground that nourisii'd them to blast. 
Mingled with whose sad tints were seen 
The blighted fir's sepulcliial green." 

9 MS. — " In this dark grove 'twas twilight still. 
Save that upon the rocks opposed 
Some straggling beams of morn reposed ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 
That bleak and dark funereal shade 
With the bright tints of early day. 
Which, struggling through the greenwoijd iprsT 
Upon the rock's wild summit lay." 



DIIITO 11. 



ROKEBY. 



30» 



Tliat cUugle's deep and funeral shade, 
W ith the bright tints o£ e:irly day, 
Wliicli, glimmering tlirough the ivy spray. 
On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasimt shunn'd the dell ; 

For Superstition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight, 

Semiring its path at dead of night. 

When Clu'istmas logs blaze hig^x and wide, 

fiich wonders speed the festal tide ; 

Whilo Curiosity and Fe;u', 

Pleasure imd Pain, sit cro\iching near. 

Till cliildliood's cheek no longer glows. 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The thrilling interest rises higher,' 

The circle closes nigh and nigher, * 

And shuddering glance is cast behind. 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

BeUeve, that fittmg scene was l.iid 

For such wild tides in Mortham glade 1 

For wixo had seen, on Greta's side. 

By tliat dim light fierce Bertram stride. 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touch'd by Superstition's power. 

Might well have deem'd that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper Heaven, 

While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to gUde 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 

Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these uneai'thly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith and love, and pity barr'd. 
Have quaked, like aspenHeaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale. 
That in his secret soul retain'd 
The credence they in childhood gain'd : 

' MS. — " The interest rises high and higher." 
3 The MS. lias not the two following couplets. 
3 " Also I sliall shew very briefly wliat force conjurers and 
witches have in constraining tlie elements enchanted by them 
■r others, that they may e-tceed or fall short of their natural 
•ider: premising this, that the cxtream land of North Finland 
tnd Lapland was so taaght witchcraft formerly in heathenish 
limes, as if they had learned tiiis cursed art from Zoroastres the 
Pbisian ; though other inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported 
to be bewitched with the same madness ; for they exercise this 
WvUisb art, of all the arts of the world, to admiration ; and in 
his, 01 other such like mischief, they commonly agree. The 
Finlaoders were wont formerly, amongst their other errors of 
gentUisme, to sell winds to merchants that were stopt on their 
toasts by contrary weather ; and when they had their price, 
*bey knit three magical knots, not like to the laws of Cassias, 



Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
BeUeved in every legend's truth ; 
Leam'd wlien, beneath the tropic gale, 
FiUl swell'd the vessel's steady sail. 
And the broad Indian moon her Ught 
Pour'd on the watch of middle night, 
Wlien seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell ;' 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shor> 
How wliistle rash bids tempests roar. 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ;' 
Or of that Ph.antom Ship, wliose form 
Shoots hke a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard. 
And lower'd is every topsail-yard. 
And canvas, wove in earthly looms, 
No more to brave the storm presumes ' 
Then, 'mid the war of sea iuid sky. 
Top and top-gallant hoisted higlt, 
Full spread and crowded every sail. 
The Demon Frigate braves the gal^ -' 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbmger of wreck and woo 

x'lL 
Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key,' 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall'd the hstening Bucanier, 
Whose Ught-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, tlie shriek of pain. 
Ring from the moonhght groves of cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare. 
Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
Curses tlie road-steatl, and with gale 
Of early morning Ufts the sail. 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

bound np with a thong, and they gave them unto ,he mei> 
chants ; observing that rule, that when they unloosed the fiiKu, 
they should have a good gale of wind ; when the second, a 
stronger wind ; but when they untied the third, they shoald 
have such cruel tempests, that they should not be able to look 
out of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to pu.l 
down the sails, nor stand at the helm to govern the shio ; and 
they made an unhappy trial of the truth of it who denied thai 
there was any such power iu those knots." — Olaus Maqnus'i 
History of the Onths, Swedes, and Vaniats. Lond. 1658, fol 
|i. 47.— [See Note to The I'irate, " Sale of Winds," Ifatrr. 
ley J^ooels, vol. sxiv. p. IliG.] 

* See Appendix, Note Q. 

5 Ibid. Note R. 

« Ibid. Note S. ' Ibid. Note T. 



310 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto u, 


XIII. 


You mark him by the crashing bough, 


Thus, as a man, a youth, a cliild, 


And by his corselet's sullen clank. 


Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 


And by the stones spufn'd from the bank, 


With this on Bertram's soul at times 


And by the hawk scared from her nest, 


Rush'd a dark feehng of liis crimes ; 


And ravens croaking o'er their guest. 


Such' to his troubled soul theu- form. 


Who deem Ms forfeit limbs shall pay 


As the pale Death-ship to the storm, 


The tribute of his bold essay 


Anti such their omen dun and dread, 




As .shrieks and voices of the dead, — 


XV. 


That p:mg, wliose transitory force* 


See, he emerges ! — desperate now" 


Hover'd "twixt horror and remorse ; 


All farther course — Yon beetling brow. 


That pang, perchance, liis bosom press'd, 


In craggy nakedness subhme, 


As Wilfrid sudden he address'd : — 


What heart or foot shall dare to climb f 


^ Wilfrid, tills glen is never trode 


It bears no tendril for his clasp. 


Until the sun rides high" abroad ; 


Presents no angle to his grasp : 


Yet t'wice have I beheld to-day 


Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 


A Form, that seera'd to dog our way ; 


Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 


Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee. 


Balanced on such precarious prop,' 


And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 


He strains his grasp to reach the top. 


How think'st thou ? — Is om- path waylaid ? 


Just as the dangerous stretch he makes. 


Or hath thy sire my trust betray'd ? ' 


By heaven, his faithless footstool shake8\ 


If so" Ere, starting from his dream. 


Beneath liis tottering bulk it bends. 


That turn'd upon a gentler theme. 


It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends 1 


Wilfiid had roused hhn to reply. 


And downward holds its headlong way. 


Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 


Craslung o'er rock and copsewood spray. 


" Wliate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand !" — 


Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! — 


And forth he darted, sword in hand. 


Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 




Just on the very verge of fate, 


XIV. 


The hardy Bertram's falling "weight 


As bursts the levin in its wrath,^ 


He trusted to liis smewy hands, 


He shot him down the sounding path ; 


And on the top unliarm'd he stands ! — ^ 


Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out. 


> 


To his loud step and savage shout.' 


XVI 


Seems that the object of his race 


Wilfrid a safer path pursuecj ; 


Hath scaled the cliiTs ; his frantic chase 


At intervals where, roughly heVd, 


Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent 


Rude steps ascending from the dell 


Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 


Render'd the cliffs accessible. 


Straining each sinew to ascend. 


By circuit slow he thus attain'd 


Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend 


The height that Risingham had gain'd. 


Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 


And when he issued from the wood. 


Views from beneath his dreadful way : 


Before the gate of Mortham stood." 


Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings 


'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 


Now trusts Ills weight to ivy strings ; 


On battled tower and portal gray : 


Now, like the wild-goat, must he dare 


And from the grassy slope he sees 


An unsupported leap in air ;* 


The C4f rta flow to meet the Tees ; 


Hid in the shrubby rain-course now. 


Where, issuuig from her darksome bed, 


1 MS. — *' Ila lell, though transitory force 


His progress — heart and foot must fail 


Hovers, 'twist pity and remorae." 


Yon upmost crag's bare peak to scale." 


• MS.—" As bursu the levin-boll \ '" ' wrath.' 
' its 1 


8 MS. — " Perch'd like an eagle on its top. 
Balanced on its uncertain prop. 


* MS.—*' To h\a fierce step and sal age shoot. 

Seems lliat the object of his J '"'^'' 
* cliase 


Just as the jierilous stretch he makes. 

By heaven, his tottering footstool shakes." 

' Opposite to this line, the MS. has this note, meant ts 


Had scaled the cliffs ; liis desperate chase." 


amuse Mr. Ballantyne :— " If my readers will not allow that I 


* MS — '* A desperate leap through empty air; 


have climbed Parnassus, they must grant that 1 have tnmeti 


Hid in the copse-clad rain-course row." 


the Kittle Ji'ine Steps."— See note to Eedganntlet.— fTaveWtj 


» MS -" See, he emerges !— desperate now 


J^ovels, vol. sxKv. p. 6. 


Toward the naked beetling brow, 


6 See Appendix, Note U. 



CANTO II. 



ROKEBY. 



311 



She caught the morning's eastern red, 
And thi'ough the softening vale below 
Roll'd her bright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing to her bridal bed,' 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
Wliile linnet, lai'k, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII. 
Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam, mid wild-bird's call, 
Awaked not Mortham's sileut hall." 
No porter, by the luw-brow'd gate, 
Took in the wonted niche liis seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant drew ; 
Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
The maiden's carol was not heard. 
As to her morning task she fared : 
In the void offices around. 
Rung not a hoof, nor b.ay'd a hound ; 
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh, 
Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrunm'd, undress'd, neglected now. 
Was alley 'd walk and orchard bough : 
AU spoke the master's absent care,' 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South nf the gate, an arrow flight, 
IVo mighty elms their limbs unite. 
As if a canopy to spread 
0'f"r the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
P'or thair huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive mcoument, 
Jarved our in aucisnt Gothic wise, 
Witii many a icuvcheca and de\ace : 
There, spent >7itn ton and sunk in gloom, 
Eerti-aiii stood pondeiiag by ihe tomb. 

xvnt. 

■' It vanish'd, like a flittir.<j g'-os; ' 
Behind this tomb," he said, " 'tvas '.^9t-— 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lies stm-oo 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the noajd. 
'Tis true, the aged servants said 
Uere his lamented wife is laid ;* 
Eut weightier reasons may be guess'd 
For their lord's strict and stern behest, 



MS ■ 



' As some fair maid in cloister bred. 
Is ulusliing to her bridal led." 



2 *Tne beantifol prospect commanded by that em ■wo*^, 
teen nnder the cheerful light of a summer's morning, i" fi^^ly 
SlMitrai>ted with the silence and solitude of the place." — CHtl- 
tttl Review, 

^ M9. — ' AH Spake the master absent far, 

AU .poke ("JS'^"""*; civil war. 
i the woes of \ 

Close by the gate, an arch combined, 

Two haughty elms their branches twinei?." 



That none should on liis steps iitrude, 

Wliene'er he sought tliis solitudt!. — 

An ancient mariner I knew, 

Wliat time I s.ail'd with Morgan's crew, 

Who oft, 'mid our carousjils, spake 

Of Kaleigh, Forbisher, and Dr.ake ; 

Adventurous hearts ! who barter'd, bold. 

Their EngUsh steel for Spanish gold. 

Trust not, would liis experience say, 

Captain or comrade with your prey ; ^ 

But seek some charnel, when, at full. 

The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 

Tliere dig, and tomb vour precious heap ; 

And b'd the dead yoor treasure keep;* 

Sure stewards they, ir fitting spell 

Their service to the task compel. 

Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave,' 

Or prisoner, on the treasm'e-grave ; 

And bid liis discontented ghost 

Stalk nightly on liis lonely post. — ■ 

Such was the tale. Its truth, I ween. 

Is in my morning vision seen." 

' XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wUd, 

In mingled mu-th and fiity*smiled. 

Much marvelling that a breast so bold 

In such fond tale belief should liold ;' 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and show. — 

The power within the guilty breast, 

Oft vanquish'd, never qtiite suppress'd. 

That unsubdued and lurking hes 

To take the felon by surprise. 

And force him, as by m.agic spell, y 

In his despite his guUt to tell, — ° 

That power in Bertram's breast awoke . 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 

" 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head I 

His morion, with the pimiie of red. 

His shape, liis mien — 'twas Mortham. right 

As when I slew liim in the fight." 

" Thou slay him ? — thou ?" — With conscious start 

He heard, then mann'd his haugnty hetirir 

" I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 

fhou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 

But :t i3 spoken — nor will I 

* MS. — " Here lies the partner of his bed ; 

But weightier reaifons should appear 
For all his moonlight wanderings here. 
And for the sharp rebnke they got. 
That pried around bis favorite spot." 

6 See Appendix, Note V. 

^ MS. — " Lacks there such chamel-vault ? — a slave, 

Or prisoner, slaughter on the grave." 
"> MS. — "Should faith in such a fable hold." 
e See Appendix, Note W 



Sli 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



CANTO B, 



Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 
I slew limi ; I ! for thankless pride ; 
'Twas by this hand that Mortham died I" 

XX. 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 

A- verse to every active part, 

But most averse to martial broil, 

From danger shi-unk, and tum'd from toil ; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nursed one brave spai-k of noble fire. 

Against injustice, fraud, or ■wrong, 

His blood beat high, liis hand wax'd stroig. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain, 

Uusliaken, d.anger, toil, and pain ; 

But, when that spark blazed forth to flame,' 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood ; 

And, in full cm-rent of his blood. 

On Bertriim he laid desperate hand, 

Placed firm his foot, and di-ew his brand. 

"Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt 

sold. 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 
Attach the murderer of your Lord !" 

XXI. 

A moment, fix'd as by a spell. 

Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle, 

That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 

Set grasp on warlike Risingham.' 

But when he felt a feeble stroke,' 

The fiend witliin the ruffian woke ! 

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand. 

To dash Iiim headlong on the sand. 

Was but one moment's work, — one more 

Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore : 

But, in the instant it arose. 

To end his life, his love, his woes, 

A warlike form, that mark'd the scene. 

Presents his rapier sheathed between, 

Parries the fast-descendmg blow, 

And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 

Nor then urscabbarded his brand, 

But, sternly pointing with his hand. 

With monarch's voice forbade the fight. 

And motion 'd Bertram from his sight. 

1 Mo.—** Bat, when blazed forth that noble iiame." 

1 "Tne sodden impression made on the mind of Wilfrid by 

h's avowal, is one of the happiest touclies of moral poetry. 

The effect which the unexpected burst of indignation and 

ralor produces on Bertram, is as finely imagined." — Critical 

Jievirw. — " This most animating scene is a worthy companion 

k) the rencoanter of Fitz-James and Roderick Dhn, in the 

t/adyof the Lake." — .Monthly Revietc. 

* MS. — " At length, at slight and feeble stroke, 

( fiend 1 
That razed thi* skm, his < ,„„„ ^ awoke." 
' / fage I 



" Go, and repent," — he said, " while tmie 
Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." 

XXII 
Mute, and imcertain, and amazed, 
As on a vision Bertram gazed ! 
'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high,' 
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 
His look and accent of command. 
The martial gesture of his hand. 
His stately form, spare-built and tall, 
His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Mortham ali. 
Through Bertram's dizzy brain career' 
A thousand thoughts, and all of fear; 
His wavering faith received not quite 
The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 
But more he fear'd it, if it stood 
His lord, in living flesh and blood. — 
What spectre can the charnel send, 
So dreadftd as pn injured friend? 
Then, too, the habit of command, 
Used by tlie leader of the band, 
When Risingham, for many a day. 
Had march'd and ftjught beneath his sway, 
Tamed him — atid, with reverted face. 
Backwards he bore liis .sullen pace ;' 
Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stared, 
And dark as rated mastiff glared ; 
But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 
Plunged in the glen, and disappear'd ; — 
Nor longer there the Warrior stood, 
Retirmg eastward through the wood ;' 
But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 
" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives 

XXIII. 
Still rung these words in Wilfi-id's ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear ; 
When nearer came the coursers' tread, 
And, with his father at their head. 
Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 
Rein'd up their steeds before the tower. 
" Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said : 
Where's Bertram? — Why that naked blade?' — 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied 
(For Mortham's charge his honor tied), 
'* Bertram is gone — the villain's word 
Avouch'd him mm"derer of his lord ! 

* MS. — " 'Twas Mortham's spare and sinewy frame 
His falcon eye. his glance of flame " 

6 MS. — " A thousand thoughts, and all ot tear. 
Dizzied his brain in wild career ; 
Doubting, and not receiving qnite, 
The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 
Still more he fear'd it, if it stood 
His living lord, in flesh and blood." 

6 MS. — " Plow he retreats with sullen pace." 

' MS. — " Retiring through tile thickest wood. 

^ MS. — " Reiu'd no their steeds by Mortham tower 



I 



OANTO n 



ROKEBY. 



318 ^ 



Even now we fought — but, when yom tread 

AuDOunced you nigh, the felon fled." 

In Wycliife's conscious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 

On his pale brow the dewdrop broke. 

And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 

' A murderer !- -Pliilip Mortham died 
Amid tlie battle's wildest tide. 
"Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you 1 
Yet, grant such strange confession true, 
Pm'suit w«re vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
Tliat morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And follow'd now in WycUffe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose ai'ch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
Chafed not ag;iinst the curb more high 
Than he at O.swald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implored liis saint, 
(His the old faith) — tlien burst restraint. 

XXV. 
"Yes! I beheld his bloody fall,' 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measure sword. 
Presumptuous hope I with Mortham's lord 
Aiid shall the murderer 'scape who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true !' 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace i 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry,s 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride 1 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be, 
Tliat honors Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 



MS. — " Yes! I Ijehelil him foully slain. 
By thai base traitor of his irjin." 

' Ma — ' A knight, so generous, brave and true.'* 

> MS. " tliat dew sliall drain, 

False Risingham shall be kill'd or ta'en." 
* MS. — To the Printer. — "On the disputed line, it may 
Aand thas, — 

' Whoever finds him, strike him dead ;' 
Or,— 

' Who first shall find him, strike him dead.* 

Bnt I think the addition of felon, or any such word, will im- 
pair tha strength of the paasage. Oswald is too anxious to 



Else on your crests sit fear and shame. 
And foul suspicion dog your name 1" 

XXVL 

Instant to earth young Redmond sprung; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliife's band, 
Wlio waited not then- lord's command. 
Redmond his spiurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from liis shoulders thi-ew. 
His pistols in liis belt lie placed. 
The green-wood gaiu'd, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark !" — and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
" Suspicion I yes — pursue him — -fly- 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On rutfian desperate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, slioot him dead 1* 
Five hundred nobles for his head !" 

- XXVII. 
The horsemen gallop'd, to make good 
Each path that issued from the wood. 
Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 
With them was WUfrid, stung with ire, 
And envying Redmond's martial fire.' 
And emulous of fame. — But where 
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? 
He, bound by honor, law, and faith. 
Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 
Leaning agamst the elmin tree, 
With drooping head and slacken'd Imet, 
And clenched teeth, and close-clasp'd haniK 
In agony of soul he stands ! 
His downcast eye on earth is bent. 
His sold to every sotmd is lent : 
For in each shout that cleaves the air, 
May ring discovery and despair.' 

xxvin. 

What 'vail'd it liim, that brightly play'd 
The morning stm on Mortham's glade ? 
All seems in giddy round to ride. 



use epithets, and is hallooing aHer the men, by this tine o* 
teriiig the wood. The simpler the line the better. In mj 
humble opinion, shoot him dead, was much better than »ny 
other. It implies. Do not even approach him ; hilt him at a 
distance. I leave it, however, to you, only saying, that ! 
never shun common words when they are to the purpofe. Aj 
to your criticisms, I cannot bnt attend to tliera, because mej 
touch passages with which I am myself discontented. — W. S * 
5 MS. — " .Jealous of Redmond's noble fire." 
c " Opposed to this animated picture of ardent courage and 
ingenuous youth, that of a guilty conscience, which imm^ 
diately follows, is indescribably terrible, and calculated t« 
achieve the highest and noblest purposes of dramatic fictiOD 
— Critical Review. 



. . ^ , 

314 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 


Like objects on a stormy tide, 


Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid. 


Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 


While conscious passion plainly speaks 


Imperfectly to sink and swim. 


In dowucast look and blushing cheeks. 


Wliat 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, 


Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, 


Its battled mimsion, hUl, and plain, 


And all her soul is m her eye ; 


On which the sun so brightly shone. 


Yet doubts she still to tender free 


Envied so long, was now liis own ?' 


The wonted words of com-tesy. 


The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 


These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sig^^ 


Of Brackenbury's dismal tower," 


And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 


Had been his choice, could such a doom 


Thine shall she be, if thou attend 


Have op^n'd Mortham's bloody tomb 1 


The coimsels of thy sire and friend 


Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 




To each surmise of hope or fear. 


5XXI. . 


Mm-mur'd among the rustics round, 


" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light* 


Who gather'd at the 'larum sound ; 


Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 


He dai'cd not turn his head away, 


Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide, 


E'en to look up to heaven to pray. 


And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 


Or call on hell, in bitter mood. 


Thi'ee thousand cavaliers he' dead, 


For one shai-p death-shot from the wood ! 


Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 




Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 


XXIX. 


Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these, committed to my charge. 


At length, o'erpast that dreadful space. 


Back straggling came the scatter'd chase ; 


Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 


Jaded iuid weary, horse and man, 


Redmond, his page, arrived to say 


Return'd the troopers, one by one. 


He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 


Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say. 


Right heavy shall liis ransom be, 


AH trace was lost of Bertram's way. 


Uiiless that maid compoimd with thee 1" 


Though Rechnond still, up Brignal wood,' 


Go to her now — be bold of cheer. 


The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 


While her soul floats 'twixt hope and feai 


0, fatal doom of human race 1 


It is the very change of tide. 


Wliat tyrant passions passions chase I 


Wlien best the female heart is tried — 


Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, 


Pride, prejudice, and modesty, 


Avarice and pride resume their throne ;* 


Are in the current swept to sea ;' 


The pang of mstant terror by, 


And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 


They dictate us their slave's reply : — 


May Ughtly row his bark to shore." 


XXX. 

" Ay — let liim range like hasty hound ! 






And if the grim wolf's lair be found. 




Small is my care how goes the game 


Eokcbg. 


With Redmond, or with Risiugham. — 
Nay, answer not, thou sunple boy I 




OANTO THIRD. 


Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 






To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 


I. 


Thy ditties will she fi-eely praise. 


The hunting tribes of air and earth 


And pay thy pains with courtly phrase 


Respect the bretliren of their birth ;' 


In a rough path wiU oft command — 


Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 


Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 


Less cruel chase to each assigu'd. 


His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd. 


The falcon, poised on soaring w ing, 


i " The contrast of tbe beantiful morning, and the .prospect 


Now norseg more ambitious sciiemes." 


It the rich domain of ^fortham, which Oswald was come to 


6 MS.— "This Redmond brought, at peep of light 


leize, with the dark remorse and misery of his mind, is power- 


The news of Marston's happy fight." 


fully represented: (J^on domus et fundus 1*' &c. &c.) — 


■' See Appendix, Note Y. 


Montkly Review. 


' MS. — *' In the warm ebb are swept to sea." 


2 See Appendix, Note X. 


^ MS.—" The '°*" ; inbcs of cartli and air, 


•8 " Though Redmond still, as unsubdued." 


meaner S ' 


» The MS. adds ;— 


In the wild chase tluir Kindred spare.' 


" Of Mortham's treasure now he dreams 


Th>:- sF-''oiiii conplet in iT|)olaLe<i. 



OASTO m. ROKEBY. 311 


Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 


These arts he proved, his life to save, 


The slow-hound wakes the rose's lair ; 


In peril oft by land and wave, 


The greyhound presses on the hai-e ; 


On Arawaca's desert shore. 


The eagle pounces on the lanib ; 


Or where La Plata's billows roar. 


Tlie wolf devours the fleecy dam : 


Wlien oft the sons of vengeftd Spain 


Ever tiger fell, and sullen bear, 


Track'd the marauder's steps m v.iin 


Theii likeness ana theii- lineage spare, 


These arts, in Indian warfare tried 


Man, only, mars kmd Nature's plan, 


Must save him now by Greta's side. 


And tm-ns the fierce pm-suit on man ; 




Plying war's desultory trade. 


IV. 


Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,* 


'Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 


Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 


He proved liis courage, art, and speed. 


At first the bloody game begun. 


Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace. 




Now started forth in rapid race, 


n. 


Oft doublmg back m mazy train, 


The Indian, prowling for his prey, 


To blind the trace the dews retain :' 


Who heai-3 the settlers track hi3«way, 


Now clombe the rocks projectmg high. 


And knows in distant forest far 


To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 


Camp his red brethren of the war ; 


Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 


He, when each double and disguise 


Tlie echo of liis footsteps drown'd. 


To baffle the pursuit he tries, i 


But if the forest verge he nears. 


Low crouching now liis head to hide. 


There trample steeds, and glmimer speaxa 


Where swampy streams through rushes glide,' 


If deeper down the copse he drew, 


Now covermg with the wither'd leaves 


• He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 


The foot-prmts that the dew receives :' 


Beating each cover whUe they came, 


He, skill'd in every silvan guile. 


As if to start the silvan game. 


Knows not, nor tries, such vaiious wile, 


'Twas then — like tiger close beset' 


As Risingham, when on the wind 


At every pass with toil and net. 


Arose the loud pursuit behind. 


'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare. 


In Redesdale liis youth had heard 


By clashing arms and torches' flare, 


Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 


Who meditates, with furious bound. 


When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, 


To burst on himter, horse, and hound,- ' 


To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry,' 


'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, 


Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear. 


Prompting to rush upon his foes ^ 


And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 


But as that crouchmg tiger, cow'd 


And well hia venturous life had proved 


By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd. 


The lessons that his childliood loved. 


Retreats beneath the jungle's sliroud, 




Bertram suspends liis purpose stern, 


III. 


And couches in the brake and fern. 


Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 


Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 


Each attribute of roving war ; ' . 


The sparkle of his swarthy eye.' 


The sharpen'd ear, the piercmg eye, 




The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 


v. 


The speed, that in the flight or chase, 


Then Bertram might the bearmg trace 


Outstripp'J the Charib's rapid race ; 


Of the bold youth who led the chase : 


The steady bram, the sinewy hmb, 


Who paused to fist for every sound 


To leap, to clunb, to dive, to swim ; 


Climb every height to look around, 


The iron frame, inured to bear 


Then rusliing on with naked sword, 


Each dh-e inclemency of air. 


Each dingle's bosky depths explore d. 


Nor less confirm'd to undergo 


'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 


Fatigue's faint cliill, and famine's throe. 


'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 


' MS.—" Invasion, flight, and ambuscade." 


And oft, like tiger toil-beset, 


■ MS. — " Where the slow waves through rashea glide." 


That in each pass finds foe and net," &a 


' See Appendix, Note Z. 


^ In the MS. the stanza concludes thus : 


* See Appendix, Note 2 A. 


" Suspending yet his purpose stem. 
He couch'd him in the bralve and feri ; 


•MS. — Where traces in the dew remain." 


Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 


• MS.—'* \nd oft his soul within him rose. 


The sparkle of his swarthy eva ' 


Prompting to rush upon his foes, 


' See Appendix, Note 2 B. 



r 



816 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in 



Disorder'd from hie glowing cheek ; 


Thus, circled in his coil, the snake. 


Mien, face, and ijriu, yoimg Redmond speak. 


When rovmg hunters beat the brake. 


A form more active, light, and strong, 


Watches with red and glistening eye, 


Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 


Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh. 


The modest, yet the manly mien. 


With forked tongue and venom'd fang 


Might grace the court of maiden queen ; 


Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 


A face more fair you well might find,^ 


But if the intruders turn aside. 


For Redmond's knew the sun and wind. 


Away his coUs imfolded glide, 


Kor boasted, from their tinge when free. 


And tlu-ough the deep savannali wind. 


The- charm of regularity ; 


Some undisturb'd retreat to find. 


But every feature had the power 




To aid the expression of the hour : 


VII. 


Whether gay wit, and humor si}', 


But Bertram, as he backward drew. 


Danced laugliing in his light-blue eye ■ 


And heard the loud pursuit renew. 


Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 


And Redinou^l's hollo on the wind. 


And kindUng cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 


Oft mutter'd in liis savage mind — 


Or soft and sadden'd glances show 


" Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 


Her ready sympathy with woe ; 


ilone this day's event to try. 


Or in that wayward mood of mind. 


With not a second here to see. 


When various feelings are combmed, 


But the gray cUff and oaken tree, — 


When joy and sorrow mingle near. 


That voice of tliine, that shouts so loud. 


And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear; 


Should ne'er repeat its summons proud 1 


And rising doubts keep transport down, 


No ! nor e'er try its meltmg power 


And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 


Again in maiden's smnmer bower." 


In that strange mood wliich maids approve 


Eluded, now behind him die. 


Even wheu they dare not call it love ; 


Faint and more faint, each hostile cry ; 


With every change his features play'd. 


He staude in ScargiB wood alone. 


As aspens show the Ught and shade* 


Nor hears he now a harsher tone 




Than the hoitrse cushat's plaintive cry, 


VI. 


Or Greta's toimd that murmurs by ; 


Well Risingham young Redmond knew ; 


And on the dale, so lone and wild. 


And much he marveU'd that the crew. 


The summef stu: in quiet smUed. 


Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, ' 




Were by that Mortham's foeman led; 


VIII. 


For never felt his soul the woe, 


ge hsten'd long with anxious heart, 


That wails a generous foeman low. 


Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,'' 


Far less that sense of justice strong. 


And, whUe his atretch'd attention glows, 


That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 


Refused his weary frame repose. 


But small his leisure now to pause ; 


'Twas silence all — -he l.iid hun down. 


Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :' 


Where purple her^th profusely strown. 


And twice that Redmond came so near 


'Aud throatwort, wiih its azm-e bell," 


Where.,Bertram couch'd like himted deer. 


And moss and thyme liis cusliion swell. 


The very boughs his steps displace 


There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 


Rustled against the ruffian's face. 


The course of Greta's playful tide ; 


Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, 


Beneath, her banks now eddying ylun. 


And plunge his dagger in his heart 1 


Now briglitly gle.tming to the sun. 


But Redmond tum'd a different way. 


As, dancmg over rock and stone. 


And the bent boughs resumed then- sway. 


In yellow light her currents shone, 


And Bcrtrimi held it wise, unseen. 


Matchmg in hue the favorite gem 


Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 


Of Albui's moimtain-diadem. 


I These S2x couplets were often qnoted by the late Lord 


3 MS. — " The chase he heads, .-hate'er the cause." 


Kinnedder as giving, in his opinion, nn excellent portrait of 


i MS. " and limba to start. 


the aothor Iiiinself.— Ed. 


.And, while his stret'-.h'd attention glows. 


a Ii. the MS. this image comes after the line " to aid the ex- 


Scarce felt his we.l^ ftane reptae.*' 


pression of the hour," and the conplet stands : 


'- The Campanula Latifolia, grand thrpatw'*rt, rT Oumr 




bury bells, grows in profusion upon tli" b^ lut'ful b«nks s* thi 


" And lilte a flexile aspen play'd 


river Greta, where it divides the manors of Brigjall and 3MF 


Alternately in light and shade." 


gill, about three miles above Greta Bri(?j;e. 



CAKTO III. ROKKBY. 31 


Then, tired to watch the current's play, 


X. 


He turu'd his weary eyes away, 


Oft, mingled with the direful theme. 


To where the bank opposing show'd 


Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream ? 


Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood- 


Or had he seen, in vision true, 


One, prominent above the rest. 


That very Mortham whom he slew ( 


Rear'd to the sun its pale gray breast ; 


Or had in hvuig flush appear'd 


Around its broken simunit grew 


The only man on earth he fear'd !^ 


Tlie h.azel rude, iuid sable yew ; 


To try the mystic cause intent, 


A thousand varied Uchens dyed 


His eyes, that on tlie cliff were bent. 


. Its waste and weather-beaten side, 


'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance. 


And roimd its ruggeil basis lay, 


Like sunbeam flasli'd from sword or lance 


By time or thunder rent away, 


At once he started as for fight. 


Fragments, tliat, from its frontlet torn, 


But not a foeman was hi sight ;' 


Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 


He heard the cushat's niurmiu- hoaree, 


Such was the scene's wild majesty, , 


He heard the river's sounding com*se ; 


That iill'd stem Bertram's gazing eye.' 


The soHtary woodlands lay. 




As slimibering in the summer ray. 


IX. 


He gazed, like Hon roused, around, , 


In sullen mood he lay reclined, 


Then sunk again upon the ground. 


Revolving, in his stormy mind. 


'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam. 


The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 


Glanced sudden from tlic sparkling stream . 


His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 


Then plunged him from his gloomy train 


A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread. 


Of ill-connected thoughts again, ' 


That it had power to wake the dead 


Until a voice behind him cried, 


Then, pondering on his Hfe betray'd' 


" Bertram ! well met on Greta sidp " 


By Oswald's ai-t to Redmond's blade, 




In treacherous purpose to withliold, 


XI. 


Bo seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, 


Instant liis sword was in liis hand. 


A deep and full revenge he voVd 


As mstant sunk the ready brand ; 


On Redmond, forward, tierce, and proud ; 


Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 


Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 


To him that issued from the wood ; , 


Redoubled vengeance, swift and dii'e !— 


" Guy Denzil ! — is it thou ?" he said ; 


If in such mood (as legends .say, 


> " Do we two meet in Scargill shade ! — 


And well believed that simple day), 


Stand back a space ! — thy purpose show. 


The Enemy of Man has power 


Whether thou contest as friend or foe. 


To profit by the evU hour. 


Report hath said, that Denzil's name 


Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 


From Rokeby's band was razed with shame "— 


His soul's redemption for revenge !* 


" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 


But though his vows, with such a tire 


Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 


Of earnest and intense dcsu-e 


Of my marauding on the clowns 


For vengeance dark and fell, were made,' 


Of Calverley and Bradford downs.' 


As well might reach hell's lowest shade. 


I reck not. In a war to strive. 


N"o deeper clouds the grove embrown' d. 


Where, save the leaders, none (.m thrjre. 


No nether thunders shook the groimd ; — 


Suits ill my mood ; and better game 


Tlie demon knew his vassal's heart, 


Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 


And spai'ed temptation's needless art." 


Unscrupulous, bold Ris-ngham,' 


' MS. ■ "show'd. 


of the scene in The Eobbeis, in w. ;n something of a siml H 


With many a rocky fragment rode. 


contrast is exhibited between the beauties of external natlj* 


Its old gray cliffs and shaggy wood." 


and the agitations of human passion. It is in sui-h picla/a 


.•The MS. adds: 

" Yet as he gazed, he fail'd to find 
According image touch his mind." 


that Mr. Scott delights and excels." — Moiit/thj Review. Ou« 
is surprised that the reviewer did not quote Milton raUtct 
than Schiller : 


1 MS.—" Then thonglit he on his life betray'd." 


"The fiend 


* See Appendix, Note 2 C. 


Saw undelighted all delight."— Ed 


^MS. — " For deep and dark revenge were made, 

As well might wake hell's lowest shade." 


' MS. — " Look'd round — no foeman was in sight 


■Bertram is now alone; the landscape aronnd is tmly 


e See Appendix, Note 2 D. 


irand >)artialU illuminated by the son ; and we are reminded 


» MS. — " Uoscrnpuloas, gallant Risingham.* 



818 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. . ca.sto m 


Who watch' 1 with me in midnight dark, 


XIV. 


To snatch a deer ih-om Rokeby-park. 


With wonder Bertram heard -within 


How thinlr'st thou '{" — " Speak thy purpose out ; 


The flinty rock a murmur'd din ; 


I love not mystery or doubt." — 


But when Guy pull'd the wilding spray, 




And brambles, from its base away,* 


XII. 


He saw, appearing to the air. 


' • Then list. — JTot fai- tliere lurk a crew 


A httle entrance, low and square. 


Of trraty comrades, stanch and true, 


Like opening cell of hermit lone. 


Gieim'd from hoth factious — Roundheads, freed 


D;uk, winding through the hving stone. 


V) om c;mt of sermon and of creed ; 


Here enter'd DeuzU, Bertram here ; 


And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, 


And loud and louder on their ear, 


Spurn at the bouJs of discipline. 


As from the bowels of the earth. 


Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 


. Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 


A warfare of our own to hold, 


Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 


Than breathe our last on battle-down. 


In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 


For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 


And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's, wave 


Om- schemes are laid, our purpose set. 


E'en now, o'er many a sister cave,® 


A cliief and leader lack we yet. — 


Where, fin- within the darksome rift. 


Thou ai-t a wanderer, it is said ; 


The wedge .and lever ply their tlurift. 


For Mortham's death, thy steps waylaid,' 


But war had silenced rural trade. 


Thy head at price — so say om- spies. 


And the deserted mine was made 


Who range the v.aUey in disguise. 


The banquet-hall and fortress too. 


Join theu with us : — though wild debate 


Of Denzil and liis desperate crew. — 


And wrangliug rend our infimt state. 


There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 


Each to an equal loth to bow. 


There, on liis sordid pallet, slept 


Will yield to cliief reno-mi'd as thou." — 


Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd 


• 


StiU in his slumbering grasp retain'd ■ 


XIIL 


Regret was there, his eye still cast 


" Even now," thought Bertram, passion-stii-r'd, 


With vain repiuiug on the past ; 


" I call'd on heU, and hell has heard 1" 


Among the feasters waited near 


What lack I, vengeance to command. 


Sorrow, imd um-epentant Fear, 


But of stanch conu-ades such a band P 


And Blasphemy, to phren.sy driven. 


Tliis Denzil, vow'd to every evil ■ 


Witli his own crimes reproaching heaven ; 


Might read a lesson to the devil. 


While B(y1ram show'd, amid the crew, 


WcU, be it so ! each knave and fool 


The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. ■ 


Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — 




Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 


XV. 


But tell me where thy comrades he ?" — 


Hark 1 the loud revel wakes again. 


" Not f:u- from hence," Guy Denzil said ; 


To greet the leader of the train. 


" Descend, and cross the river's bed. 


Behold the group by the pale lamp. 


Where rises yonder cUff so gray." — 


That struggles with the earthy damp. 


"Do thou," said Bertram, "lead the way." 


By what strange features Vice hath Imown 


Then mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 


To single out and inark lier own ! 


Guy Dcnzil's faith was never pure." 


Yet some there are, whose brows retain 


He foUow'd down the steep descent, 


Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 


rhen through the Greta's streams they went ; 


See yon pale stripling !" when a boy. 


And, when they reach'd the farther shore. 


A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 


Tliey stood the lonely chff before. 


Now, 'gamst the vault's rude walls reclined, 


MS. — " Thy head at price, thy steps waylaid." 


acters of tlie drama, liad not one of its subordinate personagw 


"1 but lialf wish'd 


been touched with a force of imagination, wliicb renders it 


To see the lievil, aril he's here already.** — Otway 


worthy even of prominent regard and attention. Tlie poet ha« 


MS. — *' What lack I, my revenge to quench. 


just presented us with the picture 01 a gang of banditti, oti 


But such a. band of comrades stanch ?" 


which he has bestowed some of the most gloomy coloring ot 


MS. — " But when Guy Denzil puU'd the spray. 


his powerful pencil. In the midst of this horrible group, ii 


And brambles, from its roots away. 


distinguished the exquisitely natural and interesting portrait 


Ka saw, forth issuing to tlie air.'* 


which follows : — 


• Sec Appendix, Note 2 E. ■ 


' See yon pale stripling !' &c." 


• " We should here have concluded our remarks on the <har* 


Critical Revir9. 



I AUTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



M9 



An early image fills liis iiiiiid : 

Hie cottage, once his sii'e's, he sees, 

Embower'd upon the banks of Tees; 

He views sweet Wiustou's woodland scene. 

And shares the dance on Gainford-grcen. 

A te:u' is springing — but the zest 

Of some wiUl tale, or brutal jest. 

Hath to loud laughter sthr'd the rest. 

On hini they. call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat : 

Fust flies his dream — with dauntless air. 

As one victorious o'er Despau-, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round, 

Till sense and sorrow both ai-e drown'd ; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he,' 

The life of all their revelry. 

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 

Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 

'Mid noidous weeds at random strew'd. 

Themselves all profitless and rude. — 

With desperate merriment lie sung, 

The cavern to the chorus rung : 

Yet mingled with his reckless glee 

Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVI. 
Sons-' 
0, Brignall banks are wild imd fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And j'ou may gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queea 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
\ Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singuig merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

" 0, BrignaU banks are fresh and fair. 

And Greta woods ai'e gi'een ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reign our JingUsh queen." — 

" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 
To leave both tower and town. 

Thou first must guess what Life lead we, 
lliat dwell by dale and down ? 



M3, — " And soon the loudest wassailer he, 

And life of all their revelry." 

^ Scott ..;viaited Rokeby in 1812. for the purpose of refresh- 

iftg his meiiiory; and Mr. Morritl says. — "I had. oi course, 

(had many previous opitortunities of testing the almost con- 

icientious fidelity of his local descnptions : but I eonid not 

jhelp being singularly struck with the lights which this visit 

I threw on that characteristic of liis compositions The mom- 

^ing alter he arrived he said. ' Vou have often given me mate- 

urials for romance — now 1 want .t good robber's cave and an old 

'ihnrchof the right sort.' We rode oul. and he found what be 

wanted in the ancient slate qnanies of Brignall and the mined 

j Abbey of Egliston. 1 observed him noting down even the 

<e«nliar littl* wild-flowers and ber'-s that accidentally grew 



And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may. 
Then to the greenwood .shalt thou 
speed. 

As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHOIIUS. 

Yet simg she, " Brignall banks are fiiir, 

And Greta woods ;iie green; 
I'd rather rove w ith Edmund there, 

Thim reign our English queen. 

XVII. 
" I read you, by your bugle-horn. 

And by yom- palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn, 

To keep the king's greenwood." — 
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heartl at merry morn 

And mine at dead of night." — 
CHonus. 
Yet sung she, " BrignaU banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I woiJd I were with Ednnmd there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With burnish'd brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." — 
" I list no more the tuck of drum. 

No more the trumpet iiear ; 
But when the beetle sounds liis hiuu. 

My comrades take the sjjear. 
CHORUS. ' 

" And, O ! though Brignall banks be lair, 

And Greta woods be gay. 
Yet mickle must the maiden d.art. 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII. 
" Maiden 1 a nameless life I lead. 

A nameless death I'll die ; 
The fiend, whose lantern fights the mead,* 

Were better m-ate th.an I ! 



rouiul and on the side of a bold cr.Tg near his inteiiceu tiave af 
Gay Denzil ; and could not help zaying, that as he was not 10 
be upon oath in his work, daisies, violets, and primroses would 
be as poetical as any of the humble plants he was examining 
1 laughed, in short, at bis scruimlousness , but 1 understoon 
him when he replied, 'that in nature herself no two scenes 
were exactly alike, and that whoever copied truly what was 
before his eyes, would possess the same variety in his descrip* 
lions, and exhibit apparently a« imagination as boundless a« 
the range of nature in the scenes he recorded ; whereas — who- 
ever trusted to imagination, would soon find bis own mind 
circumscribed, and contracted to a few favorite ima^ea " — 
Life of Scoll, vol. iv. p. lit. 
3 M3.— " The goblin-light on lew . meai. 



820 SCOTT'S POETICAL WOEKS. canto ni 


And when I'm -with my comrades met,' 


He blush'd to think, that he should seem 


Beneath the greenwood bough, 


Assertor of an airy dream. 


What once we were we all forget. 


And gave his wrath another theme. 


Nor think what we are now. 


" Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid. 


cnoKUS. 


Wrong not the memory of the dead ; 


" Yet" BrignaU banks are fraih and fair, 


For, while he lived, at Mortham's look 


And Greta woods are green, 


Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 


And you may gather garlands there 


And when he tax'd thy breach of word 


Would grace a summer queen." 


To yon fair Rose of Allenford, 




I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound,* 


When Edmund ceased his simple song. 


Whose back the huntsman's lash hatn 


Was silence on the sullen throng. 


found. 


TiU waked some ruder mate their glee 


Nor dare to call liis foreign wealth 


With note of coarser minstrelsy. 


The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 


But, far apart, in dai'k divan. 


He won it bravely with his brand. 


Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 


Wlien Spain waged warfare with oiu- land.' 


Of import foul and fierce, design' d. 


Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer. 


While still on Bertram's grasping mind 


Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; . 


The wealth of murder'd Mortham hung ; 


Mine is but h.alf the demon's lot. 


Though half he fear'd his daring tongue, 


For I beheve, but tremble not. — 


When it should give his wishes birth,^ 


Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 


Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 


Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 




Or, tliink'st that Mortham would bestow 


XIX. 


Hia treasure with his faction's foe ?" 


At length liis wondrous tale he told : 




When, scoraful, smiled his comrade boid » 


XXI. 


For, train'd in license of a court. 


Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth 


Religion's self was Denzil's sport ; 


Rather he would have seen the earth 


Then judge in what contempt he held 


Give to ten thousand spectres birth. 


Tlie visionary tales of eld ! 


Than venture to awake to flame 


His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 


The deadly wrath of Risingham. 


The unbeliever's sneering jest. 


Submiss he answer'd, — " Mortham's mind. 


" 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer,' 


Thou know'st, to joy was iU incUned. 


To spell the subject of yoiur fear ; 


In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, * 


N"or do I boast the art renown'd, 


A lusty reveller was he ; 


Vision and omen to expound. 


But since return'd from over sea," 


Yet, faith if I must needs afford 


A suUeu andtii sUent mood 


To spectre watching treasured hoard. 


Hatli numb'd the current of his blood. 


As bandog keeps his master's roof. 


Hence he refused each kindly call 


BidcUng the plunderer stand aloof. 


To Rokeby's hospitable hall, 


This doubt remains — tliy goblin gaunt 


And our stout knight, at dawn of morn 


Hath chosen ill liis gliostly haunt ; 


Who loved to hear the bugle-horn. 


For why liis guard on Mortham hold, 


Nor less, when eve liis oaks embrown'd. 


Wlien Rokeby castle hath the gold 


To see the ruddy cup ^-o round. 


Tliy patron won on Indian soil,* 


Took umbrage that a friend so near 


B ' stealth, by pli'acy, and spoil V 


Refused to share liis chase and cheer ; 




Thus did the kinch-ed barons jar. 


XX. 


Ere they divided in the war. 


At this he pausea — for angry shame 


Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 


Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. 


Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." — 


MS.—" And were I with my trne love set 


Dark dreams and omens to expound. 


Under the greenwood boQgh, 


Yet, if my faith I must afford,' " &o 


What once I was s)ie must forget, 


< MS. " hath Lis gold, ' 


Nor think what I am now." 


The gold he won on Indian soil." 


MS. — ' " give Ilie project birth." 


CMS. "like rated hound." 


MS. — " ' 'Twere hard, Wiy friend,' he said, ' to spell 


8 See Appendix, Note 2 F. *, 


The morning vision, that you tell ; 


'MS. " Denzil's mood of mirth, i 


Nor am I seer, for art renown'd. 





CANTO 111. 



ROKEBl . 



321 



XXII. 

" Destiaed to her ! to yon slight maid I 
The prize my life had welluigh paid, 
WTien 'gainst Laroclie, by Cayo's wave, 
I fought my patrou's wealth to save ! — ' 
Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavaher. 
Whom youtliful friends and early fame 
Call'd soul of gallantry fmd game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew. 
Desperate and dark, wliom no one knew ; 
And rose, as men witli us must rise. 
By scorning life and aU its ties. 
On each adventm'e rash he roved. 
As danger for itself he loved; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
HI was the omen if lie smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when lie laugh'd, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate." 
Foremost he fought in every broil, 
Then scornful turn'd him from the spoil ; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory. 
Of mercy and humanity. 

xxm. 

" 1 loved him well : liis fearless part. 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangled for his right,' 
Redeem'el his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thrice saved his life. 
And once amid our comrades' strife. — ' 
Tes, I have loved thee ! Well hath proved 
My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around, 
And sternlv stamp'd upon tlie gi-ound — 
"Rise, with thy bearing proud and high. 
Even as this mom it met mine eye, 

The MS. lias not this coQpIet. 

" There was a laughing devil in his sneer, 
That raised eraotiona both of rage and fear ; 
And where hi? frown of hatred darkly fell, 
Hope withering fled — and Mercy sigh'd farewell." 

Byron's Works, vol. ix. p. 272. 

' MS.— •' And when j '';*= ! bloody fight was done 

I wrangled for the share he won.** 
' See Appendi.x. Note 2 G. 
■ MS. — "To thee, my friend, 1 need not tell. 

What thou hast canse to know so well." 
MS — " Aroond thy captain's moody mind." 



And give me, if thou darcst, the lie 1" 
He paused — then, calm and passion-freed. 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 

XXIV. 
" Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 
What thou hast cause to wot so well,' 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind 1* 
But since he drove thee from h's tower, 
A maiil he foimd in Greta's bower, 
Wbose speech, like David's harp, had 8\ray 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
TUl his mood soften'd to a sigfi. 
He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of liis secret thought. 
Now every thought and care .confess'd 
To his fiiir niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, ui ocean, or in air, 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still boimd liini unto life ;' 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials brre, bj' his commands. 
Three coffers, with their iron bands. 
From Mortham's vault, at midnight deej^ 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride,' 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 

XXV. 
" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train. 
These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here." 
Where many a peril waits him near. 
For all lus feats of war and peace. 
For plunder'd boors, ivnd harts of greese !" 
Since through the hamlets as he fared. 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared. 
Or where the chase tliat hath not rung'" 
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strunc; f-~ 
" I hold my wont. — my rangers go. 
Even now, to track a milk-wliite doe." 

T MS. — " But it must be Matilda's share 

This, too, still bound him unto life." 
* MS. — " From a strong vault in Morthani tower, 

In secret to Matilda's bower, 

Ponderous with ore and gems of pride.'* 
" MS. — " Then inay I gnesa thou hast some train, 

Tliese iron-banded chests to gain ; 

Else, why should Denzil hover hepe." 
10 Deer in season. 
" MS. " that doth not know 

The midnight clang of Denzil'B tow. 

- ! hold my sport," &c. 
■? See Apperiiii, Note 2 H. 



322 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTO la 



By Eokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbors fair, 
Anil -when my huntsman marks her way, 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey J 
Were Rokeby's daughter m our power, 
We rate her raisom at her dower." — 

< 
XXVI. 
' 'Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought ; 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 
And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said. 
Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertram she scorn' d — If met .by chance, 
She turn'd from me her shuddering glance, 
Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
On what she hates and loathes to look ; 
She told to Mortham she could ne'er 
Behold me without secret fear, 
Foreboding evU ; — She may rue 
To find her propliecy fall true ! — 
The wai' has weeded Rokeby's train. 
Few followers in his halls remain ; 
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold. 
We are enow to storm tlie hold, 
Bear off the plunder, and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame." — 

XXVII. 

" StiU art thou Valor's venturous son ! 

Tet ponder first the risk to run : 

The menials of the castle, true. 

And stubborn to their charge, though few ;' 

The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 

'riie wicket-grate — the inner fosse" 

— " Fcjol ! if we blench for toys like these, 

On wliat fair guerdon can we seize P 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door. 

And the best prize we bear away. 

The earnings of his sordid day." — 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair. 

Thou wouldst not choose, m blmdfold wrath, 

Or wantonnass, a desperate path 'I 

list, then ; — for vantage or assault. 

From gilded vane to dungeon-vault, 

Ea:i pass of Rokeby -house I know : 

Thrre it one postern, dark and low, 

' M3 -'* The meniaTs of the castle few. 

But slnbborn to their charge, and true." 

• MS. — " What prize of vantage ehall we seize V 
i MS. — " That issues level with tiie moat * 

* M9.-=-" I care not if a fox I wind." 



>.MSt ■ 



' ' onr merry men agam 

Are frolicking in blithesome str-ain." 
■ MS. — " A laughing eye, a dauntless mien." 
"f MS. — " Ty t/ie Printer: — Theabmptnessas lolhesong is 
ajavoidal) e. Tlie music of the drinking party could only oper^ 



That issues at a secret spot, 

Bv most neglected or forgot. 

Now, could a spial of our train 

On fair pretext admitttmce gain. 

That sally-port might be unban''d : 

Then, vain were battlement and ward 1" — 

xxvni. 

" Now speak'st thou well : — to me the same, 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
■ Indifferent, if like fox I wind,' 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hai'k ! our merry-men so gay 
TroU forth another roimdelay.'" 

Song. 
" A wear)' lot is thine, fiiir maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien," 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln-green, — 

No more of me you knew. 

My love I 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow. 

The rose is buddmg fain ■,' 
But.she shall bloom in whiter snow, 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore,' 
He gave his bridle-rehis a shake. 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — " 

XXIX. 
" What youth is this, your band among. 
The best for minstrelsy and song i 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasm'e and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes liis cliildhood gave, — 
Now center'd all in BrignaU cave ! ■ 
I watch liim well — his wayward course 

ate as a sudden interruption to Bertram's conversation, liow^ | 
ever naturally it mis'jt be introdu.ei' among the feasters, whc ] 
were at some distance. 

" Fain, in old English and Scotch, ex|.resses, I think, a Jlio t 
pensity to give and receive pleasurable emotions, i sort of fond ( 
ness which may, witliout harshness, 1 think, be apj^ied to * 
rose in the act of blooming. You remember ' Jockey fo» and 
Jenny fain.' — W. S" 

» MS.—" Upon the ] i'""'^, ' shore." 
* Scottish S 

See Aooendix. Note 2 I. 



CANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



32. 



Shoirs oft A lincture of remorse. 

Some early love-shaft grazed liis heart,' 

And oft tlie scar will ache and smart. 

Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 

By fits, the darling and the jest, 

His harji, liis story, and his lay, 

Oft aid the i tie linur.^ away :' 

Whei: LJt.5oploy'd, each fiery mate 

la ripo for mutinous debate. 

He t-.med his struigs e"en now — again 

He wakes them, with a bUther straia" 

XXX. 

Sona. 

ALLE.V-A-DALE. 

. Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for tm'ning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Tet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold AUen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth' prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the laud for liis game, 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale. 
Are less free to Lord D.acre than AUen-a-dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knigjit, [bright ; 
Though his spur be as 6h.arp, and his blade be as 
AUen-a-Diile is no baron or lord. 
Yet twenty tall yeomen* will draw at liis word ; 
And the best of om- nobles his bonnet will vail, 
Wlio at Rere-cross' x>a Stanmore meets Allen-a- 
Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 

The mother, she a=k'd of his household and home : 

" Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the 

lull. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still ; 
'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so 

pale, [Dale. 

And -"rith all its bright spangles !" said AUen-a- 

The fnther was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, 



I MS.- 



' Scathed 
Seared 



I. 



i> tiearl. 



- MS. — " Ofl help the weary night away." 

5 The ruins 3l Ruvensworth Castle stand in the North Ri- 
ding of York?^hire. about t.'iree miles from the town of Rich- 
mond, and adjoin ng to the waste called the Forest of Arkin- 
:arth. Itbelongel originally to the powerful family of Fitz- 
Hagh, from \thon it parked to the Lords Dacre of the South. 



And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale I 

XXXI. 
" Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay. 
Love mingles ever in his lay. 
But when liis boyish wayward fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each viyious shape." — 

" Nay, then, to .aid thy project. Guv — ^ 

Soft ! who comes here ?" — " My trusiy spy. 
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer V~ 
" I have — but two fair stags are near. 

1 watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, 
And then yoimg Rethuond, in his pride, 
Shot down to meet them on their way : 
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net 
Before their path be liomeward set." 

A hurried and a whisper'd speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
Who, turning to the robber band. 
Bade fom-, the bravest, take the brand 



Holx-eb}). 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 

When Denmark's r.aven soar'd on high, 
Tritmiphant through Northumbrian sky, 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons (head the yoke ' 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each catiiract imd spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves liis source, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ;• 
Bcne.ath the shade the Nortlimen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Rmiic name,' 
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone. 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 
Tlien, B.alder, one bleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 

* MS. — " Rut a score of 2ood fellows," &c. 

s Pee Appendix, Note 2 K. '■ Ibid. Note 2 L. 

' See Appendix. Note 2 M. 

8 The Tees rises altout the skirts of Crossfell, and falls OT« 
the cataracts named in the text before it leaves tie monntaina 
which divide the North Riding from Cumberland High-Forc« 
3 seventy-five feet in height. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 M. 



324 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKb. 



And Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
But to the Mona-rh of the Mace, 
That held in fighv the foremost place, 
To Odin's son, and Sifia'a spouse, 
Near Stratforth liigh they paid their tows, 
Remember'd Thor's victorious fame, 
And gare the dell the Thimderer's name. 

11. 

Tet Scald or Kemper *r 1, I ween. 
Who gave that soft and quiet scene. 
With all its varied Ught and shade, 
And every little sunny glade. 
And the bUthe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song. 
To the grim God of blood and scar. 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
0, better were its banlts assign'd 
To spu-its of a gentler kind I 
For where the tliicket-groups recede, 
And the ratli primrose decks the mead,' 
Tlie velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Ton tufted knoll, with daisies strown, 
Miglit make proud Oberori a thi'one, 
While hidden m the tliicket nigh. 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly ; 
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm, it verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencUl'd flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 

III. 
Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting every sunny glade, 
Li fair variety of gi-een 
Tlie woodland lends its sUvau screen. 
Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak. 
Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 
And towers erect, in sable spu'e. 
The pine-tree scathed by hghtning-fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch, between, 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath, at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied snow, 
Or. rocud the stems profusely twined. 
Fling summer odora on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's liand 
Roimd Hun of Tarsus nobly plann'd. 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown I 



' MS. — '* The early pnmrose decks Ihe tneaii, 

And tlie short velvet grass seems meet 
For the light fairies' frolic feet." 

* MS. — "That you had said her cheek was pale ; 
Bat if she faced the morning gale. 



Then gray Philosophy stood nigh, 
Tftiough bent by age, iu spirit high : 
There rose the scai'-seaiu'd veteran's speai 
T'here Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 
While Childhood at her foot was placed. 
Or clmig delighted to her waist. 

IV. 
" And rest we here," Matilda said, 
And sat her in the varying shade. 
" Chance-met, we well may ste.al an hour. 
To friendsliip due, from fortune's power. 
Thou, Wilfred, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
No fartlier urge thy desperate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left. 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft ; 
WeUnigh an orphan, and alone. 
Captive her she, her house o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid, with wonted Idndness graced. 
Beside her on the turf she placed ; 
Tlien paused, with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
Drew baclcward, as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space removed, 
Uimiark'd to gaze on her he loved. 



Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 
Half hid Matilda's forehead fau-. 
Half hid and half reveal'd to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose, with faint and feeble streak. 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek. 
That you had said her hue was pale ;' 
But if she faced the summer gale. 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 
Or heard the praise of those she loved. 
Or when of interest was express'd' 
Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 
The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivall'd the bhish of rising day. 
There was a soft and pensive grace, 
A cast of thouglit upon her face, 
That suited well tlie forehead liigh. 
The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 
The rmld expression spoke a mind 
In duty iirm, composed, resign'd ; 
'Tis that wlxich Roman art has given, 
To mark their maiden Queen of Heavea 

Or longer spoke, or qaicker moved." 
> MS. — '* Or aoght of interest was express'd 
That waked a feeling in her breast. 



The mantling blood. 



I like morning beam, 
' in ready play." 



3Ainro IV. 



ROKEBY. 



32A 



In houi-s of apart, that mood gave way' 

To Fancy's liglit and frolic jilay ; 

And when the chince, or tah?, or song, 

In harmless mirth sped time along, 

VuU oft her doating sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 

But days of war and civil crime, 

AUow'd but UI such festal time. 

And her soft pensiveuess of brow 

Had deepcn'd into sadness now. 

In Marston field her father ta'en, 

Her friends dispersed, brave Jlortham slain. 

While every ill her soul foretold, 

From Oswald's tliirst of power and gold. 

And boding thoughts that she must part 

With a soft vision of her heart, — ' 

All lower'd around the lovely maid, 

To darken her dejection's shade. 

VI. 
Who has not heai'd — while Erin yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 
Who has not lieard how brave O'Xeale 
In EngUsh blood imbrued his steel,' 
Against St. George's cross blazed high 
Tlie banners of his Tanistry, 
To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil S 
But chief arose his victor pride, 
When that brave Marshal fought and died,* 
And Avou-Duff to ocean bore 
His billows red with Saxon gore. 
'Twas lirst in that disastrous fight, 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their might.' 
There had they fallen 'mongst the rest, 
But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast ; 
The Timist he to great O'Neale ;' 
He check'd his followers' bloody zeal, 
To quarter took the kinsmen bold. 
And bore them to his mountain-hold. 
Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Donard's cUffs and woods could show,'' 
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer, 
Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer, 
And, when a fitting time was come, 

MS. — " In fitting houR the mood gave way 
To Fancy's liglit and frolic play. 
When the blithe dance, or tale, or song 
In harmless mirth sped time along, 
When oft her doting sire would call 
His Mandlin merriest of them all." 

MS. — ■' With a saft vision of her heart. 

That stole its seat, ere yet she knew 
The guard to early passion due." 

See \ppendi.^. Note 2 O. * Ibid. Note 2 P. 

MS. -" And. by the deep resounding More. 

The English veterans heap'd the shore. 
It was in that disastrous fight 
That Rokeby proved bis youthful i _:„i,, i. 
Rokeby and Mortham proved thtir ) 



Safe and unransora'd sent them home, 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love'. 

VII. 
Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 

Some touch of early siiow was shed ; 

Calm he enjoy 'd, by Greta's wave, 

The peace wloich James the Peaceful gave 

While Mortham, far beyond the main. 

Waged liis fierce wars on Indian Spain.— 

It chanced upon a wintry night," 

That wliiten'd Stamnore's stormy height, 

The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd. 

In Rokeby-haU the cups were fill'd. 

And by the huge stone chimney eato 

The Ivnight in hospitable state. 

Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 

When a loud summons shook the gate. 

And sore for entrance and for aid 

A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 

The porter auswer'd to the call. 

And instant ru.sh'd into the hall 

A Man, whose aspect and attire* 

Startled the' circle by the fire. 

VIII. 
His plaited hair in elf-locks spread'" 
Around his bare and matted head ; 
On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim, 
His vesture show'd the sinewy limb ; 
In saffron dyed, a finen vest 
Was frequent folded round his breast ; • 
A mantle long and loose he wore, 
Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore. 
He clasp'd a burden to his heart. 
And, resting on a knotted dart. 
The snow from hair and beard he shook, 
And round him gazed with wilder'd look. 
Then up the hall, with staggering pace. 
He hasten'd by the blaze to place, 
Half lifeless from the bitter air, 
His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby, next, he louted low. 
Then stood erect his tale to show," 

" MS. — " A kinsman near to great O'Neale." 
See Appendix, Note 2 <J. 
' MS. — " Gave them each varied joy to know. 
The words of Ophalie could show." 

'MS. 



"stormy night, 

When early snow clad Stanmore's height.' 

' ' MS.—" And instant into Rokehy-hall 

A stranger rush'd, whose wild attin* 
Startled," &c. 

" See Appendix, Note 2 R. 

" MS. — " Shaggy with inoir, and stain'd with goim. 
His features aa his dress were wild, 
And in his arms he bore a cRild 



826 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IV. 



With wild majestic port and tone,' 


The brand of Lenaugli More thi Red, 


Like envoy of some barbarous tlirone.' 


That hung beside the gray wolf's head, — 


' Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear 1 


'Twas from his broken phrase descried. 


Tarlough O'Nealo salutes thee dear; 


His foster-father was his guide,* 


He graces thee, and to thy care 


Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 


Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 


Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 


He bids thee breed him as thy son, 


But ruffians met them in the wood. 


For Tui-lough's days of joy are done; . 


Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 


And other lords liave seized his land, 


Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 


And faint and feeble is liis hand ; 


And stripp'd of aU, his failing strength 


And all the glory of Tyi-one 


Just bore him here — tmd then the child 


Is like a morning vapor ilown 


ReneVd again his moaning wild.' 


To bind the duty on thy soul, 




He bids thee think on Erin's bowl !' 


XL 


If any wrong the young O'Neale, 


The tear down childhood's cheek that flowt 


He bidt thee tliink of Erin's steel. 


Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 


To Mortham tirst this charge was due, 


When next the summer breeze comes by, 


But, in his absence, honors you. — 


And waves the bush, the flow-er is dry 


Now is my master's message by, 


Won by their care, the orphan Child 


And Ferraught will contented die." 


Soon on liis new protector smiled, 




With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 


IX. 


Tlirougli his thick curls of flaxen hair, 


His look grew fix'd, liis cheek grew pale. 


But bUthest laugh'd that cheek and eye 


He sunk when he had told his tale ; 


When Rokeby 's Uttle Maid was nigh ; 


For, liid beneath his mantle wide, 


'Twas liis, with elder brother's pride, 


A mortal wound was in liis side. 


MatUda's totteruig steps to guide ;" 


Vam was all aid — in terror -ivild. 


His native lays in Irish tongue, 


And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 


To soothe her infant ear he sung, 


Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes, 


» And primrose twmed ,with daisy fair. 


And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 


To form a chaplet for her hair. 


AH reckless of liis dying pain, 


By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 


He blest and blest him o'er again 1 


The children stQl were hand in hand. 


And kiss'd the little hands outspread. 


And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 


And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head. 


The early knot so kindly tied. 


And, in his native tongue and plu-ase, 




Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 


XIL 


Then aU his strength together di-ew, 


But summer months bring wilding shoot 


Tlie charge to Rokeby to renew. 


From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit , 


When half was falter'd from his breast, 


And years di-aw on our human span. 


And half by dying signs express'd, 


From cliild to boy, from boy to man ; 


" Bless the O'Neale !" he faintly said, 


And soon in Rokeby 's woods is seen 


And thus the faithful spirit fled. 


A gallant boy hi hmiter's green. 




He loves to wake the felon boar, 


X. 


In his dark liaunt on Greta's shore. 


Twas long ere sootliing might prevail 


And loves, agamst the deer so dun, 


Upon the Child to end the tale ; 


To draw the sliaft, or hft the gun : 


And then lie said, that from his home 


Yet more he loves, in autumn prime, 


His grandsu-e had been forced to roam, 


The hazel's spreading boughs to climb. 


■Which had not been if Redmond's hand 


And down its cluster'd stores to hail. 


Had but had strength to draw the brand. 


Where young Matilda holds her veil 


With sty;,'gerin? and uneqaal pace, 


3 MS.—" To bind tlie charge upon thy soul, 


He hasten'd by the blaze to place. 


Remember Erin's social bowl." 


Half lifelpsa I'rom the bitter air, 




Hia load, a Boy of beauty rare. 


< See Appendi.x, Note 2 T. 


To Rokeby, then, with solemn air, 


6 Here follows in the MS. a stanza of sixteen lines, whio* 


He turn'd his errand to declare." 


the author subsequently dispersed through stanzas 17. and 


' This couple is no*, in the MS. 


xvi., post. 
8 MS. — " Three years more old, 'twas Redmond's plid* 


Bee Appendix, Note 2 S. 


Matilda'd tottering steps to gaide." 



CANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



32) 



And she, whose veil receives the shower,' 


Now must Matilda stray apart. 


Is alter'd too, am! knows her power ; 


To school her disobedient heart ; 


Assumes a raonitrcss's pride, ' 


Ami Redmond now alone must rue 


Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide ; 


The love he never can subdue. 


Yet listens still to hear him tell 


But factions rose, and Rokeby sware,' 


How the gi im wild-boar° fought and fell, 


No rebel's son should wed his hen- ; 


How at his Tall the bugle rung, 


And Redmond, nurtured while a cliild 


Tili rock aii<l greenwood answer flung ; 


In many a bard's traditions wild. 


Then blesses her, that man can find 


Now sought the lonely wood or streaa;, 


A pastime of such saviige kind 1' 


To cherish there a happier dream. 




Of maiden won by sword or lauce. 


XIII. 


As in the regions of romance ; 


But Redmond knew to weave his tale 


And count the heroes of liis line,^ 


So well with praise of wood and dale. 


Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,' 


And knew so well e.ach point to trace. 


Shime-Dymas^ wild, and Geraldine," 


. Gives hving interest to the chase, 


And Connan-more, who vow'd his race 


And knew so well o'er all to throw 


For ever to the fight and chase, 


His spirit's wUd romantic glow. 


And cursed him, of his Imeage born. 


That, -while she blamed, and while she fear'd, 


Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn 


She loved each ventm-ous tale she heard. 


Or le.ave the motmtaui and the wold. 


Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 


To shroud himself in castled hold. 


To bower and hall their steps restrain, 


From such examples hope he drew. 


Together they explored the page 


And brighten'd as the trumpet blew 


Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 




Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 


XV. 


The minstrel ait alternate tried, 


If brides were won by heart and blade. 


While gladsome harp and Uvely lay 


Redmond had both his cause to aid. 


Bade winter-night fht fast away : 


And all beside of nurture rare 


Thus, from then- childhood, blending still 


That might beseem a baron's heir. 


Their sport, thqir study, and then: skill. 


Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 


An union of the soul they prove, 


On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his Ufe, 


But must not think that it was love. 


And well did Rokeby's generous Knight 


But though they dared not, envious Fame 


Young Redmond for the deed requite 


Soon dared to give that union name ; 


Nor was his Uberal care and cost 


And when so often, side by side. 


Upon the gallant striphng lost : 


From year to year the pair she eyed. 


Seek the North-Riding broad and wide. 


She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 


Like Redmon^ none could steed bestride ; 


As dull of ear and dim of sight. 


From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 


Sometimes his purpose would declare. 


Like Redmond none could wield a brand , 


That young O'Ncale should wed his heir. 


And then, of humor kind and free. 




And bearmg hun to each degree 


XIV. 


With frank and fearless com-tesy. 


The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 


There never youth was form'd to steal 


And bandage from the lovers' eyes ;• 


Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 


'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 




Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 


XVL 


Now must they meet with change of cheer, 


Su- Richard loved him as his son ; 


With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 


And when the days of peace were dou>., 


' MP. — " And she on whom these treasarea shower.** 


Great Nia! of the Pledges Nine. 


* MS. — " Grim sanglier." 


Shane-Dymas wild, and Connan-Mar, 


> MS.—" Then bless'd himself that man can find 


Who vow'd his race to wounds and war, 


.' pa.slime of such cruel kind." 


And cursed all, of his lineage horn. 


' M.S. — " From their hearts and eyes." 


Who sheathed the sword to reap the corn 


* MS.— " And Redmond, too, apart mtlst rue. 


Or left the green-wood and the wold. 


The lo^e he never can subdue ; 


To shroud himself in house or hold.'* 


Then came the war. and Rokeby said. 




No rebeF s son should wed his maid." 


' See Appendi.t, Note 2 U. « Ibid. Note 8 V 


•UP -• Thought on the ' 1;"°" ! of his line. 




^ 1 founders < 


» Ibid. Note 9 W. 



328 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO rv 



And to the gales of war he gare 


On the dark visions of their soul. 


The banner of his sires to wave, 


And bade then- mournful musing fly 


Redmond, distinguiah'd by his care, 


Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 


He chose that honor'd flag to bear,* 




And named liis page, the next degree, 


XVIII. 


In that old time, to chi-ralry.' 


" I need not to my friends recall. 


In five pitch'd fields he well maintain'd 


How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall 


The honor'd place his worth obtain'd, 


A man of silence and of woe. 


And high was Redmond's youthful name 


Yet ever anjdous to bestow 


Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 


On my poor self whate'er could prove 


Had fortune smiled on Marston fight. 


A kinsman's confidence and love. 


The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight ; 


My feeble aid could somethnes chase 


Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife. 


The clouds of son-ow for a space ; 


Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 


But oftener, fix'd beyond my power,* 


But whea he saw hur prisoner made, 


I mark'd his deep despondence lower. 


He kiss'd and then resign'd liis blade,' 


One dismal cause, by all unguess'd, 


And yielded him an easy prey 


His fearful confidence confess'd ; 


-To those who led the Knight away ; 


And twice it w:is my hap to see 


Resolved Matilda's sue should prove' 


Examples of that agony. 


In prison, as m fight, his love. 


Which for a season can o'erstrain 




And wreck the structiu-e of the brain. 


XVII. 


He had the awful power to know 


When lovers meet in adverse hour, 


The approacliing mental overthrow. 


'Tis like a sun-glhnpse through a shower, 


And while liis mind had courage yet 


A water}- ray, an instant seen 


To struggle with the di-eadful fit. 


The dai-kly closing clouds between. 


The victim writhed against jts throes," 


As Redmond on the turf reclined, 


Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 


The past and present fill'd his mind :' 


This malady, I well could mark, 


" It was not thus," Affection said, 


Spnmg from some direful cause and dark 


" I dream'd of my return, dear maid ! 


But still he kept its source conceal'd, 


Not thus, when fi'om thy trembling hand, 


Till arnaing for the civil field ; 


I took the banner and the brand. 


Then m my charge he bade me hold 


When round me, as the bugles blew. 


A treasure huge of gems and gold, 


Their blades three himdred warriors drew. 


With this disjointed dismal scroll. 


And, wliUe the standard I unroll'd, 


That tells the secret of his soul. 


Clash'd their bright arms, with clamor bold. 


In such wild words as oft betray 


Where is that banner now ? — its pride 


A mind by anguish forced astray." — 


Lies 'whehn'd in Ouse's sullen tide ! 




Where now those warriors ? — in their gore. 


XIX. 


They cumber Marston's dismal moor 1 


mortham's histoky. 


And what avails a useless brand, 


" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start 


Held by a captive's shaclded hand, 


As if a dagger tlu-ill'd my heart. 


Tliat only would his life retain, 


When it has hap'd some casual phrase- 


To aid thy she to bear his chain !" 


Waked memory of my former days. 


Thus Redmond to himself apart; 


Believe, that few can backward cast 


Nor Ughter was his rival's heart ; 


Theu- thoughts with pleasm-e on the past 


For Wilfriil, while his generous soul 


But I ! — my youth was rash ai:.d vain,'' 


Disdam'd to profit by control. 


And blood and rage my manhood stain. 


By many a sign could mark too plain. 


And my gray hairs must now descend 


Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. — 


To my cold grave without a friend ! 


But now MatUda's accents stole 


Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 


A|,penilix, Note 2 X. » Ibid. Note 2 Y. 


' MS. — " Bnt oftener 'twas my hap to see 


MP. — " His vajor saved old Rol^eby's life. 


Such storms of bitter agony, 


But when he saw him prisoner made, 


As for the moment would o'erstraiD 


He kiss'd and then flung down his blade.'* 


And wreck the balance of the brain.' 


\(Ut this line the MS. has :— 

" HiB riiiiCd hopes, im'pcndivg woes — 


fi MS. " beneath his throes." 


Till in his eye the tear-drop rose.*^ 


' MS. — " My joutn was foIU's reisn." 



3ANT0 IV. 



ROKEBY. 



32« 



Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 

And must I lift the bloody reil 

That hides my d;irk and fatal tale I 

I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease I ' 

Leave me one Uttle hour in peace I 

Thus haunted, thujc'st thou I have skill 

Thice own commission to fulfil ? 

Or, wliile thou point'st with gesture fierce, 

Thy blighted clieek, thy bloody hearse, 

How can I paint thee as thou wert, 

So fair in face, so warm in heart 1 

XX. 

" YoK, slie was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was Uke the sumiy glow. 
That Liughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret — there was need — 
DifFeiing in country and in creed ; ' 
Aud, when to Mortliam's tower she came, 
We mentioned not lier race and name, 
UntU thy sire, who fought afar,' 
Should turn him home fi"om foreign war. 
On whose kind influence we reUed 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few montlis we Uved retired, unknown. 
To all but one dear fi'iend alone, 
One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget,' 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brotlier worm to me. 
Ungrateful to God's clemency,' 
That sp.'U-ed me penitential time. 
Nor cut me oft' amid my crime. — 

XXI. 

■■ A kindly smile to all she lent. 
But on her Imsband's friend 'twas bent 
So land, that from its harmless glee,* 
Tile wretch misconstrued villany. 
Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 
A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 
Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd, 
My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 
When through the alley'd walk we spied 
With hurried step my Edith ghde, 
Ociwering beneath the verdant screeg. 
As cinc unwilhng to be seen. 
Words cawiot paint the fiendish smUe, 
That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while 
Fiercely I questiou'd of the cause ; 
He made a cold aud artful pause, 

. MS.—" Until thy father, then afar." 
» MS. — " I. a poor debtor, should forget." 
* MS. — " ForgeLting God's own clemency.'* 
MS. — " So kindly that from harmless glee." 
MS. — " 1 caugil t cross-bow that wai near. 



Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood — 
' There was a gallant in the wood !' 
We had been shooting at the deer ; 
My cross-bow (evU chance !) was near : 
That ready weapon of my wrath 
I caught, and, hasting up the path,' 
In the yew grove my wife I fotmd : 
A stranger's ai'ms her neck had bound 1 
I mark'd liis lieaii^the bow I drevf — 
I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true 1 
I found my Edith's dymg chiirms 
Lock'd in lier mm'der'd brother's arms I 
He came in secret to inquire 
Her state, and reconcile hrj sire.° 

k xxa 

" All fled my rage — the villain first. 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to none : 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I know not what— of shaft mis-aim'd ; 
And even from those the act who knew, 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouch'd by humiui laws I stood, 
But God iad heard the cry of blood 1 
There is a bhmk upon my mhid, 
A fearful vision Ul-defiued, 
Of raving till my flesh was torn, 
Of dtmgeon-bolts and fetters worn— 
And when I waked to woe more mild, 
And question'd of my infant child — 
(Have I not wiitten, that she bare 
A boy, like summer morning fair ?) — 
With looks confused my menials tell 
That armed men m Mortham dell 
Beset the nm-se's evening way. 
And bore her, with her charge, away. 
My faithless friend, and none but he. 
Could profit by tliis villany ; 
Him then, I sought, with piu-pose dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head I 
He 'scaped me — but my bosom's woimd 
Some faint relief from wandering found; 
And over distant land and sea 
I bore my load of misery. 

XXHL 
" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 
Among a daring crew and dread,' * ' . 
With whom full oft my hated life 

The readiest weapon of my wrath. 
And hastening up the Greta path." 

« This couplet is not in the MS. 

' MS -*' 'Twas then that fate my footsteps thm 
Among a wild and daring crew " 



530 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IT, 



1 Tentiired in such desperate strife, 

rhat even my fierce associates saw 

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then I leam'd, and much can show, 

Of human guilt and hiunau woe. 

Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known 

A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own 1 — 

It chanced, that after battle friiy. 

Upon tlie bloody field we lay ; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead, 

WTiile, sense in toil and wassaQ drown'd, 

My iiiiBan comrades slept .iround. 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine owii — 

' All, wretch !' it said, ' what^makest thou here. 

While unavenged my bloody bier. 

While unprotected Uves mine heir. 

Without a father's name and care ?' i( 

XXIV. 
" I heard — obey'd — and homeward drew ; 
The fiercest of our desperate crew 
I brought at time of need to aid 
My purposed vengeance, long delay'd. 
But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 
Tliat better hopes and thoughts has given. 
And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught 
Mercy by mercy must be bought ' — 
Let me in nrisery rejoice — 
I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 
I claim'd of him my only child. 
As he disown'd the theft, he smiled ! 
Tliat very calm and caUous look. 
That fiendish sneer his visage took, 
As when he said, in scornful mood, 
' There is a gaUaut in the wood I' — 
I did not slay him as he stood — 
All p! aise be to my Maker given ! 
Long suifrance is one path to heaven." 

xx^. 

rhus far the woful tale was heard, 
Wlien something in the tliicket stirr'd. 
U\ R.-imoud sprung ;. the viUain Guy 
(For he ii was that Im'k'd so nigh). 
Drew back — he durst not cross liis stee^ 
A onmeni's space with brave O'Neale, 
For .lU the ti easured gold that rests 
Ii Mortham - iron-k.anded chests. 
Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said. 
Some ro^ivas rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laugh'd giimly when he saw 
His timorous comrade backward draw ; 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer, 
nivf rae thy carabine— I'U show 



An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
How thou mayst safely quell a foe." 

XXVL 
On hands and knees fierce Bertram drev 
The spreading birch and hazels tlu'ough. 
Till he had Redmond full iji view; 
The gun he level'd — Mark like this 
Was Bertram never known to miss. 
When fair opposed to aim there sate 
An object of his mortal hate. 
That day young Redmond's death had "een, 
But twice Matilda came between 
The carabine and Redmond's breast, 
Just ere the spring liis finger press'd. 
A deadly oath the ruffian swore. 
But yet his fell design forbore : 
" It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said, 
That thus I scath'il thee, hauglity maid 1" 
Then moved to seelc more open aim, 
When to his side G uy Denzil came : 
" Bertram, forbeai- ! — we are undone 
Forever, if thou fu'e the gun. 
By all the fiends, an armed force 
Descends the deU, sf foot and horse I 
We perish if they hear- a shot — - 
Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be'ruled, and beai' thee back ' 
Behold, down yonder hollow track, 
The warlike leader of the band ■ 
Comes, with his broadsword in his hand." 
Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true. 
Then cursed his fortune and withdi-ew, 
Thi'eaded the woodlands undescried. 
And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 

xxvn. 

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 

Doom'd to captivity or death, 

■Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 

Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 

Heedless and unconcern'd they sate. 

While on the very verge of fate ; 

Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd, 

When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain*! 

As ships drift dai'kling down the tide, 

Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 

UninteiTupted thus they heard 

What Mortham's closing tale declared. 

He spoke of wealth as of a load. 

By Fortune on a wretch bestoVd, 

In bitter mockery of hate. 

His cureless woes to aggravate ; 

But yet he pray'd Matilda's care 

Might save that treasure for liis heir — 

His Edith's son — for still he raved 

As confident his life was saved : 



CANTO tV. 



ROKEBT. 



331 



In frequent vision, he averr'd, 

He e^aw his face, his Toice he heard ; 

Then argued cahn — had murder been, 

The blood, the corpses, had been seen; 

Some had pretended, too, to mark 

On Windermere a stranger bark, 

X^ose crew, with zealous care, yet mild. 

Guarded a female and a child. 

While these faint proofs he told and press'd, 

Hope seerj'd to kindle in liis breast ; 

Though inconsistent, vague, and vain. 

It warp'd his judgment, and his brain.' 

xxvin. 

These solemn words his story close : — 
" Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight. 
Moved by no cause but England's right 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and fur law : — 
These righted, I fling arms aside, 
And seek my son through Europe wide;. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
Already casts a grasping eye. 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her ret.iin her trust three years ; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
Perish'd is Mortham's race and name. 
Then let it leave her generous hand. 
And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot. 
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot ; 
So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic wai." 

XXIX. 
The generous youths, who well had knowc 
Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone, 
To that high mind, by sorrow swerved. 
Gave sympathy his woes deserved '^ 
But Wilfrid cliief who saw reveal'd 
Wily Mort^am wish'd his life conceal'd, 
In secret, doubtless, to pursue 
The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 
Thoughtful he heard Matilda tall. 
That she would share her father'^ cell, 
His partner of captivity. 
Where'er his prison-house should be ; 
Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 
Dismantled and forsook by all. 
Open to rapine and to stealth, 
Had now no safeguai'd for the wealth 
Entrusted by her kinsman kind, 

MS. — "Hope, inconsistent, va^oe, and vain, 

Seem'd on the theme to warp his brain.'* 
• MS — " To that high mind thos warp'd and swerved, 



And for such noble use design'd. 
" Was Barnard Castle then her choice," 
Wilfrid inquii'ed with hasty voice, 
"Since there the victor's laws ordoin 
Her father must a space remain *" 
A fiutter'd hope liis accents shook, 
A flutter'd joy was in his look. 
Matilda hasten'd to reply. 
For anger flash'd in Redmond's eye ; — 
" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 
" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 
Else had I for my sire assign'd 
Prison less galling to liis mind, • 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees 
And hears the murmur of the Tees, 
Recalling thus, with every glance, 
What captive's sorrow can enliance ; * 
But where those woes are highest, there 
, Needs Rokeby most his daughter's caro 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave. 
And stood abash'd — then answer'd grave .- 
" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 
Thy doubts to cleai', thy schemes to aid. 
I have beneath mine own command, 
So wills my sire, a gallant band, 
t And well could send some horseman wight 
To bear the treasure forth by night. 
And so bestow it as you deem 
In these ill days may safest seem." — 
" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said • 
" 0, be it not one day delay'd ! 
And, more, thy sister-friend to aid. 
Be thou thyself content to hold. 
In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 
Safest with thee."^Wliile thtis she spoke, 
Arm'd soldiers on theu' converse broke, 
The same of whose approach afraid. 
The ruiEans left their ambuscade. 
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
Then look'd around as for a foe. [salo 

" What mean'st thou, fi'iend," young Wycklifl* 
" Why thus in arms beset the glade ?" 
" That would I gladly learn from you ; 
For up my squadron as I drew, 
To exercise our martial game 
Upon the moor of Barninghame,' 
A stranger told you were waylaid. 
Surrounded, and to death betray'd. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
I doubted not, and I obey'd." 



The pity gave his woes deswved." 
3 MS. — '* In martial exercise to raove 
Upon the open moor above " 



332 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO » 



XXXI. 


II. 


Wilfrid changed color, aud, amazed, 


The eve, that slow on upland fades. 


Turn'd short, and on the speaker gazed ; 


Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades, 


While Redmond eveiy thicket rovmd 


Where, sunk within their banks profound. 


Track'd earnest as a questing homid, 


Her guardian streams to meeting woimd 


And DenzU's carabine he found ; 


The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 


Sure evidence, by which they knew 


Of noontide make a twilight brown, % 


The warning was as kind as true.' 


Impervious now to fainter light. 


Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 


Of twiUght make an early night.* 


To leave the dell. It was agreed, 


Hoarse into middle air arose 


That Rechnond, with Matilda fair. 


The vespers of the roosting crows. 


And fitting guard, should home repair ;' 


And with congenial murmurs seem 


At niglitfall Wilfrid should attend, 


To wake the Genii of the stream ; 


With a strong band, his sister-friend. 


For louder clamor'd Greta's tide, 


To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 


And Tees in deeper voice replied. 


To Barnard Castle's lofty towers, 


And fitful waked the evening wind, 


Secret and safe the banded chests, 


Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd.* 


In wliich the wealth of Mortham rests. 


Wilfrid, whose fancy -nurtured soul 


This hasty purpose fix'd, they part. 


Felt in the scene a soft control. 


Each with a grieved aud anxious heart 


With lighter footstep press'd the ground, 




Aud often paused to look arotmd ; 




And, though his path was to his love. 


* 


* 


Could not but linger in the grove. 


Hokebg. 


To drink the thrillnig interest dear. 


Of awfid pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we. 




OANTO FIFTH. 


Even when our passions strike the key 


L 


III. 


The sultry summer day is done. 


Now, through the wood's dark mazes past. 


The western hills have liid the sun. 


Tlie opening lawn he reach'd at last, 


But mountain peak and village spire 


Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray. 


Retain reflecticn of liis fire. 


The ancient Hall before him lay," 


Old Barnard's towers are purple still. 


Those martial terrors long were fled, 


To those that gaze from ToUer-hill ; 


That frowti'd of old arouud its head : 


Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 


The battlements, the turrets gray. 


Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 


Seem'd half abandon'd to decay ;' 


And Staimiore's ridge, behuid that lay. 


On barbican and keep of stone 


Rich with the spoils of parting day. 


Stern Tune the foeman's work had done. 


In crimson and in gold array'd. 


Wliero bamiers tlie invader braved. 


Streaks yet a while the closing shade. 


The harebell now and wallflower waved; 


Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 


In the rude guard-room, where of yore 


The tints which brighter hours had given. 


Their weary hours the warders were, 


Thus aged men, full loth and slow. 


Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze, 


The vanities of life forego. 


On the paved floor the spindle plays ;' 


And count their youthful follies o'er. 


The flanking guns dismounted lie. 


Till Memory lends her light no more.' 


The moat is ruinous and dry,' 


I MS — '■ .\nd they the gnn of Denzil find ; 


* MS. " a darlcsome night." 


A witness sure to every mind 


6 MS. — " By fits awaited the evening wind 


The warning was as trneas kind." 


By fits in siglis its breath resign'd." 


i MS. '■ It was agreed, 


« MS.—" Old Rokeby's towers before him lay. 


That Redmond, witli Matilda fair. 




Should straight to Rolteby-hal! repair 


' See Appendil. Note 2 Z. 


And, foes so near them, iinown so latfc. 


e MS. — " The weary night the warders wore. 


A guard should tend her to the gate." 


Now by the fagot's gladsome light 


a " The fifth canto opens with an evening-scene, of its ac- 


The maidens plied the spindle's sleigk'w 


eastomed beauty when delineated by Mr. Scott. The monn- 


• MS, — " The beams had long forgot to bear 


nun fading in the twilight, is nobly imagined." — Monthly 


The trembling drawbridge into air; 


Bevieio. 


The huge portcullis gone." &C. 



UAKTO V. 



ROKEBY. 



333 



The grim portcuUis gone — and all 
The fortress turn'il to peaceful Hall. 

IV. 

But yet precautions, lately ta'en,' 

Show'd diuiger's day revived again ; 

Tlie court-yard 'wall show'd marks of care. 

The fall'n defences to repair, 

Lending such strength as might withstand 

The msult of marauding band. 

The beams once more were taught to bear 

The trembling drawbridge mto air, 

And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, 

For Wilfrid oped the jealous door. 

And when he enter'd, bolt and bar 

Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 

Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch. 

The old gray porter raised his torch. 

And view'd him o'er, from foot to head, 

Ere to the hall liis steps he led. 

Tliat huge old hall, of knightly state, 

Dismantled secm'd and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 

Wliich cross'd the latticed oriels, shone. 

And by the mournful Ught she gave, 

Tlie Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. 

Pennon and b.inner waved no more 

O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 

Nor glimmering arms were marshall'd seen. 

To glance those silvan spoils between. 

Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 

Accomplish'd Rokeby's brave array. 

But all were lost on Marston's day ! 

Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 

Where armor yet adorns the wall,- 

Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 

And useless in the modern fight ! 

Like veteran relic of the wars. 

Known only by neglected scars. 



Matilda soon to greet him came. 

And bade them light the evening flame ; 

Said, all for parting was prepared. 

And tiu-ried but for Wilfrid's guard. 

But then, reluctant to unfold^ 

His father's avarice of gold, 

He hinted, that lest jealous eye 

Should on their precious burden pry, 

He judged it best the castle gate 

To enter when the night wore late : 



MS. — " But yet precaution Bhow'd, and 
fear. 
That dread of evil times was here; 
There were late murks of jealous 1 
For there were recent marks of i 
The faiPn defences to repair ; 
And not, till question'd o'er and o'er. 



And therefore he had left command 
With tho.se he trusted of his band, 
• Tliat they shoidd be at Rokeby met, 
"What time the midnight-watch wa.s set * 
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 
Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased, 
His cold unready hand he seized, 
And press'd it, till liis kindly strain 
Tlie gentle youth return'd again. 
Seem'd as between them this was said, 
" A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 

VL 
There was no speech the truce to bind, 
It was a compact of the mind, — 
A generous thought,- at once impress'd 
On either rival's generous breast. ^ 

Matilda well the secret took. 
From sudden change of mien and look; 
And — for not small had been her fear 
Of jealous ire and danger near — 
Felt, even in her dejected state, 
A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
They closed beside the chimney's blazo. 
And talk'd, and hoped for happier days, 
And lent their spirits' rising glow 
A while to gild impending woe ; — 
High privilege of youthfid%ime. 
Worth all the pleasures of our prime 1 
The bickering fagot sparkled bright. 
And gave the scene of love to sight. 
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more Uvely glow, 
Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow. 
Her nut-brown curls and forehead high. 
And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye 
Two lovers by the maiden sate. 
Without a glance of jealous hate ; 
The maid her lovers sat between. 
With open brow and equal mieu ; — 
It is a sight but rarely spied. 
Thanks to man's wrath and woman's prida 

va 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate. 
And ere the tardy porter stirr'd. 



For Wilfrid oped the * "'°f ''"' j door. 

And, on his entry, bolt and bar 
Resumed their place witli sullen jar." 
3 MS. — " Confused he stood, as loth to say 

What might his sire's base mood display 
Then hinted, lest fome curious eye " 



i34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO » 



Tlie tinldiug of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell, 
Bore bm'den to the music well. 

Song. 

" Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is faUiiig fast ; 
[ have wander'd all the day, 
Do not bid me farther stray 1 
Gentle hearts, of gentle Wn, 
Take the wandering harper in !" 

But the stern porter answer gave, 

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave ! 

The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 

Were mceter trade for such as thou." 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answer'd the ready Minstrel's straia 

Sona rcsumclr. 
" Bid not me, in battle field. 
Inkier lift, or broadsword wield 1 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart,* 
With the wizard notes that ring 
Fom the peaceful minstrel-string." — 

The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
" Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide ; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well" 

• VIII. 

With somewhat of appealing look. 

The harper's part young Wilfrid took: 

" These notes so wild and ready thrill, 

They show no vulgai' minstrel's skill ; 

Hard were his task to seek a home 

More distant, since the night is come ; 

And for his faith I dare engage — 

Yom- Harpocl's blood is sour'd by age ; 

His gate, once readily display'd. 

To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 

Now even to me, though known of old. 

Did but reluctantly unfold." — 

" O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime. 

An evil of tliis evil time. 

He deems dependent on his care 

The safety of his patron's heir. 

Nor judges meet to ope the tower 

To guest imknown at parting hour,' 

Urging his duty to excess 

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 

For this poor harper, I would fain 

He may relax : — Hark to his strain !"— 

' MS. — " O, bid not rae bear sword and sbield. 
Or struggle to the bloody field, 
Vo gem er irt this hand was made." 



IX. 
Sonfl resnme'D. 
** I have song of war for knight. 
Lay of love for lady bright. 
Fairy tale to lull the heu% 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the uiglit, and long till day. 
Do not bid me farther stray 1 

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can coimt them name by name ;' 
Legends of theu- hue there be, 
Known to few, but known to me ; 
If you honor E-okeby's kin. 
Take the w.andering harper in ! 

" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard ; 
Baron's race thi-ove never well. 
Where the ciurse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin. 
Take the weary harper in !" — 

" Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope," 
Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope."-> 
— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 
Naught know'st thou of the Felon Sow,"* 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Riclmiond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
That well could strilce with sword amain. 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar MidcUeton, and blithe Sir Ralph ; 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
If thou canst teU it, in yon shed 
Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 



Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she, 
" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
But, for this harper, may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend liis couch and fare!"'^ 
" 0, ask me not ! — At minstrel-string 
My heart from infancy would spring ■ 
Nor can I hear its simplest strain. 
But it brings Erin's dream again. 
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
(The Filea of O'Neale was he,* 
A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
Tve seen a ring of rugged kerne. 
With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern, 

2 MS. — " To vagrants at our parting hoar 

3 Pee Appendix, Note 3 A. 

* See Appendix, Note 3 B. Ibid. Non 3 C 



• 

<ANTO V. ROKEBY. 389 


Enchanted by the master's lay. 


But rather had it been his choice 


Linger around the liveUmg day, 


To share that melancholy hour, 


Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 


Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's power,* 


To love, to grief, to ecstasy,* 


In full possession to enjoy 


4nd fe«l eacli varied change of soul 


Slieve-Donard wide, and Cl.andeboy. 


Dbediont to tlie bard's control. — 




Ah, Clandcboy ! thy friendly floor 


xn. 


Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more ;* 


The blood left 'Wilfrid s ashen cheek ; 


Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze, 


Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 


TcU maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 


"Happy in frientlship's ready aid. 


The mantling bmmbles hide thy hearth, 


Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 


Centre of hospitable mirth ; 


And Rokeby's Maiden will not part 


AU undistinguish'd in the glade, 


From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 


My sires' glad home is prostrate laid. 


Tliis night at least, for Rokeby's fame. 


Their vassals wander wide and far, 


Tlie hospitable hearth sli.all flame. 


Serve foreign lords in distant war, 


And, ere its native heu- retne, 


And now the stranger's sons enjoy 


Find for the wanderer rest and fire, , 


Tlie lovely woods of Clandeboy !" 


While this poor harper, by the blaze.* 


He spoke, and proudly tum'd aside. 


Recounts the t.ale of other days. 


The stai-ting tear to diy and hide. 


Bid Harpool ope the door with speed. 




Admit liim, and relieve each need. — 


XI. 


Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try^ 


Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 


Tliy niin.strel skill ? — Nay, no reply — ' 


■Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 


And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought. 


■ Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 


Thy verse with laurels woulil be bought : 


It is the will of heaven," she said. 


And poor Matilda, landless now. 


" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 


Has not a garland for thy brow. 


From this love4 home with lightsome heart 


True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades. 


Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 


Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 


Even from my infancy was dear? 


But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 


For ui tills calm domestic bound 


Wdt a short prison-walk allow. 


Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 


'Where summer flowers grow wild at will. 


Tliat he.irth, my sire was wont to gi-ace, 


On Marwood-chase .and Toller HiU ;' 


Full soon may be a stranger's place ;' 


Then holly green and lily gay 


Tills hall, in which a child I play'd. 


Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.'" 


Like tliine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 


The mournful youth, a space aside, 


The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 


To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 


Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine, 


And then a low sad descant rung. 


It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 


As prelude to the lay he sung. 


Yet is this consolation given. 




My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heaven." 


XIIL 


Her word, her action, and her phrase, 


S'jje ffi»4)ress Jiffilvcat!).' 


Were kindly as in early days ; 


0, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


For coM reserve had lost its power. 


Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! * 


In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 


TJoo lively glow the lUies light. 


Young Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 


The varnish'd holly's all too bright, 


' MS. " to sympathy." ! See Apiiendii, Note 3 D. 


" Mr. Scott has imparted a delicacy (we mean in the c*. 


' M3. — " That h:arth, my father's honor'd place. 


loriiig, for the design we cannot approve), a sweetness and ■ 


Full soon may see a stranger's face." 


melancholy smile to this parting picture, that really enchant 


< MS. " Tanist'g power." 


us. Poor Wilfrid is sadly discomfited by the last instance oi 


* MS — '' Fin<l for the needy room and fire, 


encouragement to Redmond ; and Matilda endeavors to cheei 


And this poor wanderer, by the blaze.** 


him by reqnesting, in the prettiest, and yet in the most toach- 


• MS. " what think'st thoo 


ing manner, ' Kind WyclilTe,' to try his minstrelsy. We will 


Of yonder harp 1— Nay, clear thy brow." 


here just ask Mr. Scott, whether this would not be actaal in. 


Marwoo;l-cliasp is the old park cttending along the Dor- 


fernai and intolerable torture to a man who had any sool 1 


»>in side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill 


Why, then, make his heroine even the unwilling cause of sach 


Si an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding 


misery ? Matilda had talked of twining a wreath for her poet 


unperb view of the ruins. 


of holly green ami lily gay, and he sings, broken-hearted, ' The 


" MP.- -" Where rose and lily 1 will twine 


Cyprt?ss Wreath.* We have, however, inserted this as one oi 


In "uerdon of a .song of thine ' 


the beat of Mr. Scott's songs." — Monthly Review 



336 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


The May-flower and the eglantine 


Who wears a sword he must not draw • 


May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 


But were it so, in minstrel pride 


But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 


The land together would we ride. 


Or weave it of the cypress-tree ! 


On prancing steeds, like harpers old. 




Boimd for the halls of barons bold,' 


Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 


Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 


With tendi-ils of the Jaugliing vine ; 


From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 


The manly oak, the pensive yew, 


Sm-vey wide Albin's mountain strand. 


To patriot and to sa,<;e be due ; 


And roam green Erm's lovely land. 


The myi'tle bough bids lovers hve. 


Wliile thou the gentler souls should move, 


But that Matilda will not give ; 


With lay of pity 5nd of love, * 


Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


And I, thy mate, in rougher strain, 


Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 


Would sing of war imd warriors slain. 




Old England's bards were vjmquish'd then, 


Let merry England proudly rear 


And Scotland's vaunted Hawthoruden," 


Her blended roses, bought so dear; 


And, silenced on lernian shore. 


Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 


M'Curtin's harp should charm no moreV " 


With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew ; 


In Uvely mood he spoke, to wile 


On favor'd Erin's crest be seen 


From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a snule. 


The flower she loves cf emerald green — 




But, Lady, twine no wi-eath for me. 


XV. 


OriBwine it of the cypress-tree. 


' " But," said MatUda, " ere thy name, 




Good Redmond, gain its destined fame, 


Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 


Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 


The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 


Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 


And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 


Bid all the household, too, attend. 


With bloody hand the victor weaves, 


Each in liis rank a humble friend ; 


Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 


I know their faithful hearts will grieve. 


Bat when you hear the passing-bell. 


Wlien their poor Mistress takes her leave • 


Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, 


So let the horn and beaker flow 


And twine it of the cypress-tree. 


To mitigate then- parting woe." 




The harper came ; — in youth's fii'st prime 


Tes 1 twine for me the cypress bough ; 


Himself ; in mode of olden time 


But, MatUda, twine not now ! 


His garb was fashion'd, to exjjress 


Stay till a few brief months are past. 


The ancient English minstrel's dress,* 


And I have look'd and loved my last ! 


A seemly gown of Kendal green. 


When villagers my slu-oud bestrew 


With gorget closed of sUver sheen : 


With panzies, rosemary, and rue,^ 


His harp in silken scarf was slung. 


Tlien, Lady, weave a wi-eath for me, 


And by his aide an anlace hung. 


And weave it of the cypress-tree. 


It seem'd some masquer's quaint array, 


, 


For revel or for hoUday. 


XIV. 




OJNeale observed the starting tear, 

And spoke with kmd and bUthesome cheer — 


XVL 
He made obeisance with a free 


■' No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 


Yet studied air of courtesy. 


When moinns the land thy silent lay, 


Each look and accent, framed to please, 


Shall many a wreatli be freely wove 


Seem'd to affect a playful ease ; 


By hand of fi'iendship and of love. 


His face was of that doubtful kind. 


X would not wish that rigid Fate 


That wins the eye, but not the mind ; 


Had doom'd tliee to a captive's state, 


Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 


Whose hands are bound by honor's law, 


Of brow so young and smooth as this. 


' MS. — "1 would not wish thee j '" i degree 

So lost to hope as falls to me ; 

But \ '"""'^ ^''^^ ^^'^^^' J in raiostrel pride, 
( it thon wert, I 


Bound for {halls of barons bold.'' 
That sought the t 

a Druramond of Hawthomden was in the zenith of hurepa 


taUon as a poet during the Civil Wars. He died io 1640. Jj 


The land we'd traverse side by side/ 


3 See Appendix, Note 3 E. 1 


Oa Yanciiig steeds, lilte minstrels old, 


• Ibid. Note 3 F. 1 



CANTO V. 



ROKEBY. 



837 



His was the subtle look ana sly, 


Wh.at should my soaring views make good ' 


Tbat, spying all, scorns naught to spy ; 


My Harp alone ! 


Rounil all the group his glances stole, 




Unniark'd themselves, tii mark the whole. 


Love came with all his frantic fire, 


Vet simk oeneath Matilda's look, 


And wild romance of vain desire :* 


iNoi" could the eye of Redmond brook.' 


Tile b,aron's daughter heard my lyre, 


To the suspicious, or the old, 


And praised the tone ; — 


Subtle and d;mgerou9 and b".? ! 


What could presimiptuous hope inspire! 


Haa seema this self-invited guest; 


My Harp alone ! 


But young uur lovers, — and the rest, 




Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 


At manhood's touch the bubble burst, 


At p.artmg of their Mistress dear. 


And m.inhood's pride the vision curat. 


Tear-blindctI to the Castle-liall,'' 


And .all that had my folly nursed 


Came as to bear her funeral pall. 


' Love's sway to own ; 




Yet spared the spell that luU'd me first, 


XVII, 


My Harp alone 1 


All that expression base was gone. 




When waked the guest liis minstrel tore ; 


Woe came with war, and want with woe ; 


It fled at inspu-ation's call. 


And it was mine to undergo 


As erst the demon fled from Saul.' 


Each outrage of the rebel foe : — * 


More noble glance he cast around, 


Can aught atone 


More free-drawn breath inspired the sound, 


My fields laid waste, my cot laid low ^. 


His pulse heat bolder and more liigh, 


My Harp alone ! 


In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 




Alas ! too soon thiit pride was o'er. 


Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 


Simk with the lay that bade it soar ! 


Have rued of penury the smart. 


His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 


Have felt of love the veuom'd dart. 


Its vices wild and follies vain, 


"Wlien hope was flown ; 


. And gave the talent, with him born, 


Yet rests one solace to my iieart, 


To be a common curse and scorn. 


My Harp alone ! 


Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid, 




With condescending kindness, pray'd 


Then over mountain, moor, and hill, 


Here to renew the strains she loved. 


My f.aithful Harp, I'll bear thee still ; 


At distance heard and well approved. 


And when tliis life of want and ill 




Is weUnigh gone. 


XVIII. 


Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill. 


-_ 


My Harp alone ! 


£ang. 




THE HAKP. 


XIX. 


I was a "wild and waywcj-d boy, 


" A pleasmg lay !" Matilda said ; 


My cliilcDiuod scorn'd e.ach cliiltlish toy. 


But Harpool shook his old gray head, 


Retired from all, reserved and coy. 


And took his baton and his torch. 


To musing prone, 


To seek his guard-room m the porch. 


I woo'd tny soUtary joy, 


Edmtmd observed ; with sudden change, 


My Harp alone. 


Among the strings his fingers range. 




Until they waked a bolder glee 


My youth, with bold Ambition's mood. 


Of military melody ; 


Despised the humble stream and wood. 


Tlien paused amid the martial sound. 


Where my poor father a cottage stood. 


And look'd with weU-feigu'd fear aroimd ; — • 


To lame unknown ; — 


" None to this noble house belong," 


' MS. — '* Nof conlil keen Redmond's aspect t)rook," 


an harp, and played with his hand : So Saul was lefreshofi 


• MS.—'- Came blindfold >» the Castle-liall, 


and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him." — 1 Sam 


As if to bear her funeral pall." 


CKL. cliap. xvi. 14. 17, 23. 


" ** But the Spirit of the Lori departed from Saul, and an 


* MS. — " Lovo -jame, with all his ardent fire. 


•»il spirit frOTl the Lord troubled him. 


Ilis frantic dream, liis wild desire " 


" And Sai:l saiil unto hi« servants, Provide me 00%^^ a man 


6 MS. — *' And doom'd at once to undergo, 


fliatcan play well, and bring him io me. And it came to pass. 


Each varied outrage of the foe," 


•her the evi. spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took 


a MS.—" And looking timidly around '" 



338 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He said, " that would a Minstrel wrong, 

Wlxose fate baa beeu, through good and ill. 

To love liis Royal Master stUl ; 

jnd with jour honor'd leave, would fain 

Rejoice you with li loyal strain." 

Then, as assm-ed by sign and look, 

The "w;\rlike tone again he took ; 

And Harpool stopp'd, and turn'd to hear 

A ditt} of the Cavalier. 

XX. 
So njj. 

THE C.IVALIEK. 

; While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray 
My true love has mounted liis steed and away 
Over liill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down ; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 
the Crown! 

He has dotf' d the silk doublet the breast-plate to 
bear, [hair. 

He has placed his steel-cap o'er his long flowing 

From his belt to his stirrup liis broadsword hangs 
down, — [the Crown ! 

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 

For the rights of fail- England that broadsword he 

draws. 
Her King is his leader, her Church is his Cause ; 
His watchword is honor, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the 

Crown ! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, then- Waller, and 

all 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud 

town, [Crown ! ' 

That the spears of the North have encircled the 

There's Derby and Cavendish; dread of their foes ; 

There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Mon- 
trose I [and Brown, 

Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, 

With the Barons of England, that fight for the 
Clown ? 

Now joy to the crest of the brave CavaUer 1 
Bo his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, 



'MS.- 



-" of prond London town, 



That the North has brave nobles to fight for the 
Cliwn." 

I In the MS. the !a8t quatrain of this song is, 

If tliey boast that i'air Reading by treachery fell. 
Of Stratton anil Lansdoune the Cornish can tell, 
&.nd the North tell ofBramhani and Adderton DoxTO, 



Tin in peace and in tritunph his tods he may drm»T». 
In a pledge to fair England, her Chu/ch, and dk 
Crown." 

XXI. 

" Alas !" Matilda said, " tha t strain. 
Good harper, now is heard in vain I 
The time has been, at such a sound, 
When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round. 
An htmdrcd manly hearts would bound ; 
But now the stirring verse we hear. 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear !^ 
Listless and sad the notes we own, 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without liis meet applause. 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heu- such power retains, 
Let tills slight guerdon pay thy pains :— 
And, lend thy harp ; I fain would try, 
If my poor skill can aught supply, . 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall. 
To mourn the cause in wliirh we fall." 

xxn. 

The harper, with a downcast look. 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. — , 

As yet, the coiiacious pride of art 
Had steel'd him m his treacherous part ; 
A powerful spring, of force unguess'd. 
That hatli each gentler mood suppress'd. 
And reign'd in many a human breast ; 
From liis that plans the red campaign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The failuig wing, the blood-shot eye, — 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the b.attle's roar,' 
Loves stiU the triumph of his art. 
And traces on the pencill'd chart 
Some stern invader's destined way,. 
Through blood and rum, to his prey ; 
" Patriots to death, and towns to flame. 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, thougli not the fama 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premecUtating crmie ? 



Where God bless the brave gallant,s who foagp" 
for the Crown.' 
^ MS. — " But now it sinks npon the ear, 

Like dirge beside a liero's bier." 
* MS. — " Marliing, with sportive cruelty, 

The failing wing, the blood-shot eye.* 
^ MS. — " The veteran chief, whose broken age, 
No more can lead the battle's ra^jo.' 



OAMTO V. 



ROKEBY. 



33t 



Wliat against pit y arms his heart ! — 
\. » the conscious pride of art." 

XXIII. 
Bat principles in Edmund's' mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
H« soul, Uke burk with rudder lost, 
Ou Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
Nor Vice nor Vutne had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
And, O ! when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to 'Virtue's share 1 
Yet now she roused her — for the pride, 
TliJit lack of sterner guilt supphed. 
Could scarce support him when ai'ose 
" The lay that mourn'd Matilda's woes. 

.SOtlQ. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Rolceby's woods I hear, 

Tliey mingle with the song: 
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loved and native haunt 

The native Heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt. 

Must pai-t before the day. 

Soon fi'om the halls my fathers rear'd, 

I'heir scutclieons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and fear'd 

May soon obscm'ely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid those echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they he.ar her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

The lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain.' 

XXIV. 
Let our halls and towers decay. 

Be our name and line forgot. 
Lands and manors pass away, — 

We but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken, 
Still in death, defeat, and woe. 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

Coastiint still in danger's hour, 
Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 

• '* Sorely, no poel has ever paiii a finer tribute to the power 
of li'w art, than in the foregoing Jescription of its effects on the 
mind of tJiis onliappy Ley ! and none has ever more justly ap- 
preciated the worthlessness of the sublimest genius, unre* 
(trained by reason, and abandoned by virtue.'* — Critical Ro- 
HMD 



lb- 



Lands and honors, wealth and power,* 

Well their loyalty rep.aid. 
Perish wealth, and power, and pride I 

Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
But let Constancy abide,' — 

Constancy's the gift of Heaven. 

XXV. 

'Wliile thus Matilda's lay was heard, 

A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd. 

In peasant hfe he might have known 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 

But village notes could ne'er supply 

That rich and varied meli«ly ; 

And ne'er in cottage-maid Wj.s: seen 

The easy dignity of mien. 

Claiming respect, yet waiving state, 

Thiit marks the tlaughters of the great. 

Yet not, perchance, had these alone 

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown ■ 

But wliile her energy of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combined, 

Lending its Idndlijig to her eye, 

Giving her form new majesty, — 

To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd 

The very object he had dream'd ; 

When, long ere guilt liis soid had known. 

In Wuiston bowers he mused alone. 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine, 

Of princess fair, by cruel fate 

Reft of her honors, power, and state,* 

Till to her rightful realm restored 

By destined hero's conquering sword. 

XXVL ' 
" Such was my vision !" Edmund thought ; 
" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 
In fairest vision form'd her peer ? 
Was it my hand that could unclose 
The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
Foes, lost to honor, law, and f;iith. 
Their Idndest mercy sudden death I 
Have I done this ? I ! who h.ave swore, 
That if the globe such angel bare, 
I would have traced its circle broad, 
To kiss the ground on which site f rode . — 
And now — ! would that earth woidd riv«^ 
And close upon me wliile alive ! — 
Is there no hope ? Is all then lost i — ; 
Bertram's already on his post I 

- This conplet is not in the MS. 

'•> MS. — " Knightly titles, wealth and power. ' 

* MS. — " Of some fair princess of romance. 
The guerdon of a hero's lance" 



S40 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 7 



Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door, 

X saw his shadow cross the floor I 

He was to wait ray signal strain — 

A Uttle respite thus we gain : 

By what I heard the meuials say, 

Yoimg WycUffe's troop are ou their way — 

Alarm precipitates the crime I 

My harp must wear away the time." — 

And then, in accents faint aud low, 

He falter'd forth a tale of woe.' 

XXVIL 

' And whither would you lead me, then ?" 
Quoth the Friar of orders gray ; 

And the Ruftians twain replied again, 
" By a dying woman to pray." — 

" I see," he said, "a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a hly bright. 

With an infant on her arm." — 

" Then do thine office, Friar gray. 
And see thou slu'ive her iree ?' 

Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night. 
Fling all its guilt on thee. 

" Let mass be said, and trentrals read, 
Wlien thou'rt to convent gone, 

And bid the bell of St. Benedict 
Toll out its deepest tone." 

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 

Blindfolded as he came — 
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an altered man. 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray 

If he hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
He'll beard him in his pride— 

If he meet a Friar of orders gray, 
He droops and turns aside.' 

XXVIII. 
" Harper ! methinks thy magic lays, ' 
Matilda said, " can goblins raise I 
Wellnigh my fancy can discern, 
Near the dark porch, a visage stern ; 



The MS. has nol. this couplet. 
* MS. — " And see thy shrift be true. 

Else shall the soul, that parts to-day, 
F]\ii^ all its guilt ou you." 
_ ' See Appendix. Note 3 G, — (to which the author, in his in- 
mleavcd copy, has made considerable additions. — Ed.) 



E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 
I se^ it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look! — 
A himian form distinct aud clear — 
God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" 
She saw too true. Stride after stride, 
Tlie centre of that chamber wide 
Fierce Bertram gaiu'd ; then made a stai i' 
And, proudly waving with his hand, 
Thtmder'd — " Be stiU, upon your Uves ! — 
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strive 
Beliiud their chief, the robber crew 
Forth from the darken'd port.al drew 
In silence — save that echo dread 
Return'd their heavy measm-ed tread.' 
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wavi 
File after file in order pass. 
Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 
Then, halting at their leader's sign. 
At once they form'd and curved their line. 
Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their victims, hke a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 
Levell'd at once their muskets came. 
As waiting but their chieftain's word. 
To make their fatal volley heard. 

XXIX. 
Back in a heap the menials drew ; 
Yet, even in mortal terror, true. 
Then- pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
" O, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried 
" Undo that wicket by thy side I 
Bear hence Matilda' — t;ain the wood — 
The pass may be a wliile made good — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
speak not — dally not — but fly !" 
Wliile yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Tlirough the low wicket door they glide. 
Tlu-ough vaulted pa.ssages they wind. 
In Gotliic intricacy twined ; 
Wilfi-ed half led, and half he bore, 
Matilda to the postern-door. 
And safe beneath the forest tree, 
The Lady stands at liberty. 
The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 
Renew'd suspended consciousne.ss ; — 
" Where's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries : 
" Thou answer'st not — he dies I he dies I 
And thou hast left him, all bereft 
Of mortal aid — with murderers left I 



* MS. — *' Behind him came his savage dew 
File after file in order due ; 
Silent from that dark portal p^as. 
Like forms on Banquo's magic glaw " 

5 MS.—" Conduct Matilda," Sia. . 



OANiO T. 



ROSEBY. 



Six 



I know it well — he would not yield 
Hie sword to niau — his doom is seal'd I 
For my scorn'd life, vliiv:b thou ha&t bought 
\t price of his, I thajk tht,'^ ui*." 

XXX. 

The unjust reproach, the ajigry look, 

The heai't of Wilfrid could not brook. 

" Lady," he said, " my band so near. 

In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not moum. 

If mine can buy his safe retm'n." 

He turn'd away — liis heart tlii-obb'd high, 

The teal' was bursting from his eye ; 

The sense of her injustice press'd 

0pon the Maid's distracted breast, — 

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 

He heard, but turn'd hijn got again ; 

He reaches now the postern-door, 

Vow enters — and is seen no more. 

XXXI. 

vVith idl the agony that e'er 

'Was gender'd 'twixt susjjense and fear. 

She watch'd the line of windows tall,' 

Whose Gotliic lattice lights the Hall, 

Distinguish'd by the paly red 

The lamps in dim reflection shed,' 

While all beside in wan moonlight 

Each grated casement glimmer'd white. 

No sight of harm, no sound of ill. 

It is a deep and midnight still. 

Why look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 

All in the Castle were at rest : 

When sudden on the windows shone 

A hghtuing flash, just seen and gone !' 

A shot is heard — Again the flame 

Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came 

Then echo'd wildly, from within. 

Of shout and scream the mingled din, 

And weapon-clash and maddening cry. 

Of those who kill, luid those who die ! — 

As fill'd the Hall with sulphm'ous smoke, 

More red, more dark, tne death-flash broke ; 

And forms were on the lattice cast. 

That struck, or struggled, ae they past. 

XXXII. 
What sounds upon the midnight wind 
Approach so rapidly beliind J 



* MS. — *• Matilda, shroadei] by the trees, 

Tlie line of lofty windows sees." 

• MS— The dying larajig reflection shed, 

While all arouMl the moon's wan light, 
On tower and casement glimmer'd white; 
No clg jt«. bode 1 a*m, no sonnds bode ill, 
II IS as L-?'ni y mif'night still." 
' MS — " A '.ief shoil fl^ii," &c. 



It is, li is, the tramp of steeds, 
Matilda hears the sound : she speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
" O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain 1 
Fly to the postern — gain the Hall !" 
From saddle spruig the troopers all ;' 
Their gallant steeds, at liberty, 
Run wild along the moonUght lea. 
But, ere they burst upon tlie scene, 
Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
Wlien Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight. 
It gave the signal for the fight ; 
And Rokeby's veterans, seain'd with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erm's wars. 
Their momentary panic o'er. 
Stood to the arms wliicli then they bore ; 
(For they were weapon'd, and prepared' 
Their Mistress on her way to guai'd.) 
Then cheer'd them to the liglit O'Neale, 
Th«n peal'd the shot, and clash'd the steel , 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darken'd the scene t)f blood ;md death. 
'While on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, with redoubled blows, 
And, twice thiven back, yet fierce and fell 
Renew the charge with frantic yell.' 

XXX III. 
Wilfrid has fall'n — but o'er liim stood 
Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and bloou, 
Cheering his mates with heart and hand 
Still to make good their desperate stantL 
" Up, comrades, up ! 'In Rokeby halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage ftiUs. 
What ! faint ye for their savage cry. 
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 
Tliese rafters have return'd a shout 
As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 
As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.'' 
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight. 
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand. 
Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young. 
Upon the advancing foes he sprtmg. 
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
His brandish'd falcliion's sheer descent I 
Backward they scatter'd as he came. 
Like wolves before the levin flame * 



* MS.—" ' Haste to— postern— gain the Hall I' 

Sprang from their steeds the troopers all 

* MS. — " For as it hap'd they were prepared." 
.6 In place of this conplet the MS. reads. — 

" And as the hall the troopers gain. 
Their aid had wellnigh been in vair 
T Sec Appendi.x, Note 3 H. 

* MS. — " Like wolves at lightning's midnight flam* 



842 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTO T 



When, 'mid their howUng conclave driyen. 
Hath glanced tlie thunderbolt of heaven. 
Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasp'd' 
His knees, although in death he gasp'd, 
His falling corpse before him flung. 
And round the tramraell'd ruffian clung. 
Just then, the soldiers fill'd the dome. 
And, shouting, charged the felons home 
So fiercely, that, in panic dread, 
rhey broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.' 
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 
Though heard above the battle's roar; 
Wliile, trampling down the dying man. 
He strove, with voUey'd threat and ban, 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite. 
To rally up the desperate fight." 

XXXIV. 
Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold 
Than e'er from battle-thunders roll'd, , 
So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and bhndfold grows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light 1 
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rusliiug flame ; 
New liorrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the Castle is on fire !' 
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 
Or fiantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
Matilda saw — for fi'equent broke 
From the dim cAsements gusts of smoke. 
Yon tower, wiiich late so clear defined 
On the fan' hemisphere reclined, 
Tliat, penciU'd on its azure pure, 
Tlie eye could count each embrazure, 
Now, swathed witliin the sweeping cloud- 
Seems giant-spectre in its shroud ; 
TUl, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shmes ruddy bright, 
And, gathering to united glare. 
Streams high into the midnight air; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide 
Tliat waken'd Gret.a's slumbering side.' 
Soon all beneath, tlu-ougli gallery long, 
And pendent arch, the fire flash'd strong 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reign ; 



1 MS. — " Bertram had faced liim : wjiile he gasp'd 
In death, liis knees old Harpool clasp'd. 
His dying corpse belore him flung." 

I MS. — " So fiercely charged them that they bled, 
Disbanded, yielded, tell, or fled." 

> MS. — " To rally them against their fate. 
Anil fonght himself as desperate." 
MS — " Chance-kindled 'mid the tumult dire, 
The western tower is all on fire. 
Matilda saw," &c. 



Startling, with closer cause of dread. 
The females who the lonflict fled, 
And now rush'd forth upon the plain, 
Filling the air with clamors vain. 

XXXV. 

But ceased not yet, the Hall within, 

The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din. 

Till bursting lattices give proof 

The flames have caught the rafter'd roof 

What I wait they till its beams amain 

Crash on the sl.iyers and the slain? 

The alarm is caught — the drawbridge falb, 

The warriors hurry from the walls, 

But, by the conflagration's light, 

Upon the lawn renew the fight. 

Each struggling felon down was heVd, 

Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 

But forth the afirighted harper sprung. 

And to Matilda's robe he climg. 

Her slu-iek, entreaty, and command, 

Stopp'd the pursuer's hfted hand.' 

DenzU and he aUve were ta'en ; 

Tlie rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 

XXXVI. 
And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high' 
The general flame ascends the sky ; 
In gatlier'd grotip the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze. 
When, like infernal demon, sent, 
Red from his penal clement. 
To plague and to pollute the air, — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair, 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His braudish'd sword on high he rears, 
Tlien plunged among oppositig spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle truss'd, 
Received and foii'd three lances' thrust ;* 
Nor these his headlong course withstood," 
Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood 
In vain his foes around hun clung ; 
With matchless force aside he flmig 
Tlieir boldest, — as the bidl, at bay. 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
Through forty foes his path he made, 
And safely gain'd the forest glade. 



6 The MS. has not this couplet. 

6 MS. — " The gl awing lattices give pwof." 

' MS. — " Her si ri^ks, entreaties, and command!. 

Avail d to stop pursuing brands." 
« MS.—" Where's Bertram now 1 In fury drireB 

The general flame ascends to heaven ; 

The gather'd groups of soldiers gaze 

Upon the red ann roaring blaze." 
» The MS. wants this couplet. 
10 MS. — " In vain the opposing spears withstood. 



OANTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



34a 



XXXVII. • 


Her duteous oiisons to pay, — 


Scarce was this final ccmflict o'er, 


That morning sun has three times seen 


Wlicn from the postern Redmond bore 


The flowers unfold on Rokeby green, 


Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 


But sees no more the slumbers fly 


Had ill the fatal Hall been left,' 


From fan* Matild.i's hazel eye ; 


Dcser'ed there by all his train ; 


That morning sun has three times broke 


But Redmond saw, and turn'd again. — 


On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak. 


Beneath an oak he laid hhu down. 


But, rising from their silvan screen. 


TTiat in the blaze gleam'd ruddy brown, 


Marks no gray turrets glance betweea 


And then liis mantle's clasp undid ; 


A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 


Matilda held bis drooping head. 


That, hissuig to the morning shower, 


Till, given to breathe the freer air. 


Can but with smoultlering vapor pay 


Retm-ning life repaid their care. 


The early smUe of summer day. 


He gazed on them with heavy sigh,— 


The peasant, to his labor bound, 


" I could have wish'd even thus to die !" 


Pauses to view the blacken' d mound 


No more he said — for now with speed 


Striving, amid the ruin'd space. 


Each trooper had reg.iin"d his steed;- 


Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 


The ready palfreys stood array'd. 


That length of frail and fire-scoreh'd wall 


For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 


Once scrcen'd the hospitable hall ; 


T^vo Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 


Wlien yonder broken arch w;is whole. 


One leads his charger by the rein. 


'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole , 


But oft Matilda look'd beliind. 


And where yon tottering columns nod, 


As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 


The chapel sent the hymn to God. — 


Where far the mansion of her sires 


So flits the world's uncertain span I 


Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 


Nor zeal for God, nor love for man. 


In gloomy arch above them spread. 


Gives mortal monuments a date 


The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red ; 


Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 


Beneath, hi sombre light, the flood 


Tlie towers must share the builder's doom ; 


Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. 


Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 


Then, one by one, was heard to fall 


But better boon benignant Heaven 


The tower, the doujon-keep. the hall. 


To Faith and Charity has given, 


Each nisliing down with thunder sound, 


And bids the Christian hope sublime 


A space the conflagration drown'd ; 


Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time * 


Till, gathering strength, agam it rose. 




.•\nnouneed its triumph ui its close, 


II. 


Shook wide its light the landscape o'er. 


Now the third night of summer tame. 


Tbeu sunk — and Rokeby was uo more P 


Since that wliich witness'd Rokeby's flai le 




On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 




The owlet's homUies awake. 




The bittern scream'd from rush and flag, 


Kok-fbg. 


Tlie raven slimiber'd on liis crag. 


Forth from his den the otter drew, — 




Graylmg and trout then- tyi-ant knew, 




As between reed and sedge ho peers. 
With fierce round snout and sliarpeii'd ears, 


CANTO SIXTH. 


« 


Or, prowhng by the moonbeam cool. 


I. 


Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 


The summer sun, whose early power 


Perch'd on 'lis wonted eyrie high. 


Was wont to gUd Matdda's bower. 


Sleep seals the tercelet's wearied eye. 


And rouse her with his matin ray' 


That all the day had watch'd so well 


* Ms.—" Hail in the smouldering hall been left." 


* MS. — '* And bids oor hopes ascend sublime 


^ " Tlie tattle on fire has an awful suhlimitv. which would 


Beyond the bounds of Fate and X'lle " 


Inrow at a humble distance the boldest reaches of the pictorial 




*rl. . . . We refer our readers to Virgil's ships, or to his 


"Faith, prevailing o'er bis .sullen doom. 


Troy in flames ; and though the Virgilian pictures be drawn 


As bursts the mom on night's unfathom'd gloois 


on a very extensive canvas, with confidence, we assert that the 


Lured his dim eye to deathless hope sublime. 


lastle on fire is much more magnificent. It is, in truth, incom- 


Beyond the realms of nature and of time." 


irably grand." — British Critic. 


Campokli. 


MS. . — " gianutng rav 


3 The MS. has not thi- cooolet. 



844 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO Vh 



The cushat dart across the dell. 
In dubious beam reflected shone 
That lofty cliff of pale gray stone, 
Beside whose base the secret cave 

I To rapine late a refuge gave. 

I The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 
Ou Greta's breast dark shadows thi'ew ; 
Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 
With every change of fitful fight ; 
As hope and fear alternate chase 
Om- course through life's uncertain race. 

III. 
Gliding by crag and copse wood gi'een, 
A solitai-y form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 

'. And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd, 
At every breath that sths the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen liim, and is hush ; 
He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends, 
Rustle the leaves, tlie bnlshwood bends ; 

I The otter hears him tread the shore. 
And dives, and is beheld no more : 
And by the cUff of pale gi'ay stone 

j The midnight wanderer stimds alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-renieniber'd form and face 1 
That stripfing sh.ape, that cheek so pale. 
Combine to teU a rueful tale. 
Of powers roisused, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
Tis Edmund's eye, at every sound 
Tliat flings that guilty glance ai'ouud ; 
'Tis Edmund's tremblmg haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare,* 
Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 

rv. 

His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
A liunp hath lent the cavern fight. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It seem'd as none its floor had trode ; 
Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil. 
The purchase of hi's comrades' toil ; 
Masks and disguises grim'd with mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with blood, 
And all the nameless tools that aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade, 



' sally-port lies bare." 



MS. 

MS — " Or on the floors liisorder'il flung." 
MS. — " Seats overthrown and flagons drain'd, 



Upon the gloomy walls were hrnig. 

Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.' 

StiU on the sordid board appear 

The refics of the noontide cheer : 

Flagons and emptied flasks were there,' 

And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair • 

And aU tiround the semblance show'd. 

As when the tinal revel glow'd. 

When the red sun was setting fast, 

And parting pledge Guy DenzU past. 

" To Rokeby treasm'e-vaults !" they quaff'd, 

And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd, 

Pour'd maddening from the rocky door, 

And parted — to return no more ! 

They found in Rokeby vaults theu- doom, — 

A bloody death, a biu'ning tomb ! 



There his own peasant di'ess he spies, 

Doflf'd to assume that quaint disguise ; 

And, shuddermg, though t_ upon his glee, 

When prank'd in garb of minstrelsy. 

" 0, be the fatal art accurst," 

He cried, "that moved my foUy iirst; 

Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 

I btu-st through God's and Nature's laws 1 

Three smnmer days are scantly past 

Since I have trod this cavern last, 

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 

But, O, as yet no murderer ! 

Even now I list my comrades' cheer. 

That general laugh is in mine ear. 

Which rixised my pulse and steel'd my heart, 

As I rehearsed my treacherous part; — 

And woidd that all since then could seem 

The phantom of a fever's dream ! 

But fatal Memory notes too well 

The horrors of the dying yell 

From my despairing mates that broke. 

When flash'd the fire and roU'd the smoke ; 

Wlien the avengers shouting came, 

And hemm'd us 'twixt the sword and flame. 

My frantic flight, — the lifted bnuid, — 

That angel's interposing hand ! 

If, for my fife from slaughter freed, 

I yet could pay some grateful meed I • 

Perchance tliis object of my quest 

May aid" — he turu'd, nor spoke the rest. 

VI.' 
Due northward from the rugged hearth. 
With paces five he metes the earth, . 
Then toil'd witli mattock to explore 
The entrails of the cavern floor. 
Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground, 

Still on the cavern floor remain'd. 
And all the cave that semblance bore. 
It show'd when late the revel wore." 



I 



■jhtno VI. 



ROKEBY. 



34a 



tlis search a small steel casket found 

Just as he stoopM to loose its hasp, 

His shoulder i'elt a giaut grasp ; 

He started, aud look'd up aghast, 

Then shriuk'd ! — 'Twas Bertram lieM him fast. 

" Fsar not !" he said ; but who.could liear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fciir '< 

" Fear not ! — By heareu, he shakes as much 

Ac p:u'tritlge in the falcon's clutch :" — 

He raised liim, and unloosed his hold, 

\\Tiile from the opening casket roll'd 

A chaiu and rehquaire of gold.' 

Bertram beheld it witli surprise, 

Gazed on its fasliion an,d device, 

Then, cheeruig Edmund as he could. 

Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood : 

For still the youth's half-hfted eye 

Quiver'd with terror's agony, 

Aud sidelong glanced, as to explore, 

In meditated flight, the door. 

"Sit," Bertram said, "from danger free: 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 

Fve sought for refuge-place in vaiu.'* 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 

What makest thou here ' what means this toy 3 

Denzil and tliou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unliound your chain ! 

I deeni'd, long since on BaUol's tower, 

Tom' lieads were war/d with smi and shower.^ 

Tell me the whole — aud. mark ! naught e'er 

Chafes me Uke falsehood, or like fear." 

Gathering lus courage to his aid, 

But trembliiig stiU, the youth obey'd. 

VII. 
• Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 
Our liold d;u'k Oswald WycUffe sought,* 
And eyed my comrade long askance. 
With tix'd and penetrating glance. 
' Guy Denzil art thou call'd C — ' Tlie same.' — 
' At Court who served wild Buckinghame ; 
Thence bauisli'd, won a keeper's place, 
So Villiers wiU'd, in Slarwood-chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
Thou madest th\'jvit thy wants supply, 
Tlien fought for Rokeby : — Have I guess'd 
My prisoner right ?' — ' At thy behest.' — ' 
He pau*^-' a vm < and then went on 

MS. cartanet of gold." 



' The .MS. adds :— 

•' No surer slielter from the foe 
Than what this cavern can bestow.' 

MS, " perched io sun and shower." 

44 



With low and confidential tone ;— 
Me, as I judge, not then ho saw, 
Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
' List to me, Guy. Tliou know'st the great 
Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
Hence, in their favor oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men Uke thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live. 
What pledge of f;vith hast thou to give '( 

V'lII. 

" The ready Fiend, who never yet 
Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's wit, 
Prompted his lie — ' His only cliild 
Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled 
And turn'd to me— 'Thou art his sonC 
I bow'd — oiu" fetters were undone, 
And we were led to hear apart 
A dix'adful lesson of his art. 
Wilfrid, he said, his heu' and son. 
Had t'lui- Matilda's favor won ; 
And long since had their union been, 
But for her father's bigot spleen. 
Whose brute and bUndfold party rage 
Would, force per force, her hand engage 
To a base kern of Irish eartli. 
Unknown liis hueage and his birth. 
Save that a dying ruflian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fan' occasion he nmst find 
For such restraint well-meant and kinl. 
The Knight being render'd to his charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 
f 

IX. 
" He school'd us m a well-forged tale, 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale,' 
To wliich was leagued each Cavalier 
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear ; 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
Such was the chiirge, wliich Denzil's ecal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
Proffer'd, as witness, to make good. 
Even though the forfeit were their blood. 
I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
His prisoners' safety WycUffe swore ; 
And then — alas I what needs there Jiore * 
I knew I should not live to say 



< MS. — " With the third mom that baron old. 

Dark Oswald Wyclifle, sought the hold." 

6 MS.—" ' And last didst ride in Rokeby's band. 

Art thou tlie man ?' — ' At tliy comroaod.' 
MS. — " He school'd ns then to tell a tale 
Of plot the Castle walls to scale, 
To which had sworn each Cavalin 



846 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cait 9 vi 


TLe proffer I refused that day ; 


His hand like summer sapling shook, 


Ashmaed to live, yet loth to die, 


Terror and guilt were in his look. 


I soil'd me with theii' infamy I" — 


Denzil he judged, in time of need. 


" Poor youth," said Bertram, " wavering still,' 


Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 


Unfit alike for good or ill ! 


And thus apart liis counsel broke. 


But what fell next '(' — " Soon as at large' 


While with a ghastly smile he spoke : — 


Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 




Tliere never yet, on tragic stage, 


XI. 


Was seen so well a painted rage 


" ' As in the pageants of the stage. 


As Oswald's show'd ! With loud alarm 


The dead awake in this wild age,* 


He call'd his garrisoL to arm ; 


Mortham — whom all men deem'd decreed 


From tower to tower, frjm post to post. 


In his own deadly snare to bleed. 


He hiuried as if all were lost : 


Slam by a bravo, whom, o'er sea, 


Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 


He traiu'd to aid in murdermg me, — 


Tlie good old Knight and all liis train ; 


Mortham has 'scaped ! Tlie coward shot 


Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 


The steed, but harm'd the rider not.' '" 


Within his limits, to appear 


He'.e, with an execration fell. 


To-morrow, at the hour- of noon. 


Bertram leap'd up, and paced the cell : — 


In the high church of EgUstoiL" — 


" Thine own gray head, or bosom dark," 




He mutter'd, " may be surer mark !" 


X. 


Then sat, and sign'd to Etlniund, pale 


" Ot EgUston ! — Even now I pass'd," 


With terror, to resiune his tale. 


Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast , 


" Wycliffe went on : — ' Mark with what flightt 


Torches and cressets gleam'd around. 


Of wilder'd reverie he writes : — 


I heard the saw and hammer sound, 




And I conUl mark they toilVl to raise 


(TJc letter. 


A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 


" ' Ruler of Mortham's destiny I 


Wliich the grim headsman's scene display'd. 


Though dead, thy victun lives to thee.' 


Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 


Once had he all that binds to life. 


Some evil deed will there be done, 


A lovelv cluld, a lovelier wife ; 


Unless Matilda- wed liis son ; — 


Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own — 


She loves him not — 'tis shi'ewdly guess'd 


Thou gavest the word, and they are flown.'' 


That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 


Mark how he pays thee \ — To thy hand 


This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 


He yields liis honors .and liis land,* 


But I may meet, and foil him still ! ^ 


One boon premised ; — Restore liis child ! 


How earnest thou to thy freedom ?" — " There 


And, from his native land exiled. 


Lies mystery more dark and rare. 


Mortham no more returns to claim 


In midst of Wycliffe's well-feign'd rage, 


His lands, his honors, or his name ; 


A scroll was offer'd by a page. 


Refuse liim this, and from the slain 


Who told, a muffled horseman late 


Thou shalt see Mortham rise agaia' — 


Had left it at the Castle-gate. 




He broke the seal — his cheek show'd change. 


XII. 


Sudden, portentous, wUd, and strange ; 


"This billet while the baron lead. 


The mimic passion of his eye 


His faltering accents show'd his dread ; 


Was turn'd to actual agony ; 


He press'd his forehead with his palm. 


JrtS. '■ ■■ sore bestad t 


s " ' Mortham escaped — the coward shot 


Wavering alike in good and bad. 


The horse — but harmed the rider not.' 


' MS. '■ 0, when at large 


is truly laughable. How hke the denouement >f the Cov«rB 


Was scroll'd and sign'd out fatal charge, 


Garden Tragedy ! in which the hero is supposed to have beea 


You never yet, on tragic stage, 


killed, but thus accounts for his escape. 


Beheld so well a painted rage." 


* I through the coat was, not the body, run !' " 


» After this line the MS. reads : — 


Monthly Rtnns 


" Although his soldiers snatch'd awart 


1 MS.—" Though dead to all, he lives to thee." 


When in my very grasp, my prey. — 


' MS. — " Wealth, fame, and Iiappiness, his own — 


Edmund, how cam'st thou free?" — "O there 


Thou gavest the word, aud all is flown." 


Lies mystery," &c. 


e The MS. adds :— 


* M3. — " The dead arise in this wild age. 


" Nay more, ere one day's course had run, m 


Martham — whom righ' aous heaven decreed 


He rescued twice from death thy son. 1 


Caught in liis cwo fell mare to bleed." 





UOTO VI. * ROKKBY. 34"! 


ITieO took a scomful tone and calm ; 


An interloper's pryi-g toil. 


'Wild as the winds, aa billows -wild 1 


The words, but not the sense, I knew, 


Wliat wot I of ilia spouse or cliild ! 


Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 


Hithor he brought a joyous dame, 




UulcL D'vr' her lineage or lier name : 


XIV. 


Her, iu tome frantic fit he slew ; 


" ' Three days since, was that clew reveal'd, 


Tlie nurse and cliild iu fear withdrew. 


In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd,' 


Heaver, be my witness! wist I where 


And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 


r.- find tliis youth, my kinsman's heir, — 


Her uncle's history display'd ; 


Uugucrdon'd, I would give with joy 


And now I can interpret well 


Tlie father's arms to fold his boy, 


Each syllable the tablets tell. 


Ard Mortham's hinds and towers resign 


Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 


To the just heirs of Mortham's Une.' — 


Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 


Thou know'st th.at scaixely e'en liis fear 


But from her sire and country fled, 


Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 


In secret Mortham's Lord to wed. 


' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 


O'Neale, his first resentment o'er. 


He said, ' to ease his patron's heart ! 


Despatch'd liis son to Greta's shore, 


In thine own jailer's watchful care 


Enjoming he should make him known 


Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir ; 


(Until his farther wUl were shovra) 


Thy generous wish is fully won, — 


To Edith, but to her alone. 


Redmond O'Neale is Mortliam's son.' — 


What of their iU-starr'd meeting fell. 




Lord Wyclitfe know.?, and none so well 


XIII. 




" Up starting with a plu-ensied look, 


XV. 


His clenched hand the Baron shook : 


" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair. 


' Is Hell at work ? or dost thou r.ave. 


Robb'd Mortham of his infant heu- ; 


Or darest thou palter with me, slave 1 


He bred him in their nurture wild, 


Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 


And call'd him murder'd Connel's child. 


Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.' 


Soon died the nurse ; the Clan believed 


Den?il who well his safety knew, 


What from their Chieftain they received. 


Firmly rejoiii'd, ' I tell thee true. 


His pm"pose was, that ne'er again'* 


Thy racks could give thee but to know 


The boy should cross the Irish main ; 


The proofs, which I, untortured, show.— 


But, like his mount:un-sire3, enjoy 


It chanced upon a winter night. 


The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 


When early snow made Stiinmore white, 


Then on the land wild troubles came, 


That very night, when iii-st of all 


And stronger Cliieftains urged a cl.-um. 


Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 


And wrested from the old man's hands 


It was my goodly lot to gain 


His native towers, his father's lands. 


A reUquary and a chain. 


Unable then, amid the strife. 


Twisted and chased of massive gold. 


To guard young Redmond's rights or life, 


— Demand not how the prize I hold ! 


Late and reluctant he restores 


It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — 


The mfant to his native .shores. 


Gilt tablets to the chain were hung, 


With goodly gifts and letters stored, 


With letters in^he Irish tongue. 


With many a deep conjuring word. 


I hid my spoil, for there was need 


To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 


That I should leave the land with speed , 


Naught knew the clod of Irish earth, 


Nor then I decm'd it safe to bear 


Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 


On mine own person gems so rare. 


But deem'd his Cliief 's commands were 'aid 


Small heed I of the tablets took. 


On both, by both to be obey'd.^ 


But since have spell'd them by the book, > 


How he was wounded by the way, 


When some sojourn in Erin's land 


I need not, and I list not say.' — 


Of their wild speech had given command. 




But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 


XVL 


And language those of other days, 


" ' A wondrous tale 1 and, grant it true. 


InvoWed of purpose, as to foil 


What,' Wycliffe answer'd, ' might I do t 


VS -." It chanced, three daya since; I was laid 


Tlie boy should visit Albion's flbore ' 


Conceal'd in Thoi^ill's bosky shade.** 


8 Tiie MS. has not this coaolet. 



348 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTO W 



Heaven knows, as -n iUingly as now 


His noble kinsman's generous mind, 


I, raise tlie bonnet fiom my brow, 


And train him on from day to day, 


Would I my kinsman's manors fair' 


Till he can take his life away. — 


Restore to ilortkam, or his lieir ; 


And now, declare thy purpose, youth, 


But Mortliam is distraught — O'Neale 


Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 


Has drawn for tyranny his steel. 


If aught I mark of Denzil's art. 


Malignant to our rightful cause. 


I'U tear the secret from thy heart !' — 


And (raiu'd in Rome's delusive laws. 




Hai-k thee apart !' — They wliisper'd long, 


XVIII. 


Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong : — 


" It needs not. I renounce,'' he said. 


'My proofs! I never will,' he said. 


"My tutor m this deadly trade. 


Show mortal man where they are laid. 


Fix'd was my purpose to declare 


Nor hope discovery to foreclose. 


To Mortham, Kedmond is his heir ; 


By giving me to feed the crows ; 


To tell him m what risk he stands, 


For I have mates at lai-ge, who know 


And yield these tokens to his hands. 


Where I am wont such tovs to stow. 


Fix'd was my purpose to atone. 


Free me from peril and from band, 


Far as 1 may, the evU done ; 


These tablets are at thy command ; 


And fix'd it rests — if I survive 


Nor were it hard to form some train, 


This night, and leave this cave alive." — 


To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 


" And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack, 


Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 


Even till his jomts and sinews' crack ! 


Should wrest from tliine the goodly land.' 


If Oswald tear him limb from Umb, 


— ' I hke thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 


What ruth can Denzil claun from him, 


But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 


Whose thoughtless youth he led astray. 


Thy son, unless my purpose err. 


And damn'd to this mihallow'd 'Way ? 


May prove the trustier messenger. 


He school'd me faith and vows were vain , 


A scroll to Mortham sliall he bear 


Now let my master reap his gaiu.'' — 


From me, and fetch these tokens rgre. 


" True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed; 


Gold shalt thou have, and that good store, 


There's retribution in the deed. 


And freedom, liis commission o'er ; 


But thou — thou art not for om- course. 


But if liis faith should chance to fail. 


Hast fear, hast pity, hast remoi-se : 


The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' — 


And he, with us the gale who braves. 




Must heave such cargo to the wave-s, 


XVII. 


Or lag with overloaded prore, 


" Mcsh'd in the net himself had twined. 


While barks unbiu-den'd reach the shore." 


What .subterfuge could Denzil find S 




He told me, with reluctant sigh. 


XIX. 


That hidden here the tokens he ■' 


He paused, and, stretching him at length. 


Conjured my swift return and aid, 


Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 


By all he scoff' d and disobey'd ;' 


Communing with his secret mind. 


And look'd as if the noose werp tied. 


As hidf he sat, and half reclined. 


And I the priest who left liis side. 


One ample hand his forehead press'd, 


This scroll for Mortliam Wycliife gave. 


And one was dropp'd across his breast 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 


Whom I must seek by Greta's wave ; 


Or hi the hut where chief he hides. 


Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 


Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 


His hp of pride a while forbore 


(Then chanced it, wandering in the glade. 


The haughty curve till then it wore ; 


That he descried our junbuscade.) 


The imalter'd fierceness of his look 


I waa dismiss'd as evening fell. 


A shade of darken'd sadness took, — * 


AtA reach'd but now tliis rocky cell." — 


For dark and sad a presage press'd 


" Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read. 


Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — , 


And tore it fiercely slired by shred : — 


And when he spoke, liis wonted tone. 


" All lies and villany 1 to blind 


So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 


MS. — " Would I my kinsman's lands resign 


3 MS. — " In secret where the tokens ae." 


To Mortliam's self and RIorlliam's line ; 


3 MS.—" By ties he scofT'd," Sic 


But Mortham raves — and thia O'Neale 


* MS. — " A durkenM ^ad exjiression took. 


Has drawn." S:c. 


The unalter'd fie'rceness ol his look " 



CAHTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



34> 



His voice was stent/, low, and deep, 


No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 


Like distaut waves when breezes sleep ; 


With disk like battle-target red. 


And sorrow niix'd with Edmund's fear, 


He rushes to his burning bed. 


fta low unbroken depth to hear. 


Dyes the wide wave with bloody light. 




Then sinks at once — ^and aU is night. — 


XX. 




"EcKuuo. in thy Sid tale I find 


XXIL 


The wo<; that warp d my patron's mind : 


" Now to thy mission, Edmund. FI7, 


"Twould wake the fountains of the eye 


Seek Mortham out, and bid liim hie 


In other men, but mine are dry. 


To Richmond, where liis troops are laio, 


ilortham must never see the fool, 


And lead liis force to Redmond's aid. 


That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool; 


Say, till he reaches Eghston, 


Yet less fi-om thu-st of sordid gain. 


A friend will watch to guard his son.* 


Than to avenge supposed disdain. 


Now, fare-thee-weU ; for night draws on, 


Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 


And I would rest me here alone." 


Till now from Bertram never heard : 


Despite liis ill-dissembled foar, 


Say, too, that Morthani's Lord he prays 


There swam in Edmund's eye a *€ar ; 


To think but on theu- former days ; 


A tribute to the courage hign. 


On Quai-iana's beach and rock. 


Which stoop'd not in extremity, 


On Cave's bursting battle shock, 


But strove, irregularly great. 


On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 


To triumph o'er approacliing fate ! 


And on the dart Tlatzeca tlu-ew ; — 


Bertram beheld the dewdrop start, 


Perchance my patron yet may hear 


It almost touch'd liis uon heart : — 


More th.at may grace liis comrade's bier.' 


" I did not think there lived," he said, 


My soul hath felt a secret weight, 


" One, who would tear for Bertram shed." 


A warmng of approacliing fate : 


He loosen'd then his baldric's hold. 


A priest had said, ' Return, repent !' 


A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 


As well to bid that rock be rent. 


" Of aU the spoil that paid his pains. 


Fu'm as that flint I face mine end ; 


■ But this with Risingham remains ; 


My heart may burst, but cannot bend.' 


And tills, dear Edmund, thou shalt take. 




And wear it long for Bertram's si&e. 


XXI 


Once more — to Mortham speed amaia, 


"The dawning of my youth, with awe 


Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 


And projjhecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 




For over Redesdale it came, 


XXIIL 


As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 


The night has yielded to the morn, 


Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, 


And far the hours oSj prime are wora 


Wlien, challenging the Clans of Tyne, 


Oswald, who, since the dawn of day. 


To bring their best my brand to prove. 


Had cursed his messenger's delay, 


O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove ■' 


Impatient question'd now his train. 


But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town. 


" Was Denzil's .son return'd .again ?" 


Held cb.ampion meet to take it down. 


It chanced there answer'd of the crew 


My noontide, India may declare ; 


A menial, who young Edmund knew • 


Like her fierce sun, I fired the an- ! 


" No son of Deiizil this,'' — he said ; 


Like liim, to wood and cave bade fly 


" A peasant boy from Winston glade. 


Her natives, from mine angry eye. 


For song and minstrelsy renown'd, 


Panama's maids shall long look pale 


And knavish pranks, the hamlets round." — 


Wlieu Rismgham inspires the tale; 


" Not Denzil's son ! — From Wmston vale ^— 


Cliili's dark matrons long shall tame 


Tlien it was false, that specious tale , 


The fi'oward diild witli Bertram's name. 


Or, worse — he hath despatched the y(:utb 


And now, my race of terror run. 


To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 


Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 


Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late;^ — 


No pale gradations quench liis ^ay. 


This is the very turn of fate ! — ' 


» MS. — " Perchance, that Mortham yet may hear 


< MS.—" With him and Fairfax for his friend, 


Something to grace his comrade's bier." 


No risk that Wyrtilfe dares contend. 


1 MS " ne'er sjiall beati.." 


Tell hira the wliilc, at Eghston 


Tiiere will be one to guard his son." 


* See Appendix, Note 3 I. 


5 MS.—" Thia is the crisis of my fata." 



;50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The tale, or true or false, relies 
On Deuzil's evidence ! — He dies ! — 
Ho ! Provost Marshal 1 instantly 
Lead DenzU to the gallows-tree ! 
Allow bim not a parting word ; 
Short be the shrift, and sure the cord ! 
Then let bis gory bead appal 
Marauders from the Castle-walb 
Jjead forth thy guard, that duty done, 
With best despatch to Egliston. — 
— BasU, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
Attend me at the Castle-gate." — 

XXIV. 
" Alas !" the old domestic said, 
And shook his venerable head, 
" Alas, my Lord ! full Ul to-day 
May my young master brook the way ! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
Of unseen Inu-t, of secret bai'm. 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart. 
That mars and lets his healing art." — 
" Tush, tell not me ! — Romantic boys 
Pme themselves sick for airy toys. 
I will find cm-e for Wilfi-id soon ; 
Bid him for Eghston be boune. 
And quick ! — I liear the dull death-di-um 
Tell Deuzil's hour of fate is come." 
He paused with scornful smUe, and then 
Resumed liis tram of thought agen. 
" Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear. 
Naught else, can bend Matilda's pride, 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scaffold placed, 
With axe and block and headsman graced, 
And when she deems, that to deny 
Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 
She must give way. — Then, were the line 
Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
. I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
If Mortham come, he comes too late. 
While I, allied thus and prepared. 
Bid hun defiance to his beard. — 
— If she prove stubborn, shall I dai-e 
To (hop the axe ? — Soft 1 pause we there. 
Mortham still fives — yon youth may tell 
His tale — and Fairfax loves liim well ; — 

1 MS. — " Marks the dark cloud sweep down the Tees." 

2 ■' Tliis sabordinate villain thus meets the reward which he 
Reserves. He is altogether one of the minor sicctc/ics of tlie 
poem, but still adds a variety and a life to the group. He is 
besides absolutely necessary for the development of the plot ; 
»nd indeed a peculiar propriety in this respect is observable 
Jiroughout t)ie storv. No character, and. comparatively speak- 
'ng, but little description, is introduced that is unessential to 
Ihc narrative ; it proceeds clearly, if not rapidly, througliout ; 
jnd although the plot becomes additionally involved to appear- 
ince aa it a /inces, all is satisfactorily explained at the las , or 



Else, wherefore should I now dehxy 

To sweep tliis Redmond from my way ? — 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield. — Without there 1 Sound to horea ' 

XXV. 
'Twas bustle in the court below, — 
" Motmt, and march forward !" — Forth they gc 
Steeds neigh and trample all ai'ound. 
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound.— 
Just then was sung Iiis parting hymn ; 
And Denzil turn'd liis eyeballs dim. 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 
FoUows the horsemen down the Tees ;' 
And, scarcely conscious what he hears. 
The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now, 
Tlie van is lud by greenwood bough ; 
But ere the reai'w.ard had pass'd o'er, 
■ Guy Denzil heard and saw no more I" 
One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 
To Oswald rung his dying knell. 

XXVI. 
O, for that pencil, erst profuse 
Of cliivalry's emblazon'd hues. 
That traced of old, m Woodstock bower, 
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high, 
Held for the hand of Emity ! 
Then miglit I paint the tumult broad, 
That to the crowded abbey flow'd, 
And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound. 
Into the church's ample boimd ! 
Then might I show each varying mien. 
Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 
Indifference, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air. 
Paint the dejected CaviiUer, 
Doubtful, lUsarm'd, and sad of cheer ; 
And liis proud foe, whose formal eye 
Claim'd conquest now and mastery ; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest Uo 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Tet what may such a wish avail ? 
'Tls mine to tell an onward tale,' 

rather explains itself by gradual nnravelment.*' — JilonlVy R9 
view. 

'•' The Quarterly Reviewer, after quoting from 

" 'Tis mine to tell an onward tale," 

to 

" Or snatch a blossiOm from the bough," 

adds, "Assuredly, if such Hnes as these had occurred mow ■ 
frequently in Rokeby, it would have extorted onr amiualifiea 
admiration : and allliough we lament that numerous little 
blemishes, which might easily he removed, have been suffer*! 



CANTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



'5J 



Hurrying, as best I can, along, 
Till; heiirers and the hasty song ; — 
Like traveller when approaching home, 
Who sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his course delay, 
Or choose the fair, but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely *iay his p;ice suspend. 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend, 
To bless the oreeze that cools his brow 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 

XXVII. 
The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 
Profaned, dishonor'd, and defiiccd. 
Thi'ough storied lattices no more 
In soften'd hght the sunbeams pour. 
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of slirine, imd monument, and niche. 
The Civil fury of the time 
Made sport of sacrilegious crime ;' 
For dark Fanaticism rent 
Altar, and screen, and ornament. 
And peasant hands the tombs o'ertlirew 
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh.^ 
And now was seen, unwonted sight. 
In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
WTiere once the priest, of grace divine 
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign ; 
There stood the block display'd, and there 
The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
Resounded loud a doom of death. 
Thrice tlie fierce trumpet's breath was 

heiu-d. 
And eclio'd thrice the herald's word, 
Doominij', for breach of martial laws. 
And treason to the Commons' cause, 
Tlic Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 
To stoop their heads to 'clock and steel 
The trumpets flourish'd high and slirill. 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 
And silent prayers to heaven were cast, 
And stifled sobs were bm-sting fast, 
Till from the crowd began to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 
ind from the distant aisles there came 
Deep-mutter'd threats, with 'Wycliffe's 

Ejrie.* 

k lemain ; Uiat many of the poetical ornaments, though jost- 
J conceived, are faintly and indistinctly drawn ; and tiiat those 
inrshing toncliei?, which Mr. Scott has the talent of placing 
w.th peculiar taste and propriety, are too sparingly scattered ; 
we readily ailmit that he has told his * onward tale' with great 
vigor and animation ; and that he' has generally redeemed his 
faults by the richness ana variety of his fancy, or by the inters 
SI of his narrative." 

' The Mt*. has not this nor the preceding couplet. 
, ' MS. — " And peasants' base-born Iianils o'erthrew 
The tombs of Lacy and Fitx-Hugh." 



XXVIII. 
But Oswald, guarded by his band. 
Powerful in evil, wavetl his hand. 
And bade Sedition's, voice be dead, 
On peril of the murmiu-er's head. 
Then first liis glance sought Rokeby's Kuight " 
Who gazed on the tremendous sight, 
As calm as if he came a guest 
To kindred Baron's feudal feast,' 
As calm as if that trumpetcaU 
Were summons to the banner'd hall ; 
Firm in liis loyalty he stood. 
Anil prompt to seal it with his blood. 
With downcast look drew Osw.tld nigh, — 
He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — ' 
And said, with low ajid faltering breath, 
" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 
The Knight then turn'd, and sternly smiled; 
" The maiden is mine only child. 
Yet shaU my blessing leave her heixd. 
If with a traitor's son she w^d." 
Then Redmond spoke : " The Ufe of one 
Might thy malignity atone,'' 
On me be fltmg a double guilt ! 
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt I" 
■Wycliife had listen'd to his suit, 
But dread prevail'd, and he was mute. 

XXIX. 

And now he pours his choice of fear 

In secret on Matilda's ear ; 

" An union form'd with me and mine. 

Ensures the faitll of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all tliis dread array. 

Like morning dream shall pass away ; 

Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 

I give the word — thou know'st the rest. ' 

Matilda, still and motionless. 

With terror heard the dread address. 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Then wi-ung her hands in agony; 

And rounil her cast bewilder'd eye. 

Now on the scati'old glanced, and now 

On "Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 

She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 

Scarce audible, — " I make my choice I 

Spare but then- lives ! — for aught beside, 

^ MS. — " Muttering of threats, and Wyciiffe'B Dum* 
* MS. — "Then from his victim sought to know 

The working of his tragic show. 

And first his glance," 6ic. 

6 MS. — " To some high Baron's feudal feast, 
And that loud pealing trumjiet-call 
Ifas summons," &c. 

" MS. — " He durst not meet his scornful eye " 

'MS. — 



'• the blood of one 

Might this malignant plot atouo. 



352 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO rj 



Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was generous 1" — As she spoke, 
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 
" WUfi'iJ, wliere loiter'd ye so late ? 
Wily upon Basil rest thy "weight ? 
Ai't spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ;* 
Thank her with raptures, simple boy I 
Should teai's and trembling speak thy 

joy?"— 

" hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ; 
But now the awful hour di'aws on, 
Wlien truth must speak in loftier tone." 

XXX. 
He took Matild&'s hand ■?—" Dear maid, 
Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 
" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 
As blend with him tliis barbarous scheme ? 
Alas ! my efforts made in vain, 
Might well have saved this added pain.' 
But now, bear witness earth and heaven. 
That ne'er was hope to mortal given. 
So twisted* with the strings of life, 
As this — to call Matilda wife ! 
I bid it now for ever part. 
And witli the effort bursts my heart !" 
His feeble frame was worn so low, 
With wounds, with watching, and with woe, 
That nature could no more sustain 
The agony of mental pain. 
He kneel'd — his lip her hand had press'd, — ' 
Just then he felt the stern arrest. 
Lower and lower sunk his head, — 
They raised him, — but the life was fled I 
Tlien, fii-st alai'm'd, his sire and train 
Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
Tlie soul, too soft its ills to bear, 
Had left our mortal hemisphere, 

> In pldt^ of this antl preceding couplet, the MS. has, 

" Successful was Uie sclieme he plaun'd : 
Kneel, Wilfrid ! take her yielded hand I'* 
I MS. — " He kneel'd, and took her hand." 

► MS. — " To save the complicated pain." 
MS.—" Blended." 

* MS. — " His Hps upon lier hands were press'd, — 

Jost as he felt the stern anest." 
r *' The character of Wilfrid is as extensively drawn, and 
flven more so, perhaps, than that of Bertram. And amidst 
the fine ami b,;autil"ul moral reflections accompanying it, a 
Jeep insight into the human heart is discemihte : — we liad 
almost said an intuition more penetrating than even Ids, to 
whom were given these ' golden keys* that ' unlock the gates 
of joy.' 

' Of horror that and thrilling fears. 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.' " 

British Critic. 

'• [n delineating the actors of this dramatic tale, we have 
ItUe h€>j'tation in raying, tliut Mr Scott has beelt more suc- 



And sought in better world the meed. 
To blameless life by Heaven decreed.' 

XXXI 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 

With Wilfrid all his projects past, 

All turn'd and centred on his son. 

On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 

" And I am childless now," he said , 

" Childless through that relentless maid ! 

A lifetune's arts in vain essay "d. 

Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 

Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 

Comes hated Mortham for bis heir. 

Eager to knit in hapjjy band 

With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand. 

And shall their trimnph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laid to work their iidl! 

No ! — deeds which prudence might not dare. 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 

I'U change to re.al that feigned tear ! 

They all shall share destruction's shock; — 

Ho ! lead the captives to the block 1" 

But ill his Provost could divine 

His feelings, and forebore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they, 

Shall face the judgment-seat this day !" 

XXXII. 

The outmost crowd have heard a sound. 
Like korse's hoof on harden'd ground : 
Nearer it came, and yet more near. 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the deail I 
Fresh sod, and old sepniclu'al stone, 
Retiu-n the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung, 
Wlien through tlie Gothic arch there sprung 



cessful than on any former occasion. Wilfrid, a person of th* 
first importance in tlie whole management of the plot, exiiioitt 
an assemblage of qualities not unfrequently combined in real 
Ufe, hut, so far as we can recollect, never before represented in 
poetry. It is, indeed, a charactei which required to be toncfacd 
with great art and delicacy. The reader generally expects 10 
find 'beauty of form, strength, grace, and agilily, united witfc 
powerful passions, in the prominent figures of romance; bfr 
caose these visible qualities are tl»e most frequent themes ol 
panegyric, and usually the best passports to admiration. Th8 
absence of them is supposed to throw an air of ridicule OD tho 
pretensions of a candidate for love or glory. An ordinaxj 
poet, therefore, would have despaired of awakening our sylH* 
patliy in favor of that lofty and generous spirit, and keen sen- 
sibility, which at once anijTiate and consume the frail and 
sickly frame of Wilfrid ; yet Wilfrid is, in fact, extremely to- j 
teresting ; and his death, though obviously necessary to the \ 
condign punishment of Oswald, to the future repose of Mirit 
da, and consequently to the consummation of the poem, leaTBi 
strong emotions of pity and regret in the mind of the reader 
— Quarterly Revievi 



CAKTO VI. 



ROKEay. 



36S 



A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 
Sable lu3 cloak, liis plume, his steed.' 
Fire from the iiinty floor was spurn'd, 
The vaults unwonted clang return'd ! — 
One instant's glance around lie threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew\ 
Grimly determined was liis look 1 
His charger witl ^he spin's he strook — 
All scatter'd backward as he came, 
For all knew Bertram Kisiugham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ;' 
The first has reach'd the central nave, 
The second clear'd the chancel wide. 
The thud he was at WycUffe's side. 
Full levell'd at the Baron's head, 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to his long account, and last, 
■Without a groan, dark Oswald past 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of Ughtning, or a dream. 

XXXIII 

While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But flounder'd on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore. 
And, bursting in the headlong sway, 
T\ie faitliles.s saddle-girths gave way. 
Twas while he toil'd him to be freed. 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
rhat from amazement's iron trance 
All WycUffe's soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
4 score of pikes, with each a wound. 
Bore down ami pinn'd him to the ground ;' 
But still his struggUng force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee. 

• See AppendLx, Note 3 K. 

• MS. — "Three bounds he made, tiiat noble steed ; 

Thefimtl.= !^"=*^»'„'<""'' ,i ha. freed." 
f chancel s bound ) 

' MS.—" Oppress'd and pinn'd him to llie ground." 

• MS. — " And when, by odda bome down al length." 
, » MS.— "He bore." 

• MS — " Had more of laogh in it than moan." 
' MS. — " But belli their weapons ready jet, 

Lest the grim king should rouie him yet." 

• M3.- *' But Ba'^il check'U-tliem with disdain, 

And flung a mantle o'er the slain." 

• " Whether we see him scaling the cliffs in desperate course, 
ittd Bearing the hawks and the r*veng from their nests ; or, 
while the Castle is on tire, breaking from the central mass of 
ynoke; or, amidst the terrific circumstances of his death, when 
■ i» 

' parting grjan 
Hao more of laughter than of moan/ 
45 



By tenfold odds oppress'd at length,* 
Des2:)ite liis struj^f^les ami tia strengtli, 
He took* a hundred mortal "wounds, 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hoimda ; 
And when he died, his parting gro:m 
Had more of laughter than of moan f^ 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies, 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the slain 
Lest the grim king should rouse agalal' 
Tlien blow ;md insult some renew d, 
And fi-tnn the trunk, the head had heVd, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;* 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
"Fell as lie was in act and mind. 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give liim, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet."* 

XXXIV. 

No more of death and dying pang, 

No more of trump and bugle clang. 

Though through the sounding woods there com* • 

Bamier and bugle, trmnp and drum. 

Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 

Young Redmond at liis utmost need, 

And back'd with such a band of horse, 

As might less ample powers enforce ; 

Possessed of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortliara's line. 

And yielded to a father's arms 

An image of his Edith's charms, — 

Morthatn is come, to hear and see 

Of tliis strange morn the history. 

"What saw he ? — not the churcli's floor, 

Cimiber'd with dead and stain'd with gore ; 

"VVliat heard he ? — not the clamorous crov^d, 

lliat shout then gratulations loitd : 

Redmond he saw and lieard alone, 

Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, " My son ! my son !" — " 

we mark his race of terror, with the poet, like the ' eve of 
tropic sun I' 

' No pale gradations quench his ray, 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red. 
He rushes to his burning bed ; 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Tlien sinks at once — and all is night.' " 

lirithk Cntte. 
" I hope you will like Bertram to the end ; he is a Caravaggio 
sketch, which, [ may acknowledge to yon — but tell it not in 
Gath — I rather pique myself upon ; and he is within I'fe keep 
ing of Nature, though critics will say to the contrary. It may 
be difficult to fancy that any one should take a sort c< [ k asura 
in bringing out such a character, but I suppose it le pirtly 
owhig to bad reading, and ill-directed reading, when irai 
young."— Scott to Miss BaiHie.—IJfe, vol. iv. p. 49. 
10 MS. — Here the author of Rokeby wrote, 

"End of Canto VI." 
Stanza XXXV., added at the request of the printer amd anottier 



854 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



c iifri> fi. 



XXXV. 
This chanced u[ on ji summer mora, 
Wlien yellow waved the heavy corn : 
But when brown August o'er the laud 
C-^U d forth the reaper's busy baud, 
A gladsome sight the silvan road 
F;om Egliston to Mortham show'd. 
A while the hardy rustic leaves 
The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 
And maids their sickles fling aside, 
To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 
And childhood's wondering group draws near, 
And from tlie gleaner's hands the ear , 

Drops, wliile she folds them for a prayer 

friend, was accompanied by the following note to Mr. Ballaii- 
yne : — 

" De\r James, 

'*I send yon tiiis, out of deference to opinions so strongly 
expressed ; but still retaining my own, that it spoils one effect 
williout producinjr another. W. S.'.' 

* " Mr. Seott has now confined himself within much narrow- 
er limits, and, by descending to t!ie Bober annals of the seven- 
teenth century, has renounced nearly all those ornaments of 
Gothic paijeantry, which, in consequence of the taste with 
which lie displayed them, hud been tolerated, and even ad- 
mired, by modern readers. He has subjected his style to a 
■everer code of criticism. Tlie language of the poet is often 
unconsciously referred to the date of the incidents which he re- 
lates ; so that what is carek-ss or idiomatic escapes censure, as 
a supposed anomaly of antique diction ; and it is, perhaps, 
partly owing to this impression, that the phraseology of ' Mar- 
mion,* and of the '-Lady of the Lake,' has ajjpeared to us to 
be no less faulty than that of the present, poem. 

" But, be this as it may, wc confiileatly persist in thinking, 
that in tliis last experiment, Mr. Scott's popularity will be still 
farther confiimed ; because we have found by experience, 
that, although during the first hasty inspection of the poem, 
jn^ertaken for the gratification of our curiosity, some bleniisii- 
K intruded themselves upon our notice, the merits of the story, 
and the minute shades of character displayed in the conduct of 
it, have been sufficient, during many succeeding perusals, to 
awaken our feelings, and to reanimate and sustain our attention. 

"The original fiction from which tlie poem is derived, ap- 
pears to us to be constructed with considerable ability ; but it 
is on the felicity witli which the poet has expanded and dram- 
atized it ; on the diversity of the characiei-s ; on the skill witli 
which they are unfolded, and on the ingenuity with which 
every incident is renderor) subservient to his final purpose, that 
we chiefly found our preference of this over his former produc- 
tions. From the first canto to the last, nothing is superfluous. 
Th*; arrival of a nocturnal visitor at B.irnard Castle is announ- 
ced witl. such solemnity. Ihe previous terrora of Oswald, the 
anu^'ance and ferocity of Bertram, his abruptness and discour- 
teay ol de.neanor, ire so -mine-jlly de'ineatid, thht the picture 
fctms -IS if it had been introduced for the eole por])Ose of dis- 
I»,a"*-:ng the author's powers of descrijHion ! yet it is from this 
visit that all the subsequent incidents naturally, and almost 
.lecessarily flow. Our curiosity is, at ttie very commencement 
of the poem, most powerfully excited ; the principal actors in 
Jie scene exhibit tliemsolves distinctly to our view, the devel- 
opment of the plot is perfectly continuous, and our attention 
b never interrupted, or suffered to relax." — Quarterly Re- 
view. 



"This production of Mr. Scott altogether aboi'nds in imagery 
•nd description leas than either of its precoisora, in pretty 



And blessmg on the lovely pp'r. 
'Twas then tlie Maid of Rokeby e;ave 
Her phghted troth to Kedmond biave; 
And Teesdale can remembei yet 
How Fate to Yu'tue paid hei debt. 
And, for their troubles, bade then- p-'C7'> 
A lengthen'd life of peace and love, 



Time and Tide had thus their sway, 
Yielding, like an April day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for liours of sorrow.' 

nearly the same proportion as it contains mor^ '</" J-amatic in 
cident and character. Yet some of tlie piciu ei which it prfr 
seats are highly wrought and vividly colored ; for example, 
the terribly animated narrative, in the £fth canto, of the battlfl 
within the hall, and tlie conflagration of the mansion of Rokeby. 

" Several defects, of more or less importance, we noticed, or 
imagined that we noticed, as we i;pad. It appears like pre- 
sumption to accuse Mr. Scott of any failure in respect to cos- 
tume — of the manners and character of the times which he 
describes — yet the impression produced on our minds by the 
perusal, has certainly been, that we are thrown back in imag- 
ination to a period considerably antecedent to that which he 
intends to celebrate. The other faults, we remarked, consist 
principally in the too frequent recurrence of those wliich we 
have EO often noticed on former occasions, and which are so 
incorporated with the poet's style, that it is now become as 
useless as it is painful, to repeat the censures wiiich they have 
occasioned. 

" We have been informed that ' Rokeby' has hitherto circa 
lated less rapidly than has usually been the case with Mf. 
Scott's works. If tlie tact be so, we are inclined to altribate 
it solely to accidental circumstance.^ ; being persuaded that the 
defects of the poem are only common to it with all the produc- 
tions of its author; that they nre even less numerous than in 
most ; and tliat its beauties, though of a different stani]), ure 
more profusely scattered, and, upon the whole, of a hiylier or 
der." — Critical Review. 



" Such is Rokeby ; and our readers viust confess that it ia a 
very interesting tale. Alone, it would stan.,) the author one 
of the most picturesque of English poets. Of the story, we 
need hardly say any thing farther. It is com[)licated without 
being confused, and so artfully suspended in its unravelmenl, 
as to produce a constantly increasing sensation of curiosity. 
Parrs, indeed, of the catastrophe may at inlervali he foreseen, 
but they are like the partial glimpses that we catcli of a noble 
and well-shaded building, which does not break on us in all its 
proportion a'nd :n all its be-Mity, unt'l we suddenly arrive in 
front. Of the characters, we have sonipthing to observe in 
addition to our private remarks. Our readers may (lerhaps 
have seen that we have frequently applied the term shi'trh, to 
the several personages of the drama. Now, although this poem 
possesses more variety of well-sustained character than any 
other of Mr. Pcott*3 performances — allhoT(f:h Wilfrid will boa 
favorite with every lover of the soft, the gentle, and '.he oa* 
thelic, while Ednumd offers a fearfu! warning to misused anil- 
ities — and althougii Redmond is indeed a man, compared to the 
Cranstoun of T/tc Lit/, to the IVilton of Jifrtrmion, or lo the 
Malcolm of the t.ndy of the Lake ; yet is Redmond 1 iinseli 
but a skftch compared to Bertram. Here is Mr. Scolt s troe 
and favorite hero. He has no ' sncakin<r kindness' foi ihc^ 
barbarians ; — he 'lohlly adopts and palronizf-s them. Deli»rair« 



H 



CANTO VI. 



KOKEBY. 



356 



^t hi9 Iinmorou*ily been observed) would have been exactly 
wliat IM.iririion was, coubl he have read and written ; Bertram 
to a happy mi.xlure of both ;— as great a villnin, if possible, as 
Marinion ; and, it possible, as great a sc:iinp as Deloraitie. 
Bis clianicter is completed by a dash of the fiercenew of Rod- 
erick Phu. We do not Iicru enter into the question as to the 
gDO<i taste of an author who employs his utmost strength of 
description on a compound of bad qualities ; but we must ob- 
•erve. in thu way of protest^ for the present, that something 
onnst be wrong whiiro pO'ni.:at effect and moral approbation are 
•b much 3; variance. We leave untouched the general argo- 
■WE*,, wiietlicr it makes any difterence for poetical purposes, 
Ihul & hero's vices or his virtues should preponderate. Power- 
ful indeed must be the genius of the i)oet who, out of such 
materials as tho-se above -mentioned, can form an interest- 
ing wliole. This, however, m, the fact ; and Bertram at times 
so overcomes hatred with admiration, that he (or rather his 
painter) is almost pardonable for his energy alone. There is a 
charm about this spring of mind whicli bears down all opposi- 
tion, 'and throws a brilliant veil of light over the most hideous 
deformity.' Tliis is the fascination— this is the variety and 
vigor by which Mr. Scott recommends barbarous heroes, un- 
dignified occurrences, and, occasionally, the most incorrect lan- 
guage, and the most imperfect versification— 

" Catch but his fire — ' And yon forgive him all.' " 

Monthly Review. 

That Rokeby, as a whole, is equally interesting with Mr. 
Scott's former works, we are by no means prepared to assert. 
But if ther.-' be. comparatively.- a diniinntion of interest, it is 
evidently owing to no other cause tftan the time or place of its 
notion— the sobri-iy of the period, and the abated wildness of 
tlie scenery. With iis. llit; wonder is, that a period so late as 
that of Charles the First, could have been managed so dex- 
terously, and have been made so happily subservient to poetic 
invention. 

" In the mean time, we have no hesitation in declaring our 
•pinion, iliat the tale of Rokeby is much better told than those 
•f ' The I. ay,' or of ' Marmion.' Its characters are introduced 
with more case ; its incidents are more natural ; one event is 
more necessarily generateii by another ; the reader's mind is 
kept more in suspense with respect to the termination of the 
rtory ; and the moral reflections interspersed are of a deeper 
cast. Of the ver-ification, also, we can justly pronoance, that 
it is more pol(r,hed than in • Marmion,' or ' The I^iiy ;' and 
though we have marked some careleat lines, yet even in the 
instance of ' bold disorder,' Rokeby can fnmisJi little room for 
animadversion. In fine, if we must compare him with iiim- 
lelf, we judge Vt. Scott has given ns a poem in Rokeby, su- 
.perior to ' Marmion,' or * The Lay,' but not e^ual, perhaps, to 
' The Lady of the Lake.' "—British Critic. 



" U will surprise no one to hear that Mr. Morritt nssnred 
hia friend he ronsidered Rokeby ru* the best of all his poems. 
The admirable, perhaps the unique fidelity of the local de- 
•criptions. might alone have swayed, for I will not say it pei^ 
verted the judgment of the lord of that he.iutiful and thence- 
forth cl.T.sieal domain ; and, irxleed, l must admit that I never 
nnderritood or appreciated half the charm of this nopm until I 
had become familiar with iln scenery. But Scott hiniM-If had 
not designed to rest bis strength on these descriptions. He said 
to James Hailantyrie. while the work was in progress (Sep- 
tember 2), ' I hope the thing will f!o, chiefly because the world 
will not expo(-t from mc a poem of which the interest turns 
■pon rbaraeter ;' and in another letter (October 28, 1812). ' I 
Uiink you will see the same sort of difference taken in all my 
Vmer poems, of which I would say, if it is fair for me to say 
»ny thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown on style — in 
Harmionon description, and in the Lady of the Lake, on in- 
♦lert.' I sQ3p;*et some of tht-se distinctions may have been 



matters of aftei^tboogbt ; but as to Rokeby there can be n« 
mistake. His own original concejitions of some of its princi* 
pal fbaractcre have been explained in letters already cited; 
an(i I believe no one who compares the poem with his noveli 
will doubt that, had he undertaken their porlraitnre in prose, 
they would have come forth with eft'ect hnrdly inferior to any 
of all the groups he ever created. As it is, I question wheth- 
er, even in iiis prose, there is any thing nicire p\qui&ite!y wrought 
out as wi-11 as fancied, than the whole contr , ! of the two n. 
vats for the love of the heroine in Rokeby ; and that *ierolu« 
herself, too. has a very particular interest attached to her. 
Writing to Miss Edgeworth five years aflei iJiis lime (10th 
March, 1H18), he says, ' I have not read one oi my poems since 
they were printed, excepting last year the Lady of the Lake, 
which I liked better than I expected, but not well enough to 
induce me to go through the rest ; so I may truly say wiUi 
Macbeth — 

' I am afraid to think of what I've done — 
Look ou't again I dare not.' 

*' ' This much of Matilda I recollect (for that is not so easily 
forgotten^"), that she was attempted for the existing person of a 
lady who is now no more, so that I am particularly flattered 
with your distinguishing it from the others, which are in gen- 
eral mere shadows.' I can have no donbt that the lady he 
here alludes to was the object of his own nnfortur.ate first 
love ; and a^ little, that in the romantic generosity both of the 
youtliful poet who fails to win her higher favor, and of hia 
chivalrous competitor, we have before us something more than 
a mere shadow. 

" In spite of these graceful characters, the inimitable scenery 
on which they are presente<l. and the splendid vivacity and 
thrilling interest of several chapters in the story — such as the 
opening interview of Bertram and Wycliffe— the flight op the 
clifl^on the Greta — llie first entrance of the cave at Brignall- 
the firing of Rokeby Caslle — and the catastrophe in Eglistow 
Abbey ; in ■^pite certainly of ccqui-'^itely happy lines profusely 
scattered throughout the whole composition, and of some de- 
tached images — that of the setting of the tropical sun. for ex 
ample — which were never surp.assed by any poet; in spite oi 
all these merits, the ininiediute .success of Rokeby was greatl? 
inferior to that of the Lady of the Lake ; nor has it e\'er since 
been so much a favorite with the [mblic at large as any other 
of his poc-tica! romances. Us iscribas this failure, in his in- 
troduction of 1830, partly to the radically unpoetical character 
of the Roundiieads ; hot surely"their character has it^ poetical 
side also, iiad his prejadices ulluwed him to enter upon its study 
witii impartial sympatliy ; and I doubt not Mr. Morritt suggest- 
ed the difBculty on tiiis score, when the outline of the story was 
as yet undetermined, from the conaidi^ration rather of the po- 
et's peculiar fL*;-linga, aim lowers as hitlnarlo exiiihited, than 
of the subject absolutely. Partly he blames the satiety of the 
public oar, which Iiad hud so much of his rhythm, not only 
from himself, but from dozens of mocking birds, male and fe« 
mate, all more or les.i npplanded in th.-'ir dny, and now al) 
equally forgotten. This circumstance, too, had probably nl 
slender effect ; the more that, in defiance of aH the hints of hiJ 
friends, he nov/, in liis narrative, repeated (with more negli- 
gen'.'e) the uniform octo-syllabic coupU-ts of the Lady of tlif 
Lake, instead of recurring to the more varied cadence nf I ha 
Lay or Marmion. ft is fair to add limt. among the London 
circles at least, some sarcastic flings in Mr. Moore's ' Twopennj 
Post Bag' must have had an unfavorable influence on this oc- 
casion. Bnl the cause of failure which the pod himself |)taces 
last, was unquestionably the main one. The deeper anti dark* 
er passior of Chitde Harold, the audacity of its morbid volup 
tuousness, and the melancholy majesty of ihennmbers in which 
it defied the worirl. had taken the gfu-ral imagination by storm 
and Rokeby, with many beautic!, and some Mublimrtn-s, wal 
pitched, as .i whole, on a key which seemed lame n tie com I 
najison." — Lockhart, Life 'f Scott, vol. iv. pp 53 &l 



356 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX, 



Note A. 
CJn Barnard's toioers, and Tees'' s stream, S,'C. — P. 296. 

** Barnard Castle," eaith old Leland, " standeth stately 
Oiion Tees." It is founded upon a very high bank, and its 
toina irapend over tlie river, including wilhiii the area a cir- 
cuit of six acres and upwards. This once magnificent forlress 
derives its name from its founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor 
of tlie short and onfortnnate dynasty of that name, which euc- 
ieeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I. 
and Edward III. Bailors Tower, afterwards mentioned in 
the poem, is around tower of great size, situated at the west- 
ern extremity of the building. It bears marks of great anti- 
quity, and was remarkable for the cnrious construction of its 
vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly injured by the 
operations of some persons, to whom the tower has been leased 
for the purpose of making patent shot ! The prospect from 
the top of Baliors Tower commands a rich and magnificent 
view of the wooded valley of the Tees, 

Barnard Castle often changed masters daring the middle 
ages. Upon the forfeiture of the untortunale John Baliol, the 
first king of Scotland of that family, Edward I. seized this 
fortress among the other English estates of his refractory vas- 
sal. It was afterwards vested in tlie Beauciiam|i3 of War^ 
wick, and in the Staftbrds of Buckingham, and was also 
Bometimea in the possession of the Bishops of Durham, and 
Bometimes'in that of the crown. Richard III. is said to have 
enlarged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have made 
it for some time his principal residence, for the purpose of 
bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in tiie nortli- 
ern counties. From the Stafibrds, Barnard Castle passed, 
probably by marriage, into the possession of the powerful 
Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the last 
representative of tliat family, when he engaged with the Earl 
of Northumberland in the ill-concerted insurrection of the 
twelfth of Queen ElizabethT Upon this occasion, however, 
pr Goorge Bowes iDf Sheatlam, who held great possessions in 
the neighborhood, anticipated the two insurgent earls, by 
leizing upon and garrisoning Barnard Castle, wliich he held 
out for ten Jays against all their forces, and then surrendered 
it upon honorable terms. See Sadler's State Papers, vol. n. 
p. 330. In a ballad, contained in Percy's Reliques of Ancient 
Poetry, vol. i., the siege is thus commemorated ; — 

"Thin Sir George Bowes he straight way rose 

Alter tliem some spoyle to make ; 
These noble erles turned i>ack againe. 

And aye they vowed that knight to lake. 

* That baron he to his castle fled ; 

To Barnard Castle tlien fled he ; 
The uttermost walles were eathe to won. 

The erles have won them presentlie. 

"The uttermost walles were lime and brick ; 

But though they won them soon anone, 
Long ere they wan the innermost walles, 

For they were cut in rock and stone." 

- tty the suppression of this rebellion, and the consequent tor- 
biiure of the Earl of Westmoreland Barnard Castle reverted 



to the crown, and was sold or leased ont to C^r, Earl of ^om■^ 
set, the guilty and unhappy favorite of James I. It wai 
afterwards granted to Sir Henry Vane the elder, and was there* 
fore, in all probability, occupied for the Parliament, whow 
interest during the Civil War was so keenly espoused by the 
Vanes. It is now, with the other estates of that family, the 
property of the Right Honorable Earl of Darlington. 



Note B. 

710 human ear, 

Unsharpeji'd by revenge and fear. 

Could e'er distinguish horse^s clank. — P. 297. 

I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the eJFect of 
keen and fervent anxiety in giving acuteness to the organs of 
sense. My gifted friend, Miss Joanna Bailhe, whose drama- 
tic works display such intimate acquaintance wit|i the opera- 
tions of human passion, lias not omitted this remarkable ciF> 
cumstance : — 

" De Montfort. {Off his guard.) 'Tis Rezenvelt : I heard 
his well-known foot, 
From the first staircase mounting step by step. 

Frcb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound I 
I lieard him not. 

{De Montford looks embarrassed, and is silent,") 



Note C. 



The morion's plumes his visage hide, 

And the buff-coat, in ample fold, 

Mantles his form's gigantic mould. — P. 298. 

The use of complete suits of armor was fallen into disuse 
during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders 
of rank and importance. " In the reign of King James ^L," 
says our military antiquary, "no great alterations were made 
in the article of defensive armor, except that tlie buff-Loat, 
or jerkin, wliich was originally worn under t|ie cuirass, now 
became frequently a substitute for it. it having been found 
that a good bufi" leather would of itself resist the stroke of a 
sword ; this, however, only occasionally took place among the 
light-armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of armOT 
being still used among the heavy horse. Bufl'-coats continued 
to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory 
of persons now living, so that defensive aimor may, In some 
measure, be said to have terminated in the same material* 
with which it began, that is, the skins of animals, or lea- 
ther."— Grose's Military Antiquities. Lond. 1801, 4to. 
vol. ii. p. 323. 

Of the bufl'-coats, which were worn over the corslets, scvfr 
ral are yet preserved ; and Captain Grose has given an engra- 
ving of one which was used in the time of Charles I. by Sif 
Francis Rhodes. Bart, of Balbrongh-Hall, Derbyshire. They 
■were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by but- 
tons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold oi 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



857 



(i'ver embroidery. FrOm tlie following curious account of a 
iisputc ri.'«[i*H-'tinj; a bull-eo:it between iin old roundhead cap- 
uic and a justice of the peace, by whom his arms were seized 
after the Restoration, we learn, that the value and importance 
•f ihis defensive garment were considerable: — "A party of 
florse came to my iiouse, commanded by Mr. Peebles ; and he 
told me he was come for my arms, ami ttiat I must deliver 
tbem. I asked him for bis order. He told me he iiad a better 
order than Oliver used to give ; and, clapping his hand upon 
ius 8Word-hilt, he t-aid, tliat was hi:s order. I toid him, if he 
had none but tiiat, it was not sufficient to take my arms ; 
and then he pulled out iiis warrant, and 1 read it. It was 
■igned by Wentworth Armitage, a general warrant to search 
all pei'sons they suspected, and so left the power to tlie soldiers 
at their pleasure. They came to us at Coalley-Hall, about 
lansctling ; and I caused a candle to be lighted, and conveyed 
Peebles into tne room wiiere my arras were. My arms were 
near llie kitchen tire ; and there they took away fowling- 
pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines, and such like, belter than 
X20. Then Mr. Peebles asked me for my bufl-coai ; and I 
tuld him they had no order to take away my apparel. He 
told me I was not to dispute their orders ; but if 1 would not 
•leliver it, he would caixy me away prisoner, and Iiad me out 
of dooR. Vet he let me alone unto the next morning, that I 
must wait upon Sir John, at Halifax; and, coming before 
bim, he threatened me, and said, if I did not send the coat, 
for it was too good for me to keep. I told fTim it was not in 
bis power to demand my apparel ; and lie, arrowing into a fit, 
called me rebel and traitor, and said, if 1 did i!Ot send the coat 
with all speed, lie would send nie where I did not like well. 
I told him 1 was no rebel, and he did not well to call me so 
before these soldiers and gentlemen, to make me the mark 
tiu every one to shoot at. I departed the room ; yet, notwith- 
-inding all the threatenings, did not send the coat. But the 
l.«ixt day he sent John Lyster, the son of Mr. Tlioraas Lyster, 
of Shipden Hall, tor this coat, with a letter, verbatim thus : — 
*Mr. Hodson, I admire you will play the child so with me as 
yOQ have done, in writing such an inconsiderate letter. Let 
me have the buff-uoat sent forthwith, otherwbe you shall so 
hear from me as will not very well please you.' 1 was not at 
home when this messenger came ; but I had ordered my wife 
Dot to deliver it, but, if they would take it, let them look to 
it: and he took it away ; and one of Sir John's bretbren wore 
it many years after. They sent Captain Butt to componnd 
with my wife about it ; but I sent word I would have my own 
again : but he advised me to take a price for it, and make no 
more ado. I said it was hard to take my arms and apparel 
too; I had laid out a great deal of money for them ; I boped 
they did not mean to destroy me, by talnng my goods illegally 
from me. He said he would make up the maiter, if I pleased, 
letwlxt us; and, it seems, had brought Sir John to a price 
forTny coat. I would not have taken XIO for it ; he would 
have given abou' X4 ; but, wanting my receipt for the money, 
he kept both sides, and I had never satisfaction." — Memoirt 
9f Captain Hodgson. Edin. I80G, p. 178. 



Note D. 



On his dark face a scorching clime, 

^nd toil, had done the work of time. 

• • « * • 

Death had he seen by suddeji blow. 

By wasting plague, by tortures slow. — P. 298. 

In this character, I have attempted to sketch one of those 
jTert Indian adventurers, who, during the coarse of the seven- 
teenth century, were popularly known by the name of Buca- 
•uera The successes of Uie English in the predatory mcur- 
"ioBs upon Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, 



had never been forgotten ; and, from that period downward, 
the exploits of Drake and Raleigli were imitaied, upon a 
smaller scale indeed, but with equally Jcsperate valor, by 
small bands of [lirates, gathered from a nations, htit chiefly 
French and English. The engrossing ' oliey of the Sjianiardl 
tended greatly to increase the number of these freebooters, 
from whom their commerce and colonies suft'ered, in the issue, 
dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, whicli the SpaL 
iards did not deem worthy their own occupation, had be«a 
gradually settled by adventurers of the French and EngUil 
nations. But Frederic of Toledo, who was despatched IB 
1G30, with a powerful fleet, against the Dutch, had orders IVoir 
tlie Court of Madrid to destroy these colonies, whose viciall'y 
at once oft'eiided the pride and excited the jealous suspicionj 
of tlieir Spanish neighbors. Tiiis order the Spanish Admiral 
executed with sufficient rigor; but the only consequence 
was, that the planters, being rendered desperate by perseen- 
tion, began, under the well-known name of Bucaniere, to com- 
mence a retaliation so iiorridly saviige, thai the perusal niakei 
the reader shudder. When they carried on their depredations 
at sea, the^ boarded, without respect to disparity of number, 
every Spanish vessel that came in their way ; and, demeaning 
thcmselve>^, both in the battle and after the conquest, more 
like demons tlian human beings, they succeeded in impress- 
ing .their enemies with a sort of superstitious terror, whicii 
rendered them incapable of offering effectual resistance. From 
piracy at sea, they advanced to making predatory descent* 
on the Spanish territories ; in which they displayed the sam" 
furious and irresistible valor, the same thirst of spoil, at 
the same brutal inhumanity to their captives. The largw 
treasures which they acquired in tlieir adventures, they dissi 
paled by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, wo- 
men, wine, and debauchery of every species. When iheit 
spoils were thus wasted, they entered into some new associa- 
tion, and undertook new adventures. For farther particalan 
concerning these extraordinary banditti, the reader may cousolt 
Raynal, or the common and popular book called tlie Hist* 
of the Bacaniers, 



Note E. 



- On Marstan heath 



Met, front to front, the ranks of death. — P. 299. 

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor 
which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles, 
commenced under very different auspices. Prince Rupert 
had marchetl with an army of '20,000 men for the relief of 
York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of 
the Parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven, with tha 
Scottbh auxiliary forces. In this he so completely succeeded, 
that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to Marston Moor, 
a large open plain, about eight miles distant from the city. 
Thither they were followed by the Prince, who had now 
united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less thaD 
ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquia (thea 
Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has recorded, with maoh 
impartiality, the following particulars of this eventful day :- 
" The right wing of the Parliament was commanded by Sii 
Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his liorse, and three 
regiments of the Scots horse ; the left wing was commanded 
by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel Cromwell. One body 
of their foot was commanded by Lord Fairfax, and consisted 
of his foot, and two brigades of the ^cots foot for reserve ; anc 
the main body of the rest of the foot was commanded bj 
General Leven. 

"The right wing of the Prince's army was commanded bj 
the Eari of Newcastle; the left wing by the Prince himself 
and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles I^ncafl am 



558 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Majoi^General Porter. Tbaa were both sidea drawn op into 
battalia. 

''July '■i<i, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each 
Other, and about seven o'clock in the morning the fight began 
Detween them. The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Par- 
liament's right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great 
way ; the like did General Goring, Lucas, and Porter, upon 
Jie Parliament's main body. Tiie three generals, giving all for 
'oBt, hasted outof the field, and many of their soldiers fled, and 
ibrew down their arms : the King's Ibrces too eagerly follow- 
ing tliem, the victorj-, now almost achieved by them, was again 
matched out of their hands. For Coiouet Cromwell, with the 
jrave regiment of his ronntryineii. and Sir Thomas Fairfax, 
liavinj,' rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince's right 
wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was. and ranted them ; 
and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell altogether 
npon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dis- 
persed them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours' 
6ght. 

" From this battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 
7000 Englist'men ; all agree that above 3000 of the Prince's 
men were slain in the battle, besides those in the chase, and 
3000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, twenty-five 
pieces of ordnance, forty-seven colors, 10.000 arms, two wag- 
ons of carabins and pistols. 130 barrels of powder, and all Iheir 
bag and baggage."— Whitelocke's Memoirs, fol. p. 89. 
Lond. 1683. 

Ijord Clarendon informs u«, tliat the King, previous to re- 
ceiving the true account of the battle, hail been informeil, by 
an express from Oxford. " that Prince Rupert liad not only re- 
lieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many partic- 
jlare to confirm it, all which was so much beUeved there, that 
they made public fires of joy for the victory." 



Note F. 



Monclctoji and Mition told tke news, 

How troops of Roundheads choked the Oiise, 

Jind many a bonnij Scot, ag^hast. 

Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 

Cursing the day ichen zeal or meed 

First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.— V. 302. 

Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse. and 
■ot 7»ry distant from the field of battle. The particulars of 
.ne action were violently disputed at the time ; but tht follow- 
ing extract, from the Manuscript Hiftory of the Baronial House 
of Somerville, is decisive as to the flight of the Scottish gen- 
eral, the Earl of Leven. The particulars are given by the au- 
thor of the history on the authority of his father, then the rep- 
resentative of the family. This curious manuscript has been 
published by consent of my noble friend, the present Lord Som- 
erville. 

"The order of this great battell, wheriu both armies was 
lieerof ane equall number, consisting, to the best calcolatione, 
new to Uiree score thousand men upon both sydes, I shall not 
take upon me to discryve ; albeit, from the draughts then taken 
Tpon tlie place, and information I receaved from this gentle- 
man, who being then a volunteer, as having no command, had 
opporlunitie and libertie to rydefrom the one wing of the armie 
to the other, to view all ther several squadrons of horse and 
battallions cf foot, how formed, and in what manner drawn 
ip, with every other circumstance relating to the fight, and 
that both as to the King's armies and that of the Parliament's, 
amongst whom, untill the engadgraent, he went from slatione 
ti> staticnc to observe ther order and forme; but that the de- 
fcriptione of this battell, with the various success on both sides 
at the beginning, with the loss of the royal armie, and the sad 
•ffects ihat followed that misfortune as to his Majestie's inter- 
ot. net been so oflen done already by English authors, little to 



our commendatione, how justly I shall not dispute, oeing th* 
truth is. as our principall general^ fled that night neer foortlt 
mylles from the place of the fight, that part of the armie wheia 
he commanded being totalMe routed ; but it is as true, that much 
of tlie vietorie is attributed to the good conduct of David Lew 
selie. lievetennent-generall of our horse. Cromwell himself, 
that minione of fortune, but the rod of God's wrath, to punish 
eftirward three rebellious nations, disdained not to take ordei* 
from him, albeit then in the same qualitie of command for the 
Parliament, as being Hevetennent-general to the Earl of Mao- 
Chester's horse, whom, with the assistance of the Scots horsOi 
haveing routed the Prince's right wing, as he had done that of 
the Parliament's. These two commanders of the horse upon 
that wing wisely restrained the great bodies of their horse from 
persuing these brocken troups, but, wheelling to the left-hand, 
falls in upon t he naked flanks of the Prince's main battallion of 
foot, caryiiig them doune with great violence ; nether raett 
they with any great resistance untill tliey came to the Marques 
of Newcastle his battallione of White Coats, who. first peppei^ 
ing them soundly with ther shott, when tliey came to charge, 
stoutly bore them up with their picks that they could not enter 
to break them. Here the Parliament's horee of that wing re- 
ceaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for sometymc putt to thef 
Ijoped-for vietorie ; and that only by the sLout resistance of tliij 
gallant battallione, which consislPtI neer of four thousand frot, 
until at length a Scots regiment of dragoons, commanded by 
Collonell Frizeall, with other two, was brought to open them 
upon some hand, which at length they did, when all the am- 
muiuiione was spent. Having refused quarters, every man feH | 
in the same order and ranke wherein he had foughten. 

" Be tliis execution was done, the Prince returned from the 
persuite of the right wing of the Parliament's horse, which he 
had beatten and followed too farre, to the losse of the battell, 
which certanely, in all men's opinions, he might have caryed 
if he had not been too violent upon the pursuite ; which gave 
his enemies upon the left-hand opportunitie to disperse and cat 
doune his infantrie, who, haveing cleared the field of all tht 
standing bodies of foot, wer now, with mar.y 
of their oune, standing ready to receave the charge of his all- 
most spent horses, if he should attempt it ; which the Prince 
observeing, and seeing all lost, he retreated to Yorke with two 
thousand horse. Notwithstanding of thi?, ther was that night 
such a consternatione in the Parliament armies, that it's be- 
lieved by most of those that wer there present, that if the Prince, 
haveing so great a body of horse inteire, had made ane onfall 
that night, or the ensueing morning be-tyme. he had carryed 
the vietorie out of ther hands ; for it's certane, by the morn- 
ing's light, he had rallyed a body often thousand men, wherof 
ther was neer three thousand gallant horse. These, with tba 
assistance of the toune and garrisoune of Yorke, might have 
done much to have recovered the victory, for the loss of this 
battell in effect lost the King and his interest in the three king- 
domes ; his Majestic never being able eftir this to make faeai 
in the north, but lost his garrisons every day. 

"As for Gencrall Lesselie. in the beginning of this flight 
haveing that part of the army quite brocken, wliare he had 
placed himself, by the valour of the Prince, he imagined, and 
was confermed by the opinione of others then upon the plaoe 
with him, that the battell was irrecoverably lost, seeing they 
wer fleeing upon all hands ; theirfore they humblie intreated 
his excellence to reteir and wait his better fortune, which, 
without farder advyseing, he did ; and never drew bridle untill 
he came the lenth of Leads, having ridden all that night with 
a cloak of drap dc berrie about him, belonging to this gentle- 
man of whom I write, then in his retinue, with many othef 
officers of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day be- 
for they had the certanety who was master of the field, when 
at length ther arryves ane expresse, sent by David Lesselie, to 
acquaint the General they had obtained a most glorious vie 
tory. and that the Prince, with his brocken troupes, was fled 
from Yorke. This intelligence was somewhat amazeing t« 
these gentlemen that had been eye-witnesses to the disorder Oi 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



3S9 



ttte amu-> b'»bs'» tN« rctei^nj, »nd had then accompanyed 
thin Gbjertb! iL ]U Q.^h'. ; wlrfj, ^.t>^ i>'auti wearycd tliat eve- 
fciog^f i-'^ l^'tull -»i.h wrd^rifj fti" b^i in».ie, and now quite 
luer.twi'h his I'-n^- j«.uiyey in the t^ht, hiid caslen Iiimselle 
doaue aih>ri a oed to tv^t, when this gentlfnin cotneing quy- 
•tiyiuto n's crambe-, heeW»/lio, ar.l hasfilviirytsout, " Lieve- 
tennont-c-ollcie)', »vL-al. n^^w.' ?' — 'Al! is B:ire, may it please 
rour F-iDjIleiioe : the Pai'iarject's armio hes obtained a great 
r eUry i' and ihtn dely;;etv l^e lelter. The Uenerall, upon 
tae hearing of ihis, knacl'ed o,H>n his breast, and sayes, '1 
wozll to God I had died upon Mie place !' end Then opens the 
letter, which, in a fev? tines, g.-wo aae account ot'the victory, 
and in tlie c. jso pressed his speedy reti. n.e to the armie. which 
be did tlie next day. being accQmi:anve.i some mylles back by 
UiU gentleman, who then takes his leave of iiim, and receaved 
tl parting many expre-^ioDS of kyndenespe, with promises that 
be would nevtr be nnmyndful of his care and respect towards 
him ; and in the end he intreats him to present his service to 
all his friends and acquaintances in Scotland. Thereftir the 
Generall sets forward in his journey for the aimie, as this gen- 
tleman did for , in order to his 
transport alione for Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes eftir 
the fight of Mestonne Mair, and gavs tlic first true account and 
descriptione of lliat great battell, wherain liie Covenanters then 
gloryed soe much, that they impioosly boasted the Lord hdll 
••ow signally appeared for his cause and people ; it being ordi- 
nary for them, duroing the whole time of this warre, to atlrib- 
•te the greatness of their success to the goodnes and justice 
of tJier cause, ontill Divine Justice trysled them with some 
erosse dispensationc, and then you might have heard this lan- 
^age from them, ' That it pleases the Lord to give his oone 
the heavyest end of the tree to bear, that the saints and the 
people of God most still be sufterers while they are here away, 
that the malignant party was God's rod to punish them for 
Iher unthankfulnesse, which in the end he will cast into the 
fire;' with a thousand other expressions and scripture cita- 
tions, projihanely and blasphemously uttered by them, to palli- 
ate iher villainie and rebellion." — Mcmoircs of the Somer- 
fiiles. Edin. 1815. 



Note G. 



ff^itk his barb'd horse, fresh tidings sap, 
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day, — P. 302. 

Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, bad a principal 
ihare in turning the fate of the day at MaRton Moor ; which 
was equally matter of triumph to the Independents, and of 
, grief and heart-burning to the Presbyterians and to the Scot- 
tish. Principal BaiUie expresses his dissatisfaction as fol- 
I lows : — 

■ The Independents sent up one quickly to assure that all 
Ihe gWy of tliat night was theirs ; and they and their Major- 
General Cromwell had done it all there alone ; but Captain 
Stoart aftPfwrird showed the vanity and talsehood of tlieir 
I dis^acel'ul relation. God gave us that victory wonderfully. 
, There were three generals on each side, Lesley. Fairfax, and 
\ Manchesrer; Rupert, Newcastle, and King. Within half an 
honrand less, all six took them to their heels ;— this to you 
I alone. The disadvantage of the ground, and violence of the 
1 flower of Prince Rupert's horse, carried all onr right wing 
, down ; only Eglinlon kfpt ground, to his great loss ; his lieu- 
tenant-crow ner, 1 "arave man, I fearshall die. and his son Rob- 
I ert be mutilated of an arm. Lindsay had the greatest hazard 
of any ; but the beginning of the victory was from David Les- 
ly, who before was much suspected of evil designs; he. with 
the Scots and Cromwell's horse, having the advantage of the 
ponnd, did dissipate all before them.*' — Baillik's Letters 
'•rf Jouma'.s. Edin. 785. 8vo. ii. 36. 



Note H. 

Do not my native dales prolong 

Of Percy liede the trairic sonff, 

Train' d forward to his bloody f Ml, 

By Qirsonfcld, that treacherous llalll—V. 302. 

In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,' 
Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many olliers peculiar to thn 
valley of the Reed, is commemorated : — "The particulars ol 
the trailitional story of i'arcy Re:'d of Trougher*,' and Ji% 
Halls of Girsonfield, the autlior had from, ^es -.-ndant ol tb# 
family of Reed. From his account, it appears that Percival 
Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, was betrayeil bj the 
Halls (hence denominated the false-hearted Ha's) to a hand ol 
mosj-troopcrs of the name of Crosier, who slew him at Bating- 
hope, near the source of the Reed. ' 

*' The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in 
such universal abhorrence anti contempt by the inhabitant') of 
Reedsdale, for their cowardly and treacherous behavior, thai 
they were obliged to leave the country." In anotlier [t:issage, 
we are informed that the ghost of the injort-d Bt»rderer is 
supposed to haunt the banks of a brook called the Pringle. 
These Redes of Troaghend were a very ancient family, as may 
be conjectured from their deriving their surname from the 
river on which they had their mansion. An epitaph on one 
of their tombs affirms, that the family lield their lands of 
Tronghend, which are situated on the Reed, nearly opiiositeto 
Oiterburn, for tlie incredible space of nine iiundred yciu** 



Note I. 



And near the spot that gave me navt« 
The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her viargin sees 
Sweet fVoodbiLrne' s cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone. — P. 302. 

Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beaulifol hamlet 
of Woodbnrn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called 
Habitancum. Camden says, that in hi:j time tfte popular ac- 
count bore, that it had been the abode of a deity, or giant, 
called Magon ; and appeals, in support of this tradition, as 
well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Rciseidiam, which 
signifies, in German, the habitation of the giants, to two Ro* 
man altara taken out of the river, inscribed, Deo Mooonti 
Cadenorum. About half a mile distant from Risingham, 
upon an eminence covered witii scattered birch-trees and frag 
ments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in alto relievo, 
a remarkable figure, called Robin of Ribingham, or Robin of 
Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, with his bow raised in ono 
hand, and in the other what seems to be a hare. There ia a 
quiver at the back of the figure, and he is dressed in a long 
coat, or kirtle, coming down to tlie knees, and meeting clo'^e, 
with a girdle bound round him. Dr. Horseley; who saw a", 
monunieiits of antiquity with Roman eyes, inclines 'n thint 
this figure a Roman archer: and certainly ihe bow is rathei 
of the ancient size than of that which was so formidab.e in 
the hands of the English archers of the middle ages. But the 
rudeness of the whole figure prevents our founding slronsly 
upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popular tradition 
is, that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at Wood- 
bum, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sub- 
sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game be- 
come too scarce to support them, poisoned his companion, in 
whose memory the monument was engraved. What string* 
and tragic circumstance may be concealed under this legend, 
or whether it is utterly apocryjihal, it is now impossible tc 
discover. 

The name of Robin of Redesdale was gtven to one of th 
Umfravilles, Lords of Prudhoe and afterwardsto one UilUard 



360 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■ friend and follower of the king-making Earl of Warwick. 
This person commanded an army of Northamptonshire and 
ttorlhern men, who seized on and beheaded the Earl Rivers, 
father to Edward the Fourth's queen, and his soQ, Sir John 
Woodville — See Holinshed, ad annum, 1469- 



NOTE K. 



Do thou revere 

The statutes of the Bucanier.—V. 302. 

The "statntes of the Bucaniers" were, in reality, more eqni- 
lable than could have been expected from the state of society 
Under which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as 
may readily be conjectured, to the distribution and the inherit- 
ance of their plunder. 

When the expedition was completed, the fund of prize-mon- 
ey acquired was thrown together, each party taking his. oath 
that he had retained or concealed no part of the common stock. 
If any one transgressed in this important particular, the pun- 
ishment was, his being set ashore on some desert key or island, 
to shift for liimself as he could. The owners of the vessel had 
then their share assigned for the expenses of the outfit. These 
were generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Do- 
mingo, or some other French or English settlement. The sur- 
geon's and carpenter's salaries, with the price of jirovisions 
and ammunition, were also defrayed. Then followed the 
compensation due to the maimed and wounded, rated accord- 
ing to the damage they had sustained ; as six hundred pieces 
of eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in 
proportion. 

" After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of 
the booty was divided into as many shares as there were Bnca- 
niers. Tlie commander could only lay claim to a single share, 
as the rest ; but they complimented him witti two or three, in 
proportion as he had acquitted himself to their satisfaction. 
Wlien the vessel was not the property of the whole company, 
the person who had fitted it out, and furnished it with necessary 
arms and ammanition, was entitled to a tiiird of ail the prizes. 
Favor had never any influence in the division of the booty, for 
every share was determined by lot. Instances of such rigid 
justice as this are not easily met with, and they extended even 
to the dead. Their share was given to the man who was 
anown to be their companion when alive, and therefore their 
heir. If the person who had been killed had no intimate, his 
part was sent to his relations, when they were known. If there 
were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in charity to 
the poor and to chu> lies, which were to pray for the person in 
whose name these 1 nefactions were given, the fruits of inha- 
man, hot necessary iratical plunders." — Raynal's History 
if European Settle -nts in the East and fVcst Indies, by 
lustamond. Lond i776, 8vo. iii. p. 41. 



Note L. 



The course of Tees,—?. 306. 

The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and mag- 
nificent valley of Tecs. Immediately adjacent to the river, 
the banks are very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they 
are more open and cultivated ; but, being interspersed with 
hedge-rows, and with isolated trees of great size and age, they 
ttill retain the richness of woodland scenery. The river itself 
flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and 
marble. The finest view of its romantic course is from a 
handsome modem-built bridge over the Tees, by the late Mr, 
Morritt of Rokeby. In Leiand's time, the marble quarries 
seem to havp been of some valne. " Hard under the clilTby 
E^liston, is fuind on eclie side of Tese very fair marble, wont 
A be taken ud bootk bv maaltelers of Barnardes Castelle and 



of Egliston, and partly to have been wrought by them, au 
partly sold onwroDght to others." — Itinerary. Oxford, 1768 
8vo, p. 88 



Note M. 



-P. 307. 



Egliston'' s gray ruins.- 

The rains of this abbey, or priory (for Tanner calls it the 
former, and Leland the latter), are beautifully situated upon 
the angle, formed by a little dell called Thorsgfll, at its juno« 
tion with the Tees. A good part of the religiouj house is still 
in some degree habitable, but tlie church is in ruins. Egliston 
was dedicated to St. Mary and St. John the Baptist, and ii 
supposed to have been founded by Ralph de Multon about thfl 
end of Henry the trecond's reign. There were formerly the 
tombs of the families of Rokeby, Bowes, and Fitz-Hugh. 



Note N. 



' the mound. 



Raised by that Legion long renowned, 
* Whose votive skriv.e asserts their claim, 

Of pious, faithful, coT^qtiering fame. — P. 307. 

Close behind the George Jnn at Greta Bridge, there is a weh 
preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch, 
lying between the river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. 
The four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very many Ro* 
man altars and monuments have been found in the vicinity, 
most of which are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Wor> 
ritt. Among others is a small votive altar, with the inscrip- 
tion, LEO. VI. VIC. p. F. F., which has been rendered, Legio 
Sexta. Victriz. Pia. Fortis. Fidelis. 



Note 0. 

}iokeb7/s turrets high. — P. 307. 

This ancient manor long gave name to a family by whom tt 
is said to kfcive been possessed from the Conquest downward, 
and who are at different times distinguished in history. It was 
the Baron of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of 
the Earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV., of which 
Holinshed gives the following account: — *' The King, adver 
tised hereof, caused a great armie to be assembled, and came 
forward with the same towards his enemies ; but yer the King 
came to Nottingham, Sir Tliomas, or (as other copies haue^ 
Sir Rafe Rokesbie, Sliiriffe of Yorkeshire, assembled the forces 
of the countrie to resist the Earle and his power ; coming to 
Grimbautbrigs, beside Knaresboroogh, there to stop them the 
passage ; but they returning aside, got to Weatherbie, and so 
to Tadcaster, and finally came forward unto Bramham-nioor, 
near to Haizlewood, where they chose their ground meet to 
fight upon. The Shirifte was as read ie to giae battel! as the 
Erie to receiue it ; and so with a standard of S. George spread, 
set fiercelie vpon the Earle, who, vnder a standard of his owne 
armes, encountered his aduersaries with great manhood. There, 
was a sore incounter and cruell conflict betwixt tlie parlios, but 
in the end the victorie fell to th. Shiriffe. The Lord Bardolfo 
was taken, but sore wounded, so that he shortlie after died ol 
the hurts. As for the Earle of Northumberland, he was slain 
outright ; so that now the prophecy was fulfilled, which gau« 
an inkling of this his heaoy hap long before, namelie, 

' Stirps Persitina periet confusa ruina.' 

For this Earle was the etocke and maine roote of all that weie 
left aliue, called by the name of Persie ; and of manie more by 
diuers slaughters dispatched. For whose misfortune the pe4» 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



361 



f\e were not a little some, making report of llie gentleman's 
Valiniitnesse, renowne, and honour, and applieiog vnto bira 
nerteine lamentable verses out of Lucaine, saieng, 

' Bed nos nee sanguis, nee tantura vulnera nostji 
Affecere senis : qiiantnm gestala per urbem 
Oni dacis, qose transfixo deformia pilo 
/idiinas.* 

F(,r his head, full of silner horie haires, being put upon a stake, 
V5« tpenlie carried throiigU London, and set vpon llie hridge 
»f the same citie : in like manner was the Lord Bardolfes." — 
HnLiNSiiKD's Chronicles. Lend. 1808, 4to, iii. 45. The 
Rokeby, or Rokesby family, continued to be distingnisbed un- 
ul the great Civil War, when, having embraced the cause of 
Charles L, they sulfcred severely by fines and confiscations. 
The estate then passed from its ancient possessors to the family 
of the Robinsons, from whom it was purchased by the father 
of my valued friend, the present proprietor. 



Note P. 



^ stern and lone, yet loiieiy road. 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trade.— V. 308. 

vVliat follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or 
rather ravme, ihrougii which the Greta fimls n p.is.'jage between 
Rokeby and Mortham ; the former situated upon the left bank 
;f Greta, the latter on the right bank, about half a mile nearer 
;o its iunclion with the Tees. XJie river runs with very great 
lapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken by many shelving de- 
scents, down which the stream dashes with great noise and 
impetuosity, vindicating its etymology, which has been denved 
from llie Golliic, Oridan, to clamor. The hanks partake of 
the same wild and romantic character, being chiefly lol'ty clifi's 
of limestone rock, whose gray color contrasts admirably with 
the varioos trees and shrubs which find root among their crev- 
ices, as well as with the hue of the ivy, which clings around 
them in profusion, and hangs down from their projections in 
long sweeping tendrils. At other points the rocks give place to 
precipitous banks of earth, bearing large trees intermixed with 
copsewood. In one spot the dell, which is elsewhere very 
Borrow, widens for a space to leave room for a dark grove of 
Few-trees, intermixed here and there witii aged pines of on- 
common size. Directly opposite to this sombre thicket, the 
cliffs on the other side of the Greta are tall, white, and fringed 
with all kinds of deciduous shrubs. The whole scenery of this 
(pot is so much adapted to the ideas of supi-rstition, that it has 
acquired the name of Blockula, from the place where the 
Swedish witches were supposed to hold their Sabbath. The 
dell, howevt-r, has superstitions of its own growth, for it is 
supposed to be haunted by a female spectre, called the Dobie 
of Mortham. The cause assigned for her appearance is a la- 
(^)'8 having been whilom murdered in the wood, in evidence 
' A « aich, her blood is shown upon the stairs of the old tower 
' at Monhani. But whether she was slain by a jealous husband, 
M •>y SRvaae banditti, or by an uncle who coveted her estate, 
' 01 by a rejected lover, are points upon which the traditions of 
Rokeby do nut enable us to decide. » 



Note Q. 

How whistle rash bids tempests roar.— P. 309. 

That this is a gen;ral superstition, ia well known to all who 
*iave been on shiji-board, or who have conversed with sea- 
wen. The most formidable whistler that I remember to have 
met with was the a[ parition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, 
tboot 163C, resided, we are told, at Mynehead, in Somerset, 

I *h<n hei only son drove a considerable trade between that 

I 46 



port and Waterford, and was owner of several vessels. Thfl 
ohl gentlewoman was of a social disposition, and so acceptabtfl 
to her friends,«that they used to say to her and to each other, 
it were pity such an excellent good-natured rid lady should 
die ; to which she was wont to reply, that wl.otever p.easur* 
they might find in her company just now, they would not 
greatly like to see or converse with hez after death, which nev- 
ertheless she was apt to think might happen. Accordin^y, 
after her death and funeral, she began to apj)ear to various 
persons by night and by noonday, in her own house, in the 
town and fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she <lfr 
parted from her former urbanity, that she is recorded to have 
kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite negligence in 
omitting to hand her over a stile. It w:i3 also her fiumor to 
appear upon the quay, and call tor a boat. But espetially so 
soon as any of her son's ships approached the harbor, " this 
ghost would appear in the same garb and likeness as when she 
was alive, and, standing at the mainmast, would blow with a 
whistle, and though it were never so great a calm, yet immediate 
ly there would arise a most dreadful storm, tliat would break 
wreck, and drown ship and goods." When she had tlius pro- 
ceeded until her son had neither credit to freight a vessel, noi 
could have procured men to sail in it. she began to attack the 
persons of iiis family, and actually strangled their only child in 
the cradle. The rest of her story, shov. ing how the spectre 
looked over the shoulder of her daughter-in-law while dressing 
her hair at a looking-glass, and how Mrs. Leakey the youngei 
took courage to address her, and how the beldam dispatched 
her to an Irish prelate, famous for his crimes and misfortunes, 
to exhort him to repentance, and to apprize him tliat otherwfee 
he would be hanged, and how the bishop was satisfied with 
replying, that if he was born to be hanged, he should not be 
drowned ; — all these, with many more particulars, may be 
found at the end of one of John Dunton's publications, called 
Athenianism, London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed nod** 
the title of The Apparition Evidence. 



Note R. 



Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light.— P. 309. 

*' This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held seeona 
to none in the magical art ; and he was so familiar with t)ie 
evil spirits, which he exceedingly adored, that which way 
soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that 
way. From this occasion he was called Windy Cap ; anJ 
many men believed that Regnerus, King of Denmark, by the 
conduct of this Ericas, who was his nephew, did happily 
extend his piracy into the most remote parts of the earth, and 
conquered many countries and fenced cities by his conning, 
and at last was liis coadjutor; that by the consent of thfl 
nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which continue** 
a long time with him very happily, until he died of old age 
— Olaus, ut supra, p. 45. 



Note S. 



The Demon Frigate— P. 309. 

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical superstiUoB 
concerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying 
Dutchman, and supposed to be seen about the latitude of the 
Cape of Good Hope. She is distinguished from earthly vesseli 
by bearing a press of sail when all others are unable, from 
stress of weather, to show an inch of canvas. The cause oi 
her wandering is not altogether certain ; but the general ao- 
count is, that she was originally a tcssel loaded with greal 
wealth, on board of which some horrid act of munler and 
piracy had been committed ; that the plague broke out amonj 
he wicked crew who had perpetrated the srime, and that thef 



862 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tjiled it vain (rrm port to port, offering, as the price of shelter, 
the whole of their ill-goiien wealth ; that they were excluded 
from every harbor, lor fear of the contagion whii4i was devour- 
ing them ; and that, as a punishinent of their crimes, the appa- 
rition of the ship still continues to haunt those seas in which 
Ihe catastrophe took place, and is considered by the mariners 
ts the woi-st of all possible omens. 

^y late lamented friend, Dr. John Leyden, has introduced 
this phenomenon into his Scenes of Infancy, impoting, with 
^loetical ingenuity, the dreadful judgment to the first ship 
which commenced the slave trade : — 

Stout was the ship, from Benin's palmy shore 
That first the weiglit of barter'd captives bore ; 
Bedimm'd with hlood. the sun with shrinking beams 
Beheld her hounding o'er the ocean streams ; 
But, ere the moon her silver horns had rear'd. 
Amid the crew the speckled plague appear'd. 
Faint and despairing, on their watery bier, 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer ; 
RepellM from port to port, they sne in vain, 
And track with slow, unsteady sail the m^in. 
Wliere ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree. 
Till self-impell'd amid the waveless sea* 
Where summer breezes ne'er were heara to sing, 
Nor hovering snow-birrls spread the downy wing, 
Fix'd as a rock amid the boundless plain, 
The yellow stream pollutes the stagnant maiii, 
Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
As the red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

" Still dooni'd by fate on weltering billows roli'd, 
Along the deep their restless course to hold, 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; 
The Spectre Ship, in livid glimpsing light. 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unblest of God and man ! — Till time shall end, 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend." 



Note T. 



-By some desert isle or key. — P. 300. 



What contributed much to the security of the Bucaniers 
boot the Windward Islands, was the great number of little 
tflets, called in that country kcije. These are ^rtlaII sandy 
patches, appearing just above the surface of the ocean, covered 
only with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes affording 
springs of water, and, in general, much frequented by turtle. 
Buch little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates good harbors, 
either for refitting or for the purpose of ambush ; they were 
occasionally the Inding-jdace of thejr treasure, and often af- 
forded a shelter to themselves. As many of the atrocities 
which they practised on their prisoners were committed in 
iuch spots, there are some of these keys which even now have 
an indifferent reputation among seamen, and where they are 
with difficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on ac- 
count of the visionary terrors incident to places which have 
been thus contaminated. 



Note U. 

Before the gate of Martham stood. — P. 310. 

The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms " Mr. Rokes- 
by's Place, in ripti citer, scant a quarter of a mile from Greta 
Bridge, and not a quarter of a mile beneath into Tees," is a 
picturesque tower, Burrounded by buddings of different ages, 



now converted into a farm-house and offices. The battlemenU 
of the tower itself are singularly elegant, the architect having 
broken them at regular intervals into different heights ; while 
those at the corners of the tower project into octangular tur- 
rets. Tliey are also from space to space tovered witti stones 
laid across them, as in modern embrasures, the whole forming 
an uncommon and beautiful effect. The surrounding bnild 
ings are of a less happy form, being pointed into high and steep 
roofs, A wall, with embrasures, encloses the soutiiern front, 
where a low portal arch affords an entry to what was the cas- 
tle-court. At some distance is most happily placed, between 
the stems of two magnificent elms, the monument alluded in 
in tlie text. It is said to have been brought from the ruins ol 
Egliston Priory, and, from the armory with which it is richly 
carved, appears to have been a tomb of ilie Fitz-Hughs. 

The situation of Mortham is eminently beautiful, occupying 
a high bank, at the bottom of which the Greta winds out o( 
the dark, narrow, and romantic dell, which the text has al" 
tempted to describe, and flows onward through a more open 
valley to meet tlie Tees about a quarter of a mile from tba 
castle. Mortham is surrounded by old trees, happily and 
widely grouped with Mr. Morritt's new plantations. 



Note V. 



There dig, and tomb your precious heap, 
And bid the dead your treasure keep. — P. 311. 

If time did not permit the Bucaniers to lavish away theii 
plunder in their usual debaucheries, they were wont to hide 
it, with many superstitious solemnities, in the desert islandj 
and keys which they frequented, and where much treasure, 
whose lawless owners perished without reclaiming it, is stiU 
supposed to be .concealed. The most cruel of mankind are 
often the most superstitious ; and these pirates are said to 
have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in order to secure an 
unearthly guardian to their treasures. They killed a negro 
or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, believing thai 
his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all intruders. 
I cannot produce any other authority on which this custom ii 
ascribed to them than that of maritime tradition, which ia, 
however, amply sufficient for the purposes of poetry. 



Note "W. 



The power 



That unsubdued and lurking lie* 
To take the felon by surprise, 
And force him, as by magic spell. 
In his despite his guilt to tell. — P. 311. 

All who are conversant with the administration of criminal 
justice, must remember many occasions in which malefacton 
appear to have conducted themselves with a species of in- 
fatuation, either by making unnecessary confidences respecUifl 
their guilt, or by sudden and involuntary allusions to circum- 
stances by which it could not fail to be exposed. A remarki- 
ble instance occurred in the celebrated case of Eugene Aram 
A skeleton being found near Knaresborough, was supposed 
by the persons who gathered around the spot, to be the re 
mains of one Clarke, who had disappeared some years before 
under circumstances leading to a suspicion of his having been 
murdered. One Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, 
suddenly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing th« 
opinion which was buzzed around, "That is no more Dan 
Clarke's bone than it is mine!" — a sentiment expresped sc 
positively, and with such peculiarity of manner, as to lead all 
who heard him to infer that he must necessarily know wher< 
the real body had been interred. Accordingly, being sppre 



"i 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



363 



kendeil, he confessed having assiyteil Eagene Aram to murder 
Clarke, "and to liido his bodi in Siiint Robfrl'a Cave. It lia|»- 
pened to the autlor himseir, wliile conversing with a person 
accused of an atrocious crime, for Uie purpose of rendering 
him professional assistance upon his trial, to hear the prisoner, 
after the most solemn and reiterated protestations that he was 
gliil ess. suddenly, and, as it were, involuntarily, in the course 
#.' > J communications, make sucli an admission as was alto- 
^thei incompatible with ianocGuce. 



Note X. 



I Braekenburi/ s dismal tower. — P. 314. 

This tower has been already mentioned. It ia situated near 
the northeastern extremity of the wall which encloses Bar- 
nard Castle, and is traditionally said to have been the prison. 
By an odd coincidence, it bears a name which we naturally 
connect willi imprLsoament, from its being that of Sir Robert 
Brackenbury. lieutenant of the Tower of London under Ed- 
ward ly. atid Richard III. There is, indeed, some reason to 
conclude, that Ilie tower may actually have derived the name 
from that family, for Sir Robert Braekenbnry himself possessed 
considerable property not far from Barnard Castle. 



Note T. 



JVo6/fs and knights, so proud of late, 
.Must Jine for freedom and estate. 

Right heavy shall his ransom be. 

Unless that maid compound with thee! — P. 314. 

' After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle 
Rtired beyond sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid 
down their arms, and made the best composition they could 
with the Committees of Parliament. Fines were"iniposed 
Upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of delin- 
fjnency. and these fines were often bestowed upon such per- 
•003 as had deserved well of the Commons. In some circum- 
itances it happened, that th« oppressed cavaliers were fain to 
form family alliances with some powerful person among the 
tri'imphant party. The whole of t^ir Robert Howard's excel- 
lent come'v ri The Committee turns upon the plot of Mr. and 
Mre. Day to enrich their family, by compelling Arabella, 
whose estate was under sequestration, to marry their son 
Abel, as the [jice by which she was to compound with Par- 
liament for deUnquency ; tliat is, for attachment to the royal 



Note Z. 



The Indian, prozcling for his prey, 

IVho hears the settlers track his way. — P. 315. 

The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity, exerted by the 
North American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or ven- 
'geance, Ls the moat distinguished feature in their ciiaracter ; 
Ind the activity and address which they display in thtir re- 
treat is equally surprising. Adair, whose absurd hypothesis 
Uld tD^id style do not affect the general authenticity of his 
inecdoU:^, has recorded an instance which seems incredible. 

" When the Chiekasah nation was engaged in a former war 
with the Mnskohge, one of their young warriors set off against 

hem to revenge the blood of a near relation He 

*ent through the most unfrequented and thiek parts of the 
voods, as such a dangerous enterprise required, till he arrived 
tPDOsile to the great and old beloved town of refuge, Koo- 
tth, Which stands high on the eastern side of a bold river, about 



250 yards broad, that runs by the late dangerous Albehama- 
Fort, down to the black poisoning Mobile, and so into tlio 
(Julf of Me.\ico. Tliefe he concealed himself under cover of 
the top of a I'allen pine-tree, in view of the ford of the old 
tradiiig-patJi, where the enemy now and then pass the river in 
their light poplar canoes. All his war^tore of provisions coo« 
sisted of three stands of barbicued venison, till lie had an Oi^ 
portunity to revenge blood, and return home. He waited with 
watchfulnesij and patience almost three days, when a young 
man, a woman, and a girl, passed a little wide of bun an Hour 
before sunset. The former lie sliot down, tomahawked the 
other two, and scalped each of them in a trice, in full view oT 
ihe town. By way of I)ravado, he shaked the scalps before 
them, sounding the awful death-whoop, and set off along the 
trading-path, trusting to his heels, while a great many of the 
enemy ran to their arms and gave chase. Seven miles from 
thence he entered the great blue ridge of the Apalache Moun« 
tains. About an hour before day he had run over seventy 
miles of that mountainous tract ; then, after sleeping two 
hours in a sitting posture, leaning his back against a tree, he 
set off again with fresh speed. As he threw away tlie venison 
when he found himself pursued by the enemy, he was obliged 
to sup]>ort nature with such herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp 
eyes, with a running glance, directed him to snatch up in hii 
course. Though F often have rode that war-path alone, when 
delay might have proved dangerous, and with as fine and 
strong horses as any in America, it took me five days to rida 
from the aforesaid Koosah to this sprightly warrior's place in 
the Chiekasah country, the distance of 300 computed miles: 
yet he ran it, and got home safe and well at about eleven 
o'clock of the third day, which was only one day and a half 
and two nights." — Adair's History of the American /»- 
dians. Lond. 1775, 4to. p. 395. 



Note 2 A. 



in Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared, 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high. 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry. — P. 315. 

" What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these 
valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotcha 
man himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They 
sally out of their own borders in the niglit, ip troops, through 
unfrequented by-ways and many intricate windings. All the 
day-time they retresh themselves and their horses in lurking 
holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive in the dark 
in thofce places they have a design upon. As soon as they 
have seized upon the booty, they, in like manner, return home 
in the night, llirongh blind ways, and fetching many a com- 
pass. The more skilful any captain is to pass through those 
wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the 
thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked 
upon as a man of an rxrellent head. And they are so very 
cunning, that they seldom have their booty taken from theiq, 
unless sometimes when, by the help of bloodhounds (ollowing 
them exactly upon the tract, they may chance to fall into ine 
hancb of their adversaries. When being taken, they have bo 
mucli persuasive eloquence, and so many smooth insinualinj 
words at command, that if they do not move tlieir judges, nay, 
and even their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity of then 
natures) to have mercy, yet they incite them to admiration 
and compassion." — Camden's Britannia. 

The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, ia 
ancient times, so inordinately addicted to these depredations, 
that in 1564, the Incorporated Mercbant-adventurcre of New 
castle made a law that none born in these districts should b* 
admitted apprentice. The inhabitants ,nre st.ited to be b« 
genrral'y adiMcted to rr.pine, Miat no taiih should be reposed 
in those proceeding from " soch lewde and wickerl proseni 



364 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



«rs." This regulation continued to stand unrepealed until 
1771. A bec^a-, in an old play, des^riliea himself as " born 
in Reilesdale, in Northumberland, and come of a wight-riding 
Bomame, called the Robsons, good honest men and true, 
taving a, little shifting for their living, Qod help themV^ — 
ft description which would have applied to most Borderers on 
both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives name [see 
Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii, p. 15], is on tlie very edge of the 
Cartei^fell, wliich divides England from Scotland. The Roo- 
ien IS a place upon Recdwaler. Bertram, being described as 
B native of these dales, where the habits of hostile dei)reda- 
tion long survived the union of the crowns, may liave been, 
in some degree, prepared by education for the exercise of a 
ftmilar trade in the wars of the Bucaniers. 



Note 2 B. 



Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. — P. 315. 

After one of the recent battles, in which thtf Irish rebels 
were defeated, one of their most active leaders was found in a 
bog, in which he was immersed up to the shouhlei'S, while his 
head was concealed by an impending ledge of turf. Being de- 
tected and seized, notwithstanding his precaution, he became 
solicitous to know how his retreat had been discovered. " I 
caught." answered the Sutherland Highlander, by whom he 
was taken, " the sparkle ofyoureye." Those who are accus- 
tomed to mark haies upon their form, usually discover them by 
the same circumstance.' 



Note 2 C. 



Here stood a wretch, prepared to ehavge 
His souVs redemption for reveiige! — P. 317. 

It is agreed by all the writere upon magic and witchcraft, 
that revenge was the most common motive for the pretended 
compact between Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity of 
Reginald Scot has very happily stated how such an opinion 
came to root itself, not only in the minds of the public and of 
the judges, but even in that of the poor wretches themselves 
who were accused of sorcery, and were often firm believers in 
their own [lower and their own guilt. 

" One sort of such as are said to be witches^are women 
which be commonly old, lame, blear^yed, pale, foul, and full 
of wrinkles ; poor, sullen, superstitions, or papists, or such as 
know no religion ; in whose drowsie minds the devil hath got- 
ten a fine seat ; so as what mischief, mischance, calamity, or 
llaugbter is brought to pass, they are easily perswadcd the 
Kime is done by themselves, im|)rinting in their minds an ear- 
nest and consunt imagination thereof These go from 

house to house, and from door to iloor, for a pot of milk, yest, 
drink, pottage, or sorrte such relief, without the which they 
could hardly live ; neitlier obtaining for their secvice or pains, 
noi yet by their art, nor yet at the devil's hands (with whom 
(hey are said to make a perfect and visible bargain), either 
beauty, money, promotion, wealth, pleasure, honour, knowl- 
edge, learning, of any other benefit whatsoever. 

" It falletli out many a time, that neitlier their necessities 
nor their expectation is answered or served in those places 
where they beg or borrow, but rather their lewdness is by their 
neighbours reproved. And farther, in tract of time the witch 
waxeth odious and tedious to her neighbours, and they again 
are despised and despited of her ; so as sometimes she curseth 
one, and sometimes another, and that from the master of the 
honse, his wife, children, cattle, &c., to the little pig that lieth 

1 Sii Wtilter Scott continued to \e fond of courBing hares lung after he 
tad Ud uide oU clher field-Bporta. ind he used to Buy jocutnrly, tbnt he 



in the stie. Thus, in process of time, ihey have all uispVjiaed 
her, and she hath wished evil luck unto them all ; perhapl 
with curses and imprecations made in form. Doubtless (al 
lerj^'th) some of her neighbours die or fall sick, or some of theit 
children are visited with diseases that vex them strangely, aa 
apoplexies, epilepsies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, &c., 
which, by ignorant parents, are supposed to be the vengeance 

of witches 

" The witch, on the other side, expecting her neighbouw* 
miscliances, and seeing things sometimes come to pass accord" 
ing to Jier wishes, curses, and incantation^^ (for Bodin himseU 
conffsses, that not above two in a hundred of their witchingi 
or wishings take effect), being called before a justice, by dne 
examination of the circumstances, is driven to see her imprfr 
cations and desires, and her neighbours' Iiarms and lo^es, to 
concur, and, as it were, to take effect ; and so confesseth thai 
she (as a goddess) hath brought such things to pass. Whertf^ 
in not only she, but the accuser, and also the justice, arefoullj 
deceived and abused, as being, through her confession, and 
other circumstances, perswaded (to the injury of God's glory) 
tliat she hath done, or can do, that which is proper only tc 
God himself." — Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft, Lond 
1655, fol. p. 4, 5. 



Note 2 D. 
Of my marauding on the clowns 
Of Calvcrlcy and Bradford downs. — P. 317. 

The troops of the King, when they first took the field, wen 
as well discipUned as could be expected from circumstance* 
But as the circumstances of Charles became less favorably, 
and his funds for reguTarly paying Ids forces decreased, habltl 
of military license prevailed among them in greater excess. 
Lacy, the player, who served his master during the Civil War, 
brought out, after the Restoration, a piece called The OW 
Troop, in whicli he seems to have commemorated some real 
incidents which occurred in his military career. The namei 
of the officei-s of the Troop snfiiciently express their habits. 
We have Flea-flint Pluiuler-Mastcr-General, Captain Ferreb 
farm, and Q,uarter-Master Burn-drop. The officers of tb« 
Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at tlieii 
plundering the country for a suitable sjiare in the booty. All 
this was undoubtedly drawn from the life, which Lacy had an 
opportunity to study. The moral of the wliole is compre* 
bended in a rebuke given to the lieutenant, whose disorders iu 
the country are said to prejudice the King's cause more than 
his courage in the field could recompense. The piece is by m 
means void of farcical humor. 



Note 2 E. 



Brignnll's woods, and Scargtu wave. 

E'en noWy o^er many a sister cate. — P. 318. 

The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound 
in seams of grayish slate, which are wrought in some pl.nces to 
a very great depth under ground, thus forming artificial cav- 
erns, which, when theseam lias been exiiausted, are ^radnally 
hidden by the underwood which grows in profusion upon IHb 
romantic banks of the river. In times of public confusion, 
they might be well adapted to the purposes of bandilii. 



Note 2 F. 

fVhen Spain waged warfare with our land.—V 320 
There was a short war with ^-'pain in 1625-6, which will W 
found to agree pretty veil with the chronology of the poem 

had more [fieaaure in heuig fonaidored an excellent fyfder^ than ia ftll hb 
reputation as a trouveur.— 'Ed. 



H 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



S6S 



Bit probably Bertram held an opinion very commoQ among 
tto maritime heroes of the age, that " there was no peace be- 
fODii the Line." The 3pa.ms\i ffuarda-costas were constantly 
•mployeil in aggros^ions upon the trade and aetllements of the 
Enghs/i and French ; and, by their own severities, gave room 
for the system of bucaniering, at first adopted in self-defence 
Uil relahaiion, and afterwards persevered in from habit and 
thirjt of plunder. 



Not;c 2 G. 



• Our C0Tnrade\<i strife. — P. 321- 

The laws of the Bucaniers, and their successors the Pirates, 
however severe and equitable, were, like other laws, often set 
aside by the stronger party. Their quarrels about the division 
of the spoil fill their history, and they as frequently arose out 
of mere frolic, or the tyrannical humor of their chiefs. An 
anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeanl) shows that their ha- 
bitual indifference for human life e.\lended to their compan- 
ion, as well as their enemies and captives. 

"One night, drinking in his cabin witii Hands, the pilot, 
and another man, Blackbeard, without any provocation, pri- 
vately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them under 
the table, which, being perceived by the man, he withdrew 
upon deck, leaving Hands, the pilot, and the captain together. 
When the pistols were ready, he blew out the candles, and, 
crossing his hands, discharged tliem at his company. Hands, 
the master, was shot through the knee, and lamed for life ; the 
Jther pistol did no execution." — Jounson's History of Pi- 
rates. Lond. 1724, 8vo. vol. i. p. 38. 
Another anecdote of this worthy may be also mentioned. 

, " The hero of whom we are writing was thoroughly accom- 
plished this way, and some of his frolics of wickedness were 

1 10 extravagant, as if he aimed at making his men believe he 
was a devil incarnate ; for, being one day at sea, and a little 

I flushed with drink, ' Come,' says he, ■ let us make a hell of 
Mir own, and try how long we can bear it.' Accordingly, he, 

.*ill»two or three others, went down into the hold, and, clo- 
sing up all the hatches, filled several pots full of brimstone and 
other combustible matter, and set it on fire, and so continued 
till they were almost suffocated, when some of the men cried 
OQt for air. At length he opened the hatches, not a httle 

ipleased that he held oat the longest." — Ibid. p. 90. 



N>»TE 2 H. 



mif rangers go 

Kven now to track a milk-white doc. — P. 321. 

Immediately after sopper, the huntsman should go to his 

mafiter's chamber, and if he ficrve a king, then let him go to 

I the ma.*Ter of the game's chamber, to know in what quarter 

I he determineth to hunt the day following, that he may know 

1^ own quarter ; that done, lie may go to bed, to the end thai 

[ hii may rise the earlier in the morning, according to the time and 

' leason, and according to the place where he must hunt : then 

i'tfhen he is up and ready, let hini drinke a good draught, and 

[retch his hound, to make Iiini breake his fast a litfte : and let 

lim not forget to fill his bottel with good wine : that done, let 

lira take a little vinegar into the palme of his hand, and put 

I io the nostrils of his hound, for to make him snufFe, to the 

»nd his scent may he tlie perfecter, then let him go to the 

*00d When the huntsman perceiveth that it is 

ime to begin to beat, let him put his hound before him, and 
teal the oulsides of springs or thickets ; and if he find an hart 
■■deer that Iike3 him, let him mark well whether it be fresh 
'f not, which he may know as well by the maner of his hounds 

irawirg, as also by the eye When he hatli well 

I Stuidered what maner of hnrt it may be, and hath marked 



every thing to judge by, then let him draw till he come to tha 
couert where he is gone to ; and let him harbour him if h 
can, still marking all his tokens, as well by the slot as by the 
entries, foyles, or such-like. That done, let him plash or brusfl 
down small twigges, some aloft and some 'jclow, a« tlie art 
requireth. and therewitliall, whiles', iiis hound is bote, let him 
beat the outside3, and make his ring-walke9, twice or thrice 
about the wood." — TAe J^obU Jirt of Veneris. &7 itunting 
Lond. 1611, 4to. p. 76, 77. 



Song- 



NOTE 2 I. 
- Adieu for evermore. — P. 322 



The last verse of this song is taken from the fragment of ar 
jid Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two versa 
when the first edition of Rokeby was pub'ished. Mr. Tlioma 
Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beoa 
tiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of some fo) 
lower of the Stuart family : — 

*' It was a' for our rightful king 
That we left fair Scotland's strand, 
tt was a' for our rightful king 
That we e'er saw Irish land, 
My dear. 
That we e'er saw Irish land. 

" Now all is done that man can do, 
And all is done in vain ! 
My love ! my native land, adieu I 
For I must cross the main, 

My dear, 
For I must cross the main. 

' He turn'd him round and right aboi 
All on the Irish shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake 
With, Adieu for evermore, 

My dear ! 
Adieu for evermore ! 

" The soldier frae the war returns. 
And the merchant frae the main. 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

" When day is gone and night is come 
And a' are boon' to sleep, 
I think on them that's far awa 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 
My dear, 
Tlie lee-lang night, and weep. 



Note 2 K 



Rerc-crose on Stanmore. — P. 323. 

This is a fragment of an old cross, with its p'^'i'fijenl, stir 
rounded by an intrenchment, upon the very furjinit of Ihp 
waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainmeni 
called the Spittal It is called Rere-cross, or Ree-cross, of 
which Holinshed gives us the following explanation: — 

" At length a peace was concluded betwixt the two king! 
vnder these conditions, that Malcolme should enjoy that part 
of Northumberland which lieth betwixt Tweed. Cnmberia*:-!, 
and Stainmore, and doo homage to the Kinge of England fol 
the same. In the midst of Stainmore liicre sliall be a aroasc 



366 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



let up, wilh llie Kinge of England's image on the one side, and 
the Kinge of Scotland's on the other, to signifie that one is 
inarch to Englantl, and itie otJier to Scotland. This crosse was 
called the Roi-crosse, that is, the crosse of the King." — Holin- 
SHED. Lond. 1808, 4to. v. 280. 

Ilohnsliert's sole autliorily seems to have been Boethina. 
But it is not improbable tliat l.ia account may be the true one, 
alUiough the circumstance does not occur in Wintoun's Cliro- 
oicle. Thesituationof liie cross, and the pains taken to defend 

^eem to itv'icate tha-. it was intended for a land-mark of 
iniK>rt^nce 



Note 2 L. 

Hast thoiL lodged our deer ?— P. 323. 

The duty of tlie ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge or hai* 
I or the deer- i. c. to discover his retreat, as described at 
englii in note, 2 H, and then to make his report to his prince, 
Df maatei : — 

' Before the King f come report to make, 
Then Iiusht and peace for noble Tristrame'e sake . . . 
My liege, I went tiiis morning on ray quest, 
My Iioulid did stick, and seem'd to vent some beast. 
1 held him short, and drawing after him, 
I might behold the hart was feeding trym ; 
His head was high, and large in each degree, 
Well paulmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
Of colour browne, he beareth eight and tenne, 
Of stately height, and long beseemed then. 
His beam seem'd great, in good proportion led, 
Well barred and round, well pearled neare his head. 
He seemed fayre tweene blacke and berrie brounde 
He seemes well led by all the signes I found. 
For when I haii well marked him with eye, 
I stept aside, to watch where he would lye. 
And when I had so wayted full an lioure. 
That lie might be at layro and in his boure, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure ; 
My hounil by sent did me thereof a.ssure . . , 
" Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
I say tiie slot or view was long on ground ; 
The toes were ^eat, the joynt bones round and short, 
The shinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port : 
Short ioyntcd was lie, hollow-footed eke, 
An hart to hunt as any man can seeke.*' 

The Art of Venerie, ut supra, p. 97. 



Note 2 M. 



IVIicn Denmark's raven soared on high. 
Triumphant through J^orthumbrian sky, 
Till, hovering near, hrr fatal croak 
Badi RcgaVi F-:i;7zf dread the yoke.~P, 323. 

Aj»jii -:s 7«i7 of God 666, the Danes, under their cele- 
gtffited leaders Inguar (more properly Agnar) and Hubba, sons, 
t ia said, of the still more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog, invaded 
STorthumbertaud, bringing with them the magical standard, so 
?fien mentioned in poetrj', called Reafen, or Rumfan, from 
ts bearing the figure of a raven : — 

Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, 

Of furious Ivar in a midnight hour : 

While the sick moon, at their enchanted song 

Wiapt in pale lempest,, labor'd through the clouds 

The demons of lestruction then, they say. 

Were all abroat , and mixing witJi the woof 



Their balefnl power : The sisters ever sung, 

' Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes.' *' 

Thomson and Mallbt's Alfred. 

The Danes renewed and extended their incursions, and begai 
to colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, from whiofc 
they spread their conquests and incursions in every direction 
Ptanmore, which divides the mountains of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, was i)robably the boundary of tiie Danish king- 
dom in that direction. The district to the west, known in an- 
cient British hi>tory by the name of Reged, had never beei 
conquered by the Saxons, and continued to maintain a preca 
rious independence until it was ceded to Malcolm, King ol 
Scots, by William tlie Conqueror, probably on account of it) 
similarity in language and manners to the neighboring Critiei 
kingdom of Strath-Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danish sovereignty li 
Northumberland, the curious may consult the various authori 
ties quoted in the Qesta et Vestigia Danorum extra Daniam 
torn. ii. p. 40. The most powerfal of their NorthumbriaD 
leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from the extent of ht* 
conquests, Widfam, that is. The Strider. 



Note 2 N. 



Beneath the shade the J^orthmen came, 
Fiz'd on each vale a Runic name. — P. 323. 

The heathen Danes have left several traces of their religio* 
in the upper part of Teesdale. Balder-garth, which derives iti 
name from the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of wastfl 
land on the very ridge of Staiimore ; and a brook, whicli fa!h 
into the Tees near Barnard Castle, is named alter the same 
deity. A field upon the banks of the Tecs is also termed 
Woden-Croft, from the supreme deity of the Edda. Tluirr^gill, 
of which a description is attempted in stanza ii., is a beautifnl 
little brook and dell, running up behind the ruins of E^-liston 
Abbey. Thor was the Hercules of the Scandinavian mytho- 
logy, a dreadful giant-queller, and in that capacity the cham 
pion of the gods, and the defender of A'gard, the northern 
Olympus, against the frequent attacks of the inhabitant of 
Jotcvnhem. There is an old poem in the Edda of Strmusd, 
called the Song of Thrym, which turns upon the loss and x*- 
covery of the Mace, or Hammer, whicIi was Tlior'a princip*! 
weapon, Hnd on which much of his power seems to have de- 
pended. It may be read to great advantage i:; a versloi 
equally spirifid and literal, among the Miscellaneous Transll* 
lions and Poems of the Honorable William Herbert. 



Note 2 O. 

fVho has noc ..c&rrf hoio brave 0''J^eale 

In English blood imbrued his steel ? — P. 325. 

The O'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded U 
the chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the 
grandson of Con O'Neale, callpd Con Bacco, or the Lame. 
His father, Matthew O'Kelly, was ilkgilimate, and, being the 
son of a b'fecksmith's wife, was usually called Matthew the 
Bla(rksmitli. His father, nevertheless, destined his succc^, 
sion to him ; and he was created, by Elizabcf'i, Baron o( 
Dnngannon. Upon the death of Con Bacco, this >'atthew 
was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the same 
fate, and was protected by the English. Sliaiie O'Neale, hi? 
uncle, called Shane Dymaf, was succeeded by Turlough 
Lynogh O'Neale; after whose death, Hugh, having a.^sume/ 
tlie chieftaiiisliip, became nearly as formidabler to the English 
as any by whom it had been possessed. He rebelled repeat- 
edly, and as often made submissions, of v*'hich :i was usually 
a condition tliat he should not any longer assume the title or 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



set 



O'Nealo ; in lien of wliich he was createil Earl of Tyrone. 
Boh this cotulitiun he iisver observed longer tliiin until the 
prraore of eu[iprii>r fon^e was withtlrnwn. His baffling llie 
lallaiU K.'Lrl ol' E.-lscx in tlie lieUt, an<l overreaching him in a 
Irea'.y, wa±i Uic induction to that iiohK'nian'ii' tragedy. Lonl 
Mountjoy sutv.eetled in Jinally suhju^'aling O'Ncale ; but it was 
not till '.he .-luceession of James, to whom he made personal 
rabiuitb^ion. and was received with civility at court. Vet, ac- 
sording to ^Murri^on, "no respect to him could containc many 
weomet. in tlio-ic parts, who had losf hii.-banris and children in 
lh« Irish warres. from llJn^jing <lurt and stones at the eajle as 
he [ lin^d, and from reuiliiig him witli bitter words ; yea, wlien 
tfaeearle had been at court, and there obtaining his majestie's 
direction for his pardon and performance of all conditions pro- 
mised him by the Lord Mountjoy, was about September to re- 
lume, he durst not px*^ by those parts without ilirection to the 
lliirffes. to convey him witli troops of horse from place to 
plice, til! he was safely imbarked and put to sea for Ireland.'* 
•hiuerart/y p. 296. 



Note 2 P. 



But chief arose his victor pride. 

When that brave Marshal fought and died. — P. 325. 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the Englislr 
n-aain a battle fought near Blackwater, wliile he besieged a 
fort garri.'soned by the English, which commanded the passes 
into hia country. * 

" This ca[ilain and his few warders did with no less courage 
suffer hunger, and, having eaten the few horses they had, lived 
VjMHi heaibes growing in the ditches and wals, saflering all e.x- 
(Temitifs. till the lord-lieutenant, in the month of Augost, sent 
Sir Henry Bagnal, marshal! of Ireland, witli the most choice 
oompanies of foot and horse- troo pes of the English army to 
nctual this fort, and to raise the rebels siege. When the Eng- 
UKh entered the place and thicke woods beyond Armagh, on 
the ca:"t siile, Tyrone (witli all the i-ebels assembled to him) 
pricked forward with rage, entiy, and settled rancour against 
tJie marshall, assayled the English, and turning his full force 
against the maishair.x person, lu'ul the soccesse to kill him, 
valiantly hghting among the tiiickest of the rebels. Where- 
niwn the English being dismayed with his death, the rebels 
obtained a great victory against them. I tenne it great, sinre 
the Engli.'-h, from their first arriual in that kingtlome, neuer had 
received so great an ouerthrow as this, commonly called the 
I Def<a! of Blaukewater; ihirteeue valiant captaineM and 1500 
common soaldiers (whereof many were of the old companies 
which had serucd in Brittany vnder General Non-eys) were 
tlaif in the field. The jielding of the fort of Btackewaler 
followed this disa.^ter, when the assaulted guard saw no liO]>e 
of relief; but especially vpon messages sent to Captain VVil- 
iiair* lr»in our broken forces, retired to Armagh, professing 
.'■itv i' -.lieir safety depended vpon his j-ielding the fort into 
le liamli of Tyrone, without which danger Captaine Williams 
ttofeaset' that no want or miserie shoulil have induced him 
'.hvitun;-^."— Fyses Moryson's Itinerary, London, 1617, 
i\ parti) p. 24. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity 
fe$ais:!t the knight-marshal. Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he ac- 
CQied of detaining the letters which he sent to Queen Eli^a- 
bein, ex 'lanatory of his conduct, and oflering terms of sub- 
niision. The river, called by the English, Blackwater, is 
lerraed in Irbli, Avon-Duff", which has the same signification. 
Bolh names ar.; mentioned by Spenser in his " Marriage of the 
Thames and the Medway.*' But I understand that his verses 
rRlale not '.o the Blackwater of Ulster, but to a river of the 
•une name ia the south of Ireland : — 

• Swift Avon-Duff, which of the Englishmen 
U Gsuisd Blackwater*' 



Note 2 Q. 

The Tanist he toffteai O'J^Tctle.—P. 325. 

" Eudox. What is that which yon call Tanist and Tanistry 1 
These be names and terms never heard of nor known to ua. 

" Iren. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that presently 
after the death of one of their chiefe lords or caplaines, they 
doe presently assemble themselves to a place pererally appoint- 
ed and knowne unto them, to choose unothei in his steady 
where they do nominate and elect, for tlie most part not tij? 
eldest Sonne, nor any of the children of tlie lord deceased, b^ 
the next to him in blood, that is, tlie eldest and worthiest, a* 
commonly the next brother nnto him, if he have any, or the 
next cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in that kindred or sept ; 
and then next to them doe they choose the next of the blood 
to be Tanist, who shall next succeed him in the said captainry, 
if he live thereunto. 

" Eudox. Do they not use any ceremony in this election, 
for all barbaroQs nations are commonly great observers of cere 
monies and superstitious riles ? 

*' Jrc7i. They used to place him mat shall be their captaine 
upon a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placed 
commonly upon a liill. In some of wliieh I have seen formed 
and engraven a fool, which they say was the measure of theil 
first captaine's foot ; whereon hee standing, receives an oath 
to preserve all the ancient former customes of the countrey 
inviolable, and to deliver up the succession peaceably to his 
Tanist. and then hath a wand delivered onto him by some 
whose proper office that is ; after which, descending from th« 
stone, he tnmeth himself round, thrice forwards and thric» 
backward?. 

" Eudox. But how is the Tanist chosen 1 

'* Irnt. They say he settelh but one foot upon the stone 
and receiveth the like oath that the captaine did." — SpEN 
ser's ViciD of the State of Ireland , apnd Works, London, 
1605, 8vo. vol. viii. p. 306. 

The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heii^apparent of 
his power. This kind of succession appears also to have regu- 
lated, in very remote times, tlie succession to the crown of 
Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if not impossible, 
to have asserted a minor's right of succession in those stormy 
days, when the principles of policy were summed up iu mv 
friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines '. — 

" the good old rule 

Sulficeth them ; the simple plan, 
Tliat they should take who have the power, 

And they should keep who can." 



Note 3 R. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread, S,-c. — P. 325. 

There is here an attempt to describe the ancient Irish Arem. 
of which a poet of Queen Elizabeth's day has gii'eo ib 11>< 
following particulars : — 

" I marvailde in my mynde 

and thereupon did muse, 
To see a bride of heavenlie hewe 

an ouglie fere to chuse. 
This bride it is the soile, 

the bridegroome is the karne. 
With writhed glibbes, like wicked spriU, 

with visage rough and stearne ; 
With seniles upon their poaJles, 

instead of civill cappes ; 
With apeares in hand, and swordes beflytle* 

to bcare off after clappes ; 
With jackeltes I >ng and large 

which shroud hmpllcitio. 



.-68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thongh spitfuU darta which they do .^eare 

importe iniquitie. 
Their shirtes be very strange, 

not reaching past the lliie ; 
With pleates on pleates thei pleated are 

as tliick as pleates may lye. 
Whose sleaves hang trailing donne 

aliiiDst unto the shoe ; 
And -A'ith a mantell commonlie 

tliR Irish karne do goe. 
Now some amongst the reste 

doe use another weede ; 
A coate I meane. of strange devise 

which fancy first did breade. 
His skirts be very shorte, 

with pleates set thick aboct, 
And Irish trouzes moe to put 

their strange protactours out.' 
Deruick's Image of Ireland, apud Somers' Tracts, 

Edin. ISOP 4to. vol. i. p. 585. 

5ome curious wooden engravings accompany this poem, from 
*hich it would seem that the ancient Irish dress was (the bon- 
aet excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish Highlanders. 
The want of a covering on the head was supplied by the mode 
of plaiting and arranging the hair, which was called the glibbc. 
These glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, 
since, when he wished to disguise himself, he could either cut 
It ofi" entirely, or so pull it over liis eyes as to render it very 
hard to recognize him. This, however, is nothing to the rep- 
robation'with which the same poet regards that favorite part 
of the Irish dress, the mantle. 

" It is a fit liouse for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and 
an apt cloke for a thief. First, the outlaw being for his many 
crimes and villanyes banished from the townes and houses of 
honest men. and wandring in waste places far from danger of 
law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it coverelh him- 
self from the wrath of heaven, from the offence of tlie earth, 
and from the siglit of men. When it raineth, it is his pent- 
house ; when it bloweth, it is his tent ; when it freezeth, it is 
hU tabernacle, fn summer he can wear it loose, in winter he 
can wrap it close; at all times he can use it; never heavy, 
never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as servicealde ; 
for in bis warre that he makelh (if at least it deserve the name 
of warre), when lie still flyeth from his foe, anil Inrketh in the 
thicke woods and straite passages, waiting for advantages, it 
is his bed, yea. and almost his household stuff". For the wood 
IS his house ag;unst all weathers, and his mantle is his couch 
to sleep in. Therein he wrappelh himself round, and couch- 
eUi himself strongly against the gnats, which in that country 
doc more annoy tlie naked rebels while they keop the woods, 
and doe more shar|)ly wound them, than all their enemies 
swords or speares, wliicli can seldom come nigh them; yea, 
and oftentimes their mantle serveth them when they are neere 
driven, being wrapped about their left arme,, instead of a tai^ 
get. for it is hard to cut thorough with a sword ; besides, it is 
light to beare, light to throw away, and being (as they com- 
monly are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thiefe 
it is so handsome as it may seem it was first invented for Jiini ; 
for under it he mny cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh 
handsomely in his way, and when he goetii abroad in the 
night in freebooting, it is his best and surest friend ; for, lying, 
as they often do, two or tJirei; nights together abroad to watch 
for their booty, witii that they can prettily shroud themselves 
under a bush or bankside till they may conveniently do their 
errand ; and when all is over, he can in his mantle [jasse 
through any town or company, being close hooded over his 
head, as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom he is in- 
dangered. Besides this, he or any man els that is disposed to 
raisL-liief or villany, may, under Iiis mantle, goe privily armed 
without suspicion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean. or 
Tiistol, il he please, to be always In readiness." — Spenser's 



View of the State of Ireland, apod tForks, ut sapra, viii 
367. 

The javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which tliey threw wiUi 
great dexterity, appear, from one of the prints already men- 
tioned, to have been about four feet long, with a strong st«. 
head and tliick knotted shaft. 



Note 2 S. 



With wild majestic port and tone, 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne. — P. 326. 

The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and 
\vith each other, were wont to assume the language and style 
of independent royalty. Morrison has preserved a summoiu 
from Tyrone to a neighboring cliieftain, which runs in the fol- 
lowing terms : — 

" O'Neale commendeth him unto you, Morish Fitz-Thoraa« ; 
O'Neale requesteth you, in God's name, to take part with him, 
and fight for your conscience and right ; and in so doinj. 
O'Neale will spend to see yon righted in all your affaires, and 
will help you. And if you come not at O'Neale betvvi,\t ihb 
and to-morrow at twelve of the clocke. and take his par*, 
O'Neale is not beholding to you, and will doe to the uttermost 
of his power to overthrow you, if you come not to him at for 
jhest by Satturday at noone. From Knocke Dumayne ia 
Calrie, the fourth of February, 1599. 

"O'Neale requesteth you to come speake w;th him, ant! 
doth giue you his word that you shall receive no harme neithei 
in eomming nor going from him, whether yoo be friend or no% 
and bring with yon to O'Neale Gerat Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed) " O'Neale." 

Nor did the royalty of O'Neale consist in words alone. Sil 
John Harrington paid him a visit at the time of his trnce with 
Essex, and, after mentioning his "fern table, and fern forms, 
spread under the stately canopy of heaven," he notices what 
constitutes the real power of every monarch, the love, namely, 
and allegiance of his subjects. " His guards, for the most 
part, were beardless boys without shirts ; who in the frosl 
wade as familiarly through rivers as water-spaniels. Witli 
what charm such a master makes them love hira, I know 
not ; but if he bid come, tiiey come ; if go, they do go ; if he 
say do this, they do it." — J^iTug-m Antiqua. Lond. 178-1, 9vo. 
vol. i. p. 25L 



Note 2 T. 



His foster-father was his guide. — P. 326 

There was no tie more sacrcxl among the Irish than that 
which connected the fostei^father, as well as the nurse herself 
with the child they brought up. 

"Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, and affec- 
tion on their fostei^children than their own ; and in return take 
from them clothes, money for their several professions, and 
arms, and, even for any vicious purjioses, fortunes and cattle, 
not so much by a claim of right as by extortion ; and they will 
even carry those things off" as plunder. All who have been 
nursed by the same person preserve a greater mutual affection 
and confidence in each other than if they were natural broth* 
ers, whom they will even hate for the sake of these. When 
chid by their parents, they fly to their foster-fathers, wtio fre- 
quently encourage them to make open war on thtir parenis, 
train them up to every excess of wickedness, and make them 
most abandoned miscreants ; as, on the other hand, the nnrses 
make the young women, whom they bring np for every ex 
cess. If a foster-child is sick, it is incredible how soon the 
nurses hear of it, however distant, and with what solicitndfl 
they attend it by day and night." — Oiraldus Cambrentia 
quoted by Camden, iv. 368. 

This custom, hke many other Irish usages, prevailed tiU oC 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



36i' 



"Ble in the Scottish Hii'hlanH* antl waa cherished by the chiefs 
H an easy mode of extending their influence an^ connection ; 
and even in the Lo\vtand<«, during the last century, the con- 
nection between the nurse nud foster-child was seldom dia- 
•o.V'^i) hut by the death of one party. 



Note 2 U. 



Great .Yinl of the Pledges J\rine.~P. 327. 

Weal Naighvallach, orOf tJie Nine Hostages, is said to have 
jeen Slonaroh of all Ireland, during the end of the fourth or 
fteginniiig of the fifth century. He exercised a predatory war- 
fare on the coast of England and of Hretagne, or Arinorica ; 
aod from the latter country brought olf the celebrated Saint 
Patrick a youlh of sixteen, among other captives, whom he 
iransporled to Ireland. Neal derived his epitliet from nine 
talion!). or tribes, whom he held under his subjection, and 
bom whom he took hostages. From one of Neal's sons were 
ierived the Kinel-eoguin, or Race of Tyrone, which aflbrded 
nwnarclis both to Ireland and to Ulster. Neal (according to 
O'Fliherty's Ogygia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, in one 
< \la iescents on the coast of Bretagne. 



Note 2 V. 



Shanc^Dymas wild. — 327. 

This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and 
power of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, 
against whom he rebelled repeatedly. 

" This chieftain is banded down to us as the most proud 
and proHigate man on earth. He was immoderately addicted 
10 women and wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of wine 
at once in his cellar at Dandram, but usquebaugh was his 
favorite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition of the 
fair sex. Altho' so illiterate that he could not write, he was 
not destitute of address ; his onden^tanding was strong, and 
his couiage daring. He had 600 men for his guard ; 4000 foot, 
1000 horse for the field. He claimed superiority over all the 
kinis of Ulster, and called himself king thereof. When com- 
missioners were sent to treat with him, he said, 'That, tho' 
the Queen were his sovereign lady, he never made peace with 
her but at her lodg^ing ; that she had made a wise Earl of 
Macartymore, but that he kept as good a man as he ; that 
he cared not for so mean a title as Earl ; that his blood and 
power were better than the bp=t ; that his ancestore were Kinga 
of Ulster; and that he would give place to none.' His kins- 
man, the Earl of KiJdare, h^.'ing persuaded him of the folly 
of contending with the crown cf England, he resolved to at- 
tend the Q,neen. hot in » style suited to \m princely dignity. 
He appeared in. Lnr.oon wit'i a magnificent train of Irish Gal- 
loglasses, arrayed in \^.e richest habiliments of their country, 
their heads bare, their hair flowing on their shoulders, with 
their long and open sleeves dyed with saflron. Thus dressed, 
and snrchargetl with militar}^||amess, and armed with battle- 
axes, tliey affbrdfd an astonishing spectacle to the citizens, who 
reganled them a^ the intruders of some very distant part of 
the globe. Bnt at Court his verealiliiy now prevailed; his 
title to the sovereignty of Tyrone was pleaded from English 
laws and Irish inslitnlions, and his allegations were so specioos, 
that the Qaeen dismissed him with presents and assurances of 
favor. In Englani* this tram^action was looked on as the hu- 
miliation o<' a repenting rebel ; in Tyrone it was considered as a 
treaty of peace between two potentates." — Camden's jBW- 
tannia. by Gough. Lond. 1806, fol. vol. iv. p. 442. 

When reduced to extremity by the English, and forsaken 
by his allies, ihis Phane-Djmas flee to Clandeboy then occu- 
pied by a colony df S.ottish Highlai;ders of the family of Mac- 
Honell. He was it C/st courteously received ; bnt by de- 



grees they began to quarrel about the slaughter of some of 
their friends wIiomtSliane-Dymas had pot to death, and ad- 
vancing from words to deeds, fell upon him with theii broad- 
swords, and cut him to pieces. Al'ter his death a law was 
made that none should presume to take the namfl and title tf 
O'Neale. 



Note 2 W. 



- Ocratdinc.—P. 327. 



The O'Ncales were closely allied willi this powerful and 
warlike family ; for Henry Owen O'Neale married tne ilangh- 
ter of Thomas Earl of Ivildare, and their son Con-More mar 
ried his cousin-gernian, a daughter of Gerald Earl of Kadare 
Tills Con-More cursed any of his posterity who should learn 
the "English language, sow corn, or build houses, so as to in 
vite the English to settle in their country. Others ascribe tliis 
anathema to liis son Con-Bacco. Fearflatha O'Gnive, hard 
to the O'Neales of Clannaboy, complains in the same spirit 
of the towers and ramparts with which the strangers had dtB 
figured the fair sporting fields of Erin. — See Walker's Irish 
Bards, p. 140. 



Note 2 X. 

He chose that honored fiag to kcar. — P. 328. 

Lacy informs us, in the old play already quoted, how th€ 
cavalry raised by the country gentlemen for Charles's servic* 
were usually oflicered. " You, cornet, have a name lliat't 
proper for all>cornels to be called by. for they are all beardless 
boys in our army. The most part of our horse were raised 
thus: — The honest country gentleman raises the troop at hi 
own charge ; then he gets a Low-country lieutenant to fighl 
his troop safely ; then he sends for his son from school to be hit 
cornet: and then he puts off his child's coat to put on a buff 
coat : and this is the constitntion of onr army.' 



Note 2 T. 



his page, the ntzt degree 

In thai old time to chivalry. — P. 328. 

Originally, the order of chivalry emlfraced three ranks :— 
1. The Page; 2. The Sqnire ; 3. The Knight ;— a gr.a( ation 
which seems to have been imitated in the mystery of free- 
masonry. But, before the reign of Charles I., the custom of 
serving as a sqnire had fallen into disusie. though the or:'.!»v ol 
the page was still, to a certain degree, in observanoe. This 
state of servitude was so far from inferrinjfany thing degrad 
ing, that it was considered as the regular school lur acquiring 
every quality necessary for future distinction. Tlic proper t;a- 
ture. and the decay of the institution, are pointed out by olo 
Ben Jonson, with his own forcible moral coloring. The Jia- 
logue occurs between Lovell, "*conipIeai gentleman, a sol- 
dier, and a scholar, known to have beeitpuge to the old Lord 
Beaufort, and so lo have followed him in the French wan, 
after companion of his studies, and left guardian to liis son.*' 
and the facetious Goodstock. host of the Light Heart. LoveQ 
had otTered to take Goodstock's son for his page, which ths 
latter, in reference to the recent abuse of the establishment 
declares as " a desperate course of life :*' — 

'* I^ovcll. Call yon that desperate, which by a line 
Of institution, from our ancestors 
Hath been derived down to us, and receiVed 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, anna. 



370 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Fair mier., discourses, civil exercise,- 
Anci all the blazon of a gentleman ? • 

Where can he leam to vault, to ride, to fence, 
To move his lioiiy gracefully ; to speak 
liis language jnirer , or to tUne his mind, 
Or m^inn^rs, more to tlie harmony of nature, 
Than in the nurseries of nobility ? 

'* Host. Ay, that was when the nursery's self was noble, 
And only virtue made it," not the market, 
That titles were no*, vented at the drum, ' 
Or common outcry. Goodness gave the greatness, 
And greatness wiii^hiji : every house became 
An academy of honor ; and those parts 
We see departed, in the practice, now, 
Q.Qite from the iustitntion. 

" I^ovell. Why do you say so ? 
Or think BO enviously ? Do they not still 
Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace ' 

To ride ? or, Pollux' mystery, to fence ? 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and spring 
a armor, to be active in the war^ 1 
To study figures, numbers, and proportions, 
May yield them great in counsels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised ? 
To make their English sweet upon their tongue, 
As reverend Chaucer says 1 

" Host. Sir, you mistake; 
To play Pir Pandarns, my copy hatb it, 
And carry messages to Madame Cressida ; 
Instead of backing the brave steeds o' mornings, 
To court tlie chambermaid ; and for a leap 
O' the r 'ulting horse, to ply the vaulting house *. 
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice. 
Or two nr three packs of cards to sliow the cheat, 
And nimbleness of band ; mistake a cloak 
Upon my lortl's back, and pawn it ; ease his pocket 
Of a suparfluous watch ; or geld a jewel 
Of an odd stone or so ; twinge two or three buttons 
From off n^y lady's gown : These are the arts 
Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
Of pagery, or rather paganism, 
As the tides run ; to which if he apply hira. 
He may perhaj)s take a degree at Tyburn 
A year the earlier ; come to take a lectore 
Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Watering's, 
And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle !" 

Ben Jonson's JVcw Inn, Act I. Scene III. 



Note 2 Z. 



Seem' d half abandon' d to decay. — P. 332. 

The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of 
the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. 
It is surrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in 
which it stands is adorned by the junction of the Gwta and of 
t'le Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of Armagh was. in I7T7, 
oon*erred t»n the Rigjit Reverend Richard Robinson, Primate 
of Ireland, descended jf the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, 
m Forkshire ' 



Note 3 A. 



Rokeby^ 8 lords of martial fame, 

T can count tern name by name. — P. 334 

The foUowmg brief pedigree of this very ancient and once 



I.'"!' . 2 Temp. Edw. 5di. ■ Temp. Edw. 3tii. 

4 Temp. Henr 'mi, and from him is th> ^otise of Skyers, of a foortb 
tnther. 



powerful family, was kindly sopplied to the author by Mi. 
Rokeby of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient Baroni 
of Rokeby : — 



" Pedigree of tke House of Rokeby. 
Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. marrie*^ to Sir Hump. LiftloV 

daughter. 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Tho. Lumley's daughter. 
Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Tho. Hubhom's daughter. 
Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Biggot's dan^ 



Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John de Melsass' daofb- 

ter of Bennet-hall, in Holdemess. 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Sir Brian Stapleton's daughtn 

ofWeighill. 
Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Ury's danghter.2 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to daughter of Mansfield, heir of 

Morton. 3 
Sir Tlio. Rokeby, Knt. to Stroode's daughter and heir. 
Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir James Strangwayet 

daughter. 
Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John Hotham's daughter. 
Ralph Rokeby. Esq. to Danby of YaflForth's daughter 

and heir. "I 
Tho. Rokeby, Esq. to Rob. Constable's daughter of 

Cliff, serjt. at law. 
Christopher Rokeby, Esq. to Lasscells of Brackenburgh*fl 

daughter.^ 
Thos. Rokebv. Esq. to the daughter of Thweng. 
Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Lawson's daugh- 
ter of Brough. 
Frans. Rokeby, Esq to Faucett's daughter, citizen of 

London. 
Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Wickliffe of 

Gales. 



High Sheriifs of Yorkshire. 
1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Haitingr and Thos. de Rokeby. 
1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro eept. annis. 
1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Roksby. Justiciary jf Ire- 
land for six years , died ai tne castle of 
Kilka. 
1407. 8 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Mile^. dcfeat.-'d and slew 
the Duke of Northumberland at tiw 
battle of Bramham Moor. 
1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles. 

14S6 Thomas Rokeby, Esq. 

1539 Robert Holgate, Bish. of Landaff. afle^ 

» wards P. of York, Ld. President of the 

Council for the Preservation of Peace 
in the North. 
1564 6 Eliz. Thomas Younge, Archbishop of Yorke, 
Ld. President. 
30 Hen. 8 Tiio. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council. 
Jn. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council. 
1572. 15 Eliz. Henry Hastings. Earl of Huntingdon, Ld. 
President. 
Jo. Rokeby^Jsq. one of the Council. 
Jo. Rokeby, LL!d. ditto. 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. one of the Secreta- 
ries. 
1574. 17 Eliz. Jo. Rokeby, nerentor of York. 

7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby. Knt. one of the Justices Of ■ 
the Kinj,'i' Een^h. 
The family of De Rokeby came ov. - w'.% the Conqueror. 
The old motto belonging to the fai -My '<■ f^ Bivio Dextra 
The arms, argent, chevron sable, bei-.-'een three roolTi 
proper. 

6 From him i( the houwof Hotham, and of th-. pic*. A brfllifr iliat hsd ^ 
iesue. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



37. 



There is somcwiia*. r.ore to be fsund in oi family in the 
Scottish liistory aHoi . 'jie affaire of Dun-Brpiton town, bat 
what it is, antl in w' a' jme, I know not, nor can have con- 
venient leisurj u^ r,ar j But Parson Blackwood, the t^cot- 
tiih cliapla'ii .o '.if _i' .d W" Shrewsbury, recited to me once a 
piece of a .-*.o^ jl- «^iig, wherein was mentioned, that Wil- 
liam \\>.iti' , • .e ^re-.t tieliv%-er of the Scots from tlie English 
bondoja si /r'j, ut Dun-Bretton, have been brought up under 
It Rok',1' , dr'.din then of the place ; and as he walked on a 
I'llff, s* o' .' ihrusl hii* on a sudden into the sea, and tnereby 
hav g- \t' a that ho'd, which, I think, was about the 33ii of 
pji». T. or before Thus, leaving our ancestors of record, we 
ir^st a'.M witli them leave the Clironicle of Malmesbury Ab- 
be/, called Eulogiam Hisitoriaram, out of whicli Mr. Leland 
teporlelh this history, and coppy down unwritten story, the 
which have yet the testimony of later times, and the fresh 
memory of men yet alive, for their warrant and creditt, of 
whom I liave learned it, that in K. Henry tlie 7lh's reign, one 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq., was owner of Morton, and I guess that 
Ihiswasfllie tliat deceived the fryars of Richmond with ids 
feloD swine, on which a jargon was made.'* 

The above is a quotation from a manoscript written by Ralph 
Rokeby ; when he lived is uncertain. 

To wliat metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood al- 
luded, it would be now in vain to inquire. But in Blind Har- 
y*s History of oir William Wallace, we find a legend of one 
Rokbie, whom he makes keeper of Stirling Castle under the 
English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays witli Jiis own 
btnd : — 

'* 'ii 'he great press Wallace and Rukbie met, 
Witii his good sword a stroke upon liim set ; 
Derfly to death the old Rukbie lie drave, 
But his two sons escaped among the lave." 

These sons, according to the romantic Minstrel, surrendered 
the castle on conditions, and went back to England, but re- 
lamed to Scotlanil in tlie days of Bruce, when one of them 
became again keeper of >'tirling Castle. Immediately after 
this achievement follows another engagement, between Wat- 
lace and those Western Highlanders who embraced the English 
interest, at a pass in Glendonchart, where many were precipi- 
tated into the lake over a precipice. These circumstances may 
have 'been confused in the narrative of Parson Blackwood, or 
ID the recollection of Mr. Rokeby. 

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is mentioned, among 
the English warrior*, " Sir Rart" theryclieRugbe," which may 
»pply to Sir Ralph Rokiby, the tenth baron in the pedigree. 
The more motlern copy of tlie ballad runs thus : 

" Good Sir BolpK Raby ther was slain. 
Whose prowess did surmount." 

This would rather eeera to relate to one of the Nevilles of 
Raby. But, as the v.oo'e ballad is romantic, accuracy is not 
to be looked for. 



Note 3 B. 

The Felon Sow.— P. 334. 

The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a Berions strain 
of romance ; and altliongli the example^ of the latter are by 
far the most itamerous, they ire, perhaps, the less valuable. 
The comic romance was a eor' of parody upon the usual eiibr 
jecte of minstrel poetry. If the latter described deeds of he- 
toic achievement, and the events of the battle, the toomey, 

i Both tho AlS. and Mr. WTiilaker'e copy rend anceaton, evidently a 
■*»TtpUoi if 'unUrg, tdveotureR, aa corrected by Mr. Evans. — 3 Sow, 
Vftaiay to yro*iaa*l pioounciation. — 3 So; Yorkshire dialect. — I Fele| 



and the chase, the former, as in the Tournament of Tottei 
ham, introduced a set of clowns debating in the field, with a. 
the assumed circumstances of chivalry ; or, as in the Huutin| 
of the Hare (see Weber's Melricai ftomaitcns. vol. iii.J. 
persons of the same description following the chase, with a'l 
the grievous mistakes auit blunders in''ideni to such unprac- 
tised sportsmen. The idea, llierKfoie, of Don Q,ui.\otL''t 
phrensy. although inimitably embodied and brought out, wa« 
not, perhaps, in the abstract, altogether ori;,-; : i!. One of thi 
Very best of these mock romances, at^ which has uo sina- 
portion of comic humor, is tlie Hunting of the Felon Sow of 
Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. Ralph Rokeby, who 
(for the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this intractable ani- 
mal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished 
in tlie time of Henry VII., which, since we know not tha 
date of Friar Theobald's wardenship, to which the poem ro- 
fers us, may indicate that of the composition itself. Morton, 
the Mortham of the text, is mentioned as being this facetious 
baron's place of residence; accordingly, l-eland notices, that 
" Mr. Rokeby hath a place called Mortham, a little beneath 
G re ntey-b ridge, almost on the mouth of Grentey." That no 
information may be lacking which is in my power to supply, I 
have to notice, that the Mistress Rokeby of the romance, who 
so charitably refreshed the sow after she had discomfited 
Friar Middleton and his auxiliaries, was, as appears from the 
pedigree of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Danlry 
of Yaftbrth. 

This curiou? poem was first published in Mr. Whitaker'a 
History of Craven, but, from an inaccurate inanascript, not 
corrected very happily. It was transferrnd by Mr. Evans to 
the new edition of his Ballads, witli some well-judged conjee* 
tnral improvements. I have been induced to give a more aa* 
thentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of th'v 
humorsome composition, from being furnished with a cop> 
from a manuscript in the possession of iMr. Rokeby, to whom 

I have acknowledged my obligations in the ia-«t Note. It has 
three or four stanzas more than that of Mr. Wlntaker, and the 
language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient 
and genuine readings. 

The Felon Sow of Rokeby avd the Friars of Rickmoiid 

Ye men that will of aunters' winne, 
Tliat late within this land hath beene. 

Of one I will yon tell ; 
And of a sew^ that was sea^ Strang, 
Alas ! that ever she lived sae lang. 

For felH folk did she whell.s 

She was marec than other three, 
The grisliest beast that ere mislit oe, 

Her head was great and gray : 
She was bred in Rokeby wooil, 
There were few that thither goed,^ 

That came on live* away. 

Her walk was endlong^ Greta side ; 
There war no breni* that durst her bide, 

That was i "^i' heaven to hell : 
Nor never mai. that had that mi^ht 
That ever dur^t come in her sight. 

Her force it was so fell. 

Ralph of Rokeby, with ^ood will. 
The Fryers of Richmond gave her till,'> 

Full well to garre'' them fare 
Fryar Middleton by his name. 
He was sent to fetch her hame. 

That rude him sine^ full sare- 

many Sax. — 5 A corruption of ^ueW, to kill. — 6 Mor«, jester. — 7 WeU 
— B Alive.— Along the aide of Greta. — 10 Bam, chiM, nian ui ^ctir»L— 

II From.— 12 To.— 13 Make.— J*Siace. 



872 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With him tooke he wicht racfli two, * 
Peter Dale was one of thoe, 

That ever was brim as beare ;• 
And well dnrsl strike with sword and kDife, 
And fight full manly for his life, 

What time as mister ware.* 

These three men went at God's will, 
This wicke- sew while they came till, 

Liggan^ nnder a tree ; 
Kugg and ri^ty was her haire ; 
She raise uji with a felon fare,* 

To fight against the three. ■ 

She wa." so griscly for to raeete, 
6he rave the earth op with her feete, 

Ana barR came fro the tree ; 
When Fryar Middleton hersaugh.s 
Weet ye well he might not laugh, 

Pull earnestly look't hee. 

These men of aunters that waa so wight," 
They bound tnem bauldly' for to fight, 

And strike at her full sare : 
Until a kiln they garred her flee, 
Wold God send them the victory, 

The wold ask him noa mare. 

The sew was in the kiln hole down, 
As they were on the balke aboon,^ 

For'' hurting of their feet ; 
They were so saulted'o with this sew, 
That among them was a stalworth stew. 

The kiln began toreeke. 

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand, 
But put a rape" down with hb wand, 

And haltered her full meete ; 
They hurled her forth against her will. 
Whiles they came into a hill 

A little fro the streetJ^ 

And there she made them such a fray. 
If they should live to Doomes-day, 

They tharrow'^ it ne'er forgett ; 
She braded'^ upon every side, 
And ran on them gaping foil wide. 

For nothing would she lett.^& 

She gave such brades^^ at the band 
That Peter Dale had in his hand. 

He might not hold his feet. 
She chafed them to and fro, 
The wight men was never soe woe, 

Their measure was not so meete. 

She bound her boldly to abide ; ' 

To Peter Dale she came aside. 
With many a hideous yell ; 



1 F erce aa a bear. Mr. Wbitaker's copy reads, perhaps in conee- 
(ucuco of mistaking the MS., " T'other wna Bryaa of Bear."— 3 Need 
wore. Mr. Whitftker reads musler», — 3 Lying. — 4 A fierce counto- 
Doiico or maoner. — & Saw. — 6 Wight, brave. The Rokeby MS. reads 
hH9itnter», and Mr. Wbitaker, auncealora. — 7 Boldly. — s On the bfiim 
V^ve. — g To prevent. — 10 A5sault«d. — H Rope, — 13 Walling Street. See 
Ihg aequel.~13 Dare.— U Hushed.— la Leave it.— 16 Pulb.— n This line 
it wanting in Mr. Wlutaker'a copy, whence it has been conjectored that 
lomething U wanting after this stanza, which now there is no occasion to 
iiippoae.— 16 Evil device.— W Blessed. Fr.— 20 Lost his color.— 31 Sheltered 
bims<?lf. — aa Fierce. — ap The MS. reads, to labour weere. The text 
■eeua to mean, that all their labor to obtain their intended meat was 
ni usa to them. Mr. Wtutaker reads. 



She gaped soe wide and cried soe hee, 
Tlie Fryar seid, " I conjure thee.i' 
Thou art a feind of heli. 

" Thou art come hither for some traine,'* 
I conjure thee to go againe 

Where thou wast wont to dwell." 
He saynedi9 him with crosse and creede, 
Took forth a book, began to reade 

In St. John his gospell. 

The sew she would not Latin heare, 
But rudely rushed at the Frear, 

That blinked all his blee ;20 
And when she would have taken her hold 
The Fryar leaped as Jesus wold, 

And healed him^i with a tree. 

She was as brim*J2 as any beare. 
For all their meete to labour there,^^ 

To them it was no boote : 
Upon trees and bushes that by her stood, 
She ranged as she was wood,3i 

And rave them up by roote. 

He sayd, " Alas, that I was Frear! 
And I shall be rugged^'- m sunder here, 

Hard is my destiiiie ! 
Wist20 my brethren in this houre. 
That I was sett in such a stoure,^ 

They would pray for me." 

This wicked beast that wrought this woe, 
Tooke that rape from the other two, 

And then they fledd all three ; 
They fledd away by Watling-street, 
They had no succour but their feet, 

It was the more pity. 

The feild it was both lost and wonne ;38 
The sew went hame, and that full soone, 

To Morton on the Greene ; 
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,^ 
He wist^o that there had been debate, 

Whereat the sew had beene. 

He bade them stand out of her way, 
For she had had a sudden fray, — 

" I saw never so keene ; 
Some new things shall we heare 
Of her and Middleton the Fretu, 

Some battell hath there beene." 

But all that served him for nought. 
Had they not better succour sought, 

They were served therefore loe. 
Then Mistress Rokeby came anon, 
And for her brought shee meate full sooce 

The sew came her unto. 



" She was brim as any boar, 
And gave a grisly hideous roar, 
To them it was no t>oot.*' 

Besidea the want of connection between the laat line and the two tontw^ 
th'.! second has a very modem sound, and the reading of ths Rokeby liffiw 

with the slight alteration in the text, is much bettor. 

34 Mad.— » Tom, pulled.— 28 Knew.— 27 Combat, ptiiilous flghl.-' 
as This stanza, with the two following, and the fragment of a fourth, wl |l| 
not in Mr. Whitaker's edition, — 30 The rope about the sow's Deck.-" 
90 Knew. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



31% 



i 

She gave her meate upon tlie flower, 


Bands bound with seales hrade.i* 


• • • • * 1 ' 


As deedes of armes should be. 


' \_Hiatus valde dejlendus.'} 






These men of armes that weere so wigh 


When FryarMiildleton came home, 


With armour and with brandes bright, 


His brethren w;is full fain ilkone,^ 


They went this sew to see ; 


And titaiiked God of his life ; 


She made on them sHke a rerd,'!^ 


He told them all unto the end, 


Tliat for her they were sare afer'd, 


How he had fon^hten with a fiend, 


And almost bound to flee. 


And lived through mickle strife. 






She came roveing them againe ; 


" We gave her battell half a day, 


That saw the bastard son of Spaine, 


And sitliin^ was fain to fly away, 


He braded^Q out his brand ; 


For saving of our life ; ' 


Full spiteously at her he strake, 


And Pater Dale would never blinn,^ 


For all the fence ttiat he could make. 


Bnt as fast as he could ryn.fl 


She gat sword out of hand ; 


Till he came lo his wife." 


And rave in sunder half his shielde, 


• 


And bare him backward in the feilde. 


The warden said, " I am full of woe, 


He might not her gainstand. 


That ever ye should be torment so, 




But wee with yon had beene ! 


She would have riven his privich geare 


Had wee been there your brethren all, 


But Gilbert with his sword of werre, 


Wee should have garred the warle' fall, 


He strake at her full strong, 


That wrought you all this teyne."8 


On her shoulder till she lield the sweM ; 




Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd, 


Fryar Midctleton said soon, " Nay, 


When the blade brake in throng." 


In faith you would have fled away, 




When most mister^ had beene ; 


Since in his hands he hath her tane. 


You will all speake words at hame, 


She tooke him by the shoulder bane,** 


A man would diiigW you every ilk ane, 


And held her hold full fast ; 


And if it be as I weine." 


She strave so stithy in tliat slower,!' 


^ 


That through all his rich armour 


He look't so griesly all that night. 


The blood came at the last. 


The warden said, " Yon man will fight 




If you say ought but good ; 


Then Gilbert grieved was sae sare, 


Yon guesti> hath grieved him so sare, 


That he rave off both hide and haire, 


Hold your tongues and speake noe mare 


The flesh came fro the bone ; 


He looks as he were woode." 


And with all force he felled her there, 




And wann her wortliily in werre, 


The warden waged la on the morne, 


And band her him atone. 


Two boldest men that ever were home, 




f weine, or ever shall be ; 


And Uft her on a horse sae hee, ■ 


I he one was Gibbert Griflin's son, 


Into two paniers well-made of a tre, 


Fall mickle worship has he wonne, 


And to Richmond tiiey did hay :* 


Both by land and sea. 


When they saw her come. 




They sang merrily Te Deutu, 


The other was a bastard son of Spain, 


The Fryers on that day.^i 


Many a Sarazin hath he slain, 




His dint'^ hath gart them die. 


They thanked God and St. Franclg, 


These two men the battle undertooke, 


As they had won the best of pris,™ 


Against the sew, as says the booke. 


And never a man was slaioe : 


And sealed security. 


There did never a man more maolji 




Knight Marcus, nor yett Sir Gui, 


That they should boldly bide and fight 


Nor Loth of Louthyane.23 


And skomfit her in maine and might. 




Or therefore "should they die. 


If ye will any more of this. 


The warden sealed to them againe, 


In the Fryers of Richmond 'tis 


And said, " In feild if ye be slain, 


In parchment good and fine ; 


This condition make I : 


And how Fryar Middleton that was so kend.a* 




At Greta Bridge conjured a feind 


" We shall for you pray, sing, and read 


In likeness of a swine. 


fill doomesday with hearty speede 




Witli all our progeny." 


It is well known to many a man. 


Then the letters well was made, 


That Fryar Theobald was wardcL u.«n. 


. ■"l»» ^e 1b almoet Ulepble.— 2 Each one.— 3 Since then, after that. 


&C.-13 Hired, a Yorkshire phraae.-I3 BIow.-H Bft-«il,laix».-« Sum 


'-* T-e •ooT* linos are wnnting in Mr. Whiuker'a copj .—5 Ceaie, stop. 


like a roar.— li» Drewout.— 17 la the combat.— 18 Bote.— 19 Meeting, lirt. 


'~t Ri*n.— 1 Warlock, or wiiard.— S Harm.— 9 Need.— 10 BeaU The topy 


tie.— 20 Hie, hasten.- 21 The MS. read8,mifltakenly, et-tryday.— 33Prieft 


N Mr. WhitJiker's Hiatory of Cravtn reads, perhapa better,— 


—33 The father of Sir Gawain, in the romance of .Arthur wul Herlik 


" The fiend would ding you down ilk one." 


The MS. is thua corrupted— 


" Yon guest," may be yon ftit, i, e., that adventure ; or it may mean 


More loth of Louth Rrmv. 


fon {tVml, or apparition, which in old poeraa is applied el metimea to what 




■iper^atDrally hideout. The printed copy reads,—" The bea*! buth," 


84 Well known, or perhaps tmd, well d«i>oaed. 



S74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And this fell in his time ; 
\jxA Christ them bless bolh farre and neare^ 
All that for solace list this to lieare, 

And him tbat made the rhime. 

Ralph Rokeby with fall good will, 
The Fryers of Richmond he gave her till, 

This sew to mend their fare ; 
Fryar Middleton by Iiis name, 
Would needs bring the fat sew hame, 

That rued him since full sate. 



Note 3 C. 



Tki FiUa of 0'J\reale was Ae.— P. 334. 

Tho Filea, or OUamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, a^ 
the name literally implies, poet. Each chieftain of distinction 
had one or more in liis service, whose office was usually hered- 
itary. The late ingenious Mr. Cooper Walker has assembled 
a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men, 
in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. Ther^were itin- 
erant bards of less elevated rank, butall were held id the high- 
est veneration. The English, who considered them as chief 
rupporters of the spirit of national independence, were niucli 
disposed to proscribe this race of poets, as Edward I. is said to 
aave done in Wales. Spenser, while he admits the merit of 
their wild poetry, as "savoring of sweet wit and good inven- 
tion, and sprinkled with some pretty (lowers of tlieii natural 
device," yet rigorously condemns the whole application of their 
poetry, as abased to "the gracing of wickedness and vice." 
The household minstrel was admitted even to the feast of the 
pnnce whom he served, and sat at the same table. It was 
one of the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry, to whose 
charge Richard II. committed the instruction of four Irish 
mouarchs in the civilization of the period, found ii most diffi- 
cult to break bis royal disciples, though he had also much ado 
to subject them to othrr English rules, and particularly to rec- 
oncile them to wear breeches. ." The kyng, mv sonerevigne 
lord's entent was, that in nianer, countenaunce, and apparel of 
clothyng, they sbolde use according to the maner of Englande, 
for the kynge thought to make them all four knyghtes ; they 
had a fayre house to lodge in, in Duvelyn, and I was charged 
to abyde styll with tliem, and not to departe ; and bo two or 
three dayes I suffered them to do as they list, and sayde noth- 
yng to them, but folowed their owne appetytes: they wolde 
flitte at the table, and make countenances nother good nor 
fayre. Than I thought I shulde cause them to chaunge that 
maner; thay wolde cause their mynstrells, their seruantes, and 
varlettes, to sytte with them, and to eate in their owne dyssche, 
and to drinke of their cuppes ; and they shewed me that the 
usage of their cuntre was good, for they sayd in all tliyngs 
(except their beddes) they were and lyved as comen. So the 
fourthe day I ordayned other tables to be couered in the hall, 
after the usage of Englande, and I made these four knyghtes 
toeytte at the hyglie table, and there mynstrels at another horde, 
and their seruauntes and varlettes at another byneth them, 
wherof by semynge they were displeased, and beheld each 
otYier, -ind wolde nut eate, and sayde, how I wolde take fro 
them their good usage, wherein they had been norished. Then 
I answered them, smylyng, to ajieace them, that it was not 
honourable for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that 
they must leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that 
it was the kynge's pleasure they shulde so do, and how he was 
charged so t^ order them. When they harde that, they suffer- 
ed it, bycause they had putte themselfe under the obesyance 
of the Kynge of England, and parceuered in the same as long 
as I was with iheiu ; yet they had one use which I knew was 
well used in their cuntre. and that was, they dyde were no 
tweches ; I caused breches of lyncn clothe to be made for them. 
Whyle I was u ith tliem I aiused them to leaue many rude 



thyngea, as well in clothyng as in other causes. Moche ado 
had at the fyrst to cause them to weare gownes of sylke, fai» 
red with myneuere and gray ; for before these kynges thonghl 
tlieraselfe well apparelled whan they had on a mantell. They 
rode alwayes vHthont saddles and styropes, and with great 
payne I made them to ride afterour usage." — Lord Berners* 
Proissart. Lond. 1812, 4to, vol. ii. p. 621. 

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and theu 
admitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest concern, 
may be also proved from the behavior of one of them at an ill' 
terview between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of Kil- 
dare, then about to renounce the English allegiance, aid tit 
Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and goodly orat'jon 
to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord had coma 
to the council " armed and weaponed," and attended by seven 
score horsemen in their shirts of mail ; and we are assured thai 
the chancellor, having set forth his oration " with such a la- 
mentable action as his cheekes were all beVlubbered with teares. 
the Iiorsemen, namelie, such as understood not English, began 
to diuine what the lord-cliancellor meant with all this long cir- 
cumstance ; some of them reporting that he was preaching a 
sermon, others said that he stood making of some heroicEdl 
poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every 
idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor his discourse, 
who in effect had nought else but drop pretious stones befor* 
hogs, one Bard de Nelan, an Irish ritlimour, and a rotten sheepe 
to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though 
his toong had run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord 
Thomas, investing him with the title of i^ilken Thomas, bicans 
his horsemens jacks were gorgeously imbroidered with silke : 
and in the end he told hira -that he lingered there oner long , 
whereat the Lord Thomas being quickened, "i as Holinshed 
expresses it, bid defiance to the chancellor, threw down con 
temptuously the sword of otfice, which, in his father's absence 
he held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open insur 
rcction. 



Note 3 D. 

jSh, Clandcboy! thy friendly fioor 
Slieve-Donar(Vs oak shall light no more. — P. 335. 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the 
sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Donard, a romantic mountain 
in the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone'l 
great rebellion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The 
ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not 
yield even to their descendants in practising the most free and 
extended hospitality ; and doubtless the bards mourned the 
decay of the mansion of their chiefs in strains similar to the 
verses of llie British Llywarch Hen on a simitar occasion, 
which are aHecting, even through the discouraging medium o 
a literal translation— 

" Silent-breathing gale, long wilt thou be heard I 
There is scarcely another deserving praise 
Since Urien is no more. 

Many a dog that scented well the prey, and aerial hawk, 
Have been train'd on this floor 
Before Erlleon became polluted . . . 

This hearth, ah, will it not be covered with nettles! 

Whilst its defender lived, 

More congenial to it was the foot of the needy petitioDM 

This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod ! 

In the lifetime of Owain and Elphin, i 

Its ample caldron boiled tiie prey taken from the foa. 

1 Hollinflhed. Lond. IS08,4to. toLvLd. 2«' 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



370 



This hearth, will i; not ^e "overetl xvith toad-stools! 
Aroand tlte vianij it prepareii, more cheering was 
The clattering swoni of the derce dauntless warrior. 

This dearth, will it not be overgrown with spreading 

brambles ! 
Till now. logs of bnming wood lay on it, 
AccuBioin'd to prepare the gilts of Reged ! 

This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns I 

More congenial on it would have been the mixed group 

Of Owain's social friends united in harmony. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with ants I 

More ala])ted to it would have been the bright torches 

And haroiless festivities ! 

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves I 

More congenial on its floor would have been 

The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd warriors. 

This hearth, \*ill it not be turned op by the swine I 
More congenial to it would have been the clamor of men, 
And the circling horns of the banquet." 

Heroic Elegies of Llywarc Hen, by Owbn. 
Lond. 1792, 8vo. p. 41. 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without tire, without bed — 
I must weep a while, and then be silent I 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 

Without fire, without candle — 

Except God doth, who will endue me with patience I 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without being lighted — 
Be thou encircled with spreading silence I 

The hall of Cynddylan, glooiuy seems its roof 
Since the sweet smile of humanity is no more — - 
Woe to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good I 

The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appear- 
ance? 
Thy shield is in the grave ; 
Whilst he lived there was no broken roof I 

Tb i hall of Cynddylan la without love this night, 

Since he that own'd it is no more — ■ 

Ah, death : it will be but a short time he will leave me ! 

The hall of Cynddylan is not easy this night, 
On the top of the rock of Hydwyth, 

Without its lord, withoaV company, without the circling 
feasts ! 

The hall of <<ynridylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without songs — 
Teara afflict the checks } 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without family— 
My overflowing tears gosh out I 

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it, 
Without a covering, without lire — 
My general dead, and I alive myself! 

The hall of Cynddylan is the seat of chfll grief this night, 

After the respect I experienced ; 

^iihoor, thi men without the women, who reside there! 



The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night, 

After losing its master — 

The great merciful God, what shall I do t" 



rbia. p. TJ 



Note 3 E. 



M*Curtin's harp.— "P. 33o. 

"MacCurtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Mumiter, BBfc 
Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of Mod- 
fiter. Tliis nobleman was amongst those who were pre\'ailed 
upon to join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was known thnl 
he had basely abandoned the interests of his country, JVIac- 
Curtin presented an adulatory poem to MacCarthy, chief of 
South Munsier, and of the Eugenian line, who, with O'Neil, 
O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply engaged in protect 
ing their violated country. In this poem lie dwelt with rap- 
ture on the courage and patriotism of MacCarthy ; but the 
verse that should (according to an established law of the order 
of the bards) be introduced in the praise of O'Brien, he turns 
into severe satire : — ' How am I afflicted (says he) that the 
descendant of the great Brion Boiromh cannot furnish me 
with a theme wortliy the Imnor and glory of his exalted race !' 
Lord Thomond, hearing this, vowed vengeance on the spirited 
bard, who fled for refuge to the county of Cork. One day, 
observing tlie exasperated nobleman and liis etjuipage at a small 
distance, he thought it was iu vain to fly, and pretenJed to bt 
suddenly seized witli the pangs of death ; directing his wife \m 
lament over him, and te^l his lordship, that tlie sight of him, 
by awakening the sense of his ingratitude, had so much affected 
him that he could not support it ; and desired her at the same 
time to tell his lordship, that he entreated, as :/ dying request, 
his ftMTgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the feigned 
tale was related to him. That nobleman was moved to com- 
passion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave 
him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with 
some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship's pity 
and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard ; who, sud 
denly spriijging up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise ol 
Donongli, and, re-entering into his service, became once mora 
hb favorite." — Walker's Memoirs of the Irish Bards. 
Lond. 1786, 4to. p. 141. 



Note 3 F. 



The ancient English minstreVs <lre$s. — P. 336. 

Among the entertainments presented i > Elizabeth at Kenil 
worth Castle, was the introduction of n person designed to 
represent a travelling minstrel, who eriTerlained her ivith a 
solemn story out of the Acts of King Ar; lur. Of this person'? 
dress and appearance Mr. Laneham ha ^iven us a very accu- 
rate account, transferred by Bishop Per y to the preliminary 
Dissertation on Minstrels, prefixed to h'h Relirjues of Jincient 
Poetry, vol. i. 



Note 3 G. 
LitUeecU UalL^V. 34f>. 

The tradition from which the ballad is founded was supplied 
by a friend (the late Lord Webb Seymour), whose account I 
will not do the injustice to abridge, an it contains an admirable 
picture of an old English hall : — 

" Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situation. 
On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads ovei 
the adjoining hill ; on the fourth, by meadows which are wa- 
tered br the river b'annet. Close on one side of the liuDse is a 



876 



j^COTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



thick grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which mns one 
of the principal avenues to it tliroagh the park. It is an 
breeular bu'lding of great antiquity, and was probablr erected 
about the time of the termination of , feudal warfare, when 
defenct came no longer to be an object in a country mansion. 
Many circumstances, however, in tiie interior of the liouse, 
•ecm appropriate to feudal times. The hall is very spacious, 
9oore<l with stones, and lighted by large transom windows, 
Jiat are clothed with casements. Its walls are hung with old 
military accoutrements, that have long been left a prey to rust. 
A*, one end of the hall is a range of coats of mail and helmets, 
tmrt there is on every side abundance of old-fashioned pistols 
andgans, many of them with match-locks. Immediately be- 
low the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the 
form-of a shirt, supposed to have been worn as armor by the 
vassals. A large oak table, reacliing nearly from one end of 
the room to the other, might have feasted the whole neighbor- 
hood, and an appendage to one end of it made it answer at 
Other times for the old game of sholHeboard. The rest of tlie 
furniture is in a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of 
cumbrous workmanship, constrncted of wood, curiously turned, 
with a high back and triangular seat, said to liave been used 
by Juilge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The entrance 
into tlie hall is at one end, by a low door, commnnicating with 
1 passage that leads from the outy door in the front of the 
house to a quadrangle^ within ; at the other, it opens upon a 
gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first floor, and. 
passing the doors of some bedchambers, enter a narrow gallery, 
which extends along the back front of the house from one end 
to tlie other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This gallery- 
"s hung with portraits, chiefly in the Spanish dre^es of the 
sixteenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you 
pass iu going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue fur- 
niture, which time t^i now made dingy and tEreadbare, and 
in the bottom of one ot the bed-curlains you are shown a place 
where a small piece has-been cut out and sewn in again, — a 
circumstance which serves to identify the scene of the follow- 
ing story ; — 

" It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, 
that an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fire-side, when 
on a sadden she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. 
On opening it she found a horseman, who told her that Iier 
assistance was required immediately by a person of rank, and 
that she should be handsomely rewarded ; but that there were 
reasons for keeping the afl^air a strict secret, and, therefore, she 
must submit to be blindfolded, and to be conducted in that 
condition to the bedchamber of the lady. With some hesita- 
tion the midwife cor.sented ; the horseman bound her eyes, 
and [ilaced heron a j ;llion behind him. After proceeding in 
silence for many mi s through rough and dirty lanes, they 
Btopped. and the mi '.vife was led into a house, which, from 
the length of her wai . through the apartments, as well as the 
lounds about her, she discovered to be the seat of wealth and 
power. When the bandage was removed from iier eyes, she 
found herself in a bedchamber, in which were the lady on 
whose account she had been sent for, and a man of a haughty 
and ferocious aspect. The lady wns delivered of a fine boy. 
Immediately the man commanded the midwife to give him the 
child, and, catching it from her, he hurried across the room, 
and threw it on the back of the fire, that was blazing in tlie 
nhimney. The child, nowever, was strong, and, by its strug- 
j gles. rolled itself upon the hearth, ivhen the ruffian again seized 
I it with fury, and, in spite of the intercession of the midwife, 
and the more piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust it under 
the grate, and, raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end 
to its life. The midwife, after spending some time in afl^ording 
all the relief in her power to tlie wretched mother, was told 
that she must be gone. Her former conductor appeared, who 
again bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him to her 
awn home : he then paid her handsomely, and departed. The 

1 I thiDk there ia a chapel on one eic's of it, but am not quite sure. 



midwife was strongly agitated by the honors of the precediii| 
night ; and she immediately made a deposition of the fauti 
before a magistrate. Two circumstances afforded hopes (A 
detecting the house in which the crime had been committed, 
one was, that the midwife, as she sat b^ the bedside, had, with 
a view to discover the place, cut out a piece of the bed-curtain, 
and sewn it in again ; the other was, that as she had descended 
the staircase she had counted the steps. Some suspicions fell 
upon one Darrell, at that time the proprietor of Littlecote 
House, and the domain around it. The house was examined, 
and identified by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at SaJis* 
bury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped the 
sentence of the law ; but broke his neck by a fall from his 
horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place where this 
happened is still known by the name of Darrell's gtyle,— a 
spot to be dreaded by the peasant whom the shades of evening 
have overtaken on his way. 

*' Littlecote House is two mile? from Hungerford, in Berk 
shire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred 
in the reign of Elizabeth. All tlie important circumstances I 
have given exactly as they are told in the country ; some trifle.'* 
only are added, either to render the whole connected, or lo 
increase the impression.'* 

To Lord Webb's edition of this singular story, the aothol 
can now add the following account, extracted from Aubrey'i 
Correspondence. It occurs among other particulars respecting 
Sir John Popham : — 

" ?ir * * * Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Com. Wilts, hav 
ing gott his lady's waiting-woman with child, when her travel! 
came, sent a servant with a horse for a midwife, whom he 
was to bring hood-winked. She was brought, and layd the 
woman, but as soon as the child was born, she sawe the knight 
take the child and murther it, and bum it in the fire in the 
chamber. She having done her bnsinesse, was extraordinarily 
rewarded for her paines, and sent blindfolded away. Tim 
horrid action did much run in her mind, and she had a desire 
to discover it, but knew not where 'twas. She considered 
with herself the time that she was riding, and how many miles 
she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that it 
must be some great person's house, for the roome was 12 foot 
high ; and she should know the chamber if she sawe it. She 
went to a Justice of Peace, and search was made. The very 
chamber found. The Knight was brought to his Iryall ; and, 
to be short, this judge had this noble house, parke and manner, 
and (I thinke) more, for a bribe to save liis life. 

" Sir John Popham gave aentence according to lawe, bnt 
being a great person and a favourite, he procured a noli 
prosequi.*' 

With this tale of terror the author has combined some cii^ 
cnmstance?" of a similar legend, which was current at Edin- 
burgh during his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, -wnea tha 
large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded 
hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which tliey possessed 
in Edinburgh, were sometimes the scenes of strange and ray»- 
terious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was called up 
at midni^ght to pray with a person at the point of death. Thii 
was no unusual summons ; but what followed was alarming. 
He was put into a sedan-cliair, and after he had been tran» 
ported to a remote part of the town, the bearers insisted upon 
his being blindfolded. The request, was enforced by a cocked 
pistol, and submitted to; but in the course of the discussion, 
he conjectured, from the phra,ses employed by the chairmen, 
and from some part of their dress, not completely concealed b» 
their cloaks, that they were greatly above the menial station 
they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the chat 
was carried up stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were an* 
covered, and he was introduced into a bedroom, where b» 
found a lady, newly delivered of an infant. He was com- 
manded by his attendants to say such prayers by her bedside 
as were fitting for a person not expected to survive a moiia^ 
disorder. He ventured to remonstrate, and observe thai hw 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



37; 



nfe delivery waminted better hopes. But he was sternly 
eoinnianded to obey the onlere fim given, and with difficulty 
recollected himself sufficiently to acquit liiniselt' of the task 
imposed on biin. He was then again hurried into the chair; 
but as Uiey conducted him down stairs, he heard the report of 
ft pistol. He was safely conducted home ; a purse of gold was 
forced upon him ; but he was warned, at the same time, that 
the least aliusiou to this dark transaction woaUi cost him his 
Bfe. He betook himself to rest, .uid, after long and broken 
iDPsing, fell into a deep sleep. Fdm this he was awakened 
^^ -is servant, with 'he dismal newd that a lire gf uncommon 
f^f had hroke.i out m the house of * * * *, near the head 
of the Canongate. and that it was totally consumed ; with the 
ihocking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young 
lady euiinent for beauty and accomplishments, had perished in 
the flames. The clergyman had his suspicions, but to have 
aniLJe them public would have availed nothing. He was timid ; 
the family was of the first distinction ; above all, the deed was 
done, and could not be amended. Time wore away, however, 
aod with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the soli- 
tary depositary of tliis fearful mystery, and mentioned it to 
wrae of his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired a 
jort of publicity. The divine, however, had been long dead, 
and the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire broke out 
again on the very same spot where the house of * * * * had 
formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of 
an inferior description. When the flames were at their height, 
the tumult, whj^h usually attends such a scene, was suddenly 
SJSpendeil by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, 
in a iiight-dre^s. cxireniely rich, but at least half a century old, 
appeared in the very midst of the tire, and uttered these tre- 
mendous words in her vernacular idiom : " ..5nps burned, twice 
Wned ; the third time I'll scare you all !" The belief in this 
itory was formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and 
leeming to approach Ibe fatal spot, there was a good deal of 
anxiely testified, lest the apparition should make good her de- 
ooneiation. 



Not-e 3 H. 



Jis thick a smoke these hearths have gxven 
,6t Hallow-tidc or Christmas-even. — P. 341. 

8och an exhortation was, in similar circumstances, actually 
fiven to his followers by a Welsh chieftain : — 

"Enmity did continue betweene Howell ap Rys ap Howell 
Vaoghan and the sonnes of John aji Meredith. After the 
death of Evan ap Rebert, Griffith ap Gronw (cosen-german to 
John ap Meredith's sonnes of Gwynfryn. who had long served 
m France, and had charge there) comeing home to live in the 
»unirey, it hapjjened that a servant of Iiis. comeing to fish in 
Stymllyn, his fish was taken away, and the fellow be^^en by 
IJowell ap Rys and his servants, and by liis commandment. 
iriffith ap John ap Gronw took the matter in soch dudgeon 
^liat he challenged Howell ap Rys to the field, which he re- 
using, assembling his co^ns John ap .Ateredith's sonnes and 
m frieptU together, assaulted Howell in his own house, after 
■ne ifc.v^-he had seene in the French warres, and consumed 
riih tire his barnes and iiis out-houses. Whilst he was thus 
.'^■julling the hall, which Howell ap Rys and many other 
eople kept, being a very strong house, he was shot, out of a 
fevice of the house, through the sight of his beaver into the 
Bad, arJ t'lyne outright, being otherwise armed at all points, 
utwilhs-^iing his death, the assault of the house was con- 
(.isd with great vehemence, the doores fired with great bur- 
den! cf straw ; besides this, the smoake of the out-houses and 
imes not farre distant annoyed greatly the defendants, for that 
ost of Ihem lay under boordes and benches upon the floore, in 
^e hall, the better to avoyd the smoake. During this scene 
i canfosion onely the old man. Howell ap Rys, never stooped, 
'■ "00'* valiantly in the midst of the floore, armed with a 



gleve in his hand, and called unto them, aud hid ' them arin 
like men, for shame, for he had knoxyne there as great a smoake 
in that liall upon Christmas-even.' In the end, seeing the hoQM 
could noe longer defend ^em. being overlayed wilh a multi- 
tude, upon i)arley betweene them, Howell ap Rys was con 
tent to yeald himself prisoner to IMorris ap Jolin ap Meredith, 
Jolm ap Meredith's eldest sonne, sc» as he would swear unto 
him to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the trial 
of the law for the death of Graft' ' ap John ap Gronw. whf 
was cosen-german removed to the said Howell ap Rys, and of 
the very same house he was of. Which Morns ap John ap 
Meredith undertaking, did put a guard about the said Howell 
of bis trustiest friends and servants, wiio kept and defended 
him from the rage of his kindred, and especially of Owen ap 
John ap Meredith, his brother, who was very eager againsi 
him. They passed by leisure thence like a campe to Carnar 
von : the wliole coantrie being assembled. Howell his friends 
posted a horseback from one place or other by the way, who 
brought word that he was come thither safe, for they wer*; in 
great fear lest he siiould be murthered, and that Morris ap .^ohu 
ap Meredith could not be able to defend him, neither nnrst 
any of Howell's friends be there, for fear of tlie kindred. ' Ir, 
the end, being delivered by Jlorris ap John ap Meredith to tht 
Constable of Carnarvon Castle, and there kept safely in warti 
until! the assises, it fell out by law, that the burning of How 
ell's hoDses, and assaulting him in his owne house, was a more 
haynous offence in Morris ap John ap Meredith and the rest, 
than the death of Graff"' ap John ap Gronw in Howell, who 
did it in his own defence ; whereupon Morris ap John ap Mer^ 
dith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of felony, as appeal^ 
eth by the copie of the indictment, which I had from the rec- 
ords."— Sir John Wynne's History of the O-wydir Favtity 
Lond. 1770, 8vo. p. 116. * 



Note 8 L 



O^cr Hexham's altar hung my gluve.—P. 34fl 
This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers ii 
mentioned in the interesting Life of Barnard Gilpin, where 
some account is given of these wild districts, which it waf the 
custom of that excellent man regularly to visit. 

" This coslom (of duels) still prevailed on :he Borden, 
where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild 
Northumbrians, indeed, went beyond the ferocity of their am 
cestors. They were not content with a duel : each contending 
party used to muster what adherents he could, and commence 
a kind of petty war. So that a private grudge would often 
occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this k!n<i was on foot when 
Mr. Gilpin was at Rothbury, in those parts During the two 
or three first days of his preaching, the contending parties oi^ 
served some decorum, and never apjieared at church together. 
At length, however, they met. One party had been eariy at 
church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon, the othei 
entered. They stood nqt long silent. Inflamed at the sight of 
each other, they began to clash their weapons, for they wer« 
all armed with javelins and swonls, and mutually approached. 
Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult it 
some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin proceeded: when again the 
combatants began to brandish their weapons and draw to- 
wards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gdpin stepped 
fronf the pulpit, went between them, and addressed the leaders 
put an end to the quarrel for the present, but could not effect 
an entire reconciliation. They promised him, however, that 
till the sermon was over they woold make no more distnrbance. 
He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of ine 
rime in endeavoring to make them ashamed of what they had 
done. His behavior and discourse affected them so much, 
that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acti 
of hostility while he continued in the conntr.v And so mt ch 



378 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



respected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of hia 
enemy ueed to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his prea 
ence the best proieciion. • 

"One Sunday morning, coming ^o a church in those parts, 
before the people were assembled, ne observed a glove hang- 
iig up, and was informed by the sexton, that it was meant as- 
a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin 
ordered the sexton to reach it to him ; but upon his utterly 
refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it into 
bis breast. When the people were assembled, he went into 
the pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon, took occasion 
to rebuke them severely for these il^ioman challenges. ' I 
tear,' ssitli he, ' that one among you hath hanged up a glove, 
even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who 
taketh it down : see, I have taken it down ;' and. oalling out 
the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed 
them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the pro- 
fession of Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love 
as he thought would most affect them."-^Z,?/e of Barnard 
Qilpin. Lond X753, 8vo. p. 177. 



Note 3 K 



A Horseman arm'd, at headlong- speed, — P. 353. 

This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement of 
Major Robert Philipson, called, from his desperate and adven- 
turous courage, Robin the Devil ; which, as being very inac- 
curately noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be 
now given in a more authentic form. The chief place of his 
retreat was not Lord's Island, in Derwentwater, but Curwen'e 
Island, in the Lake of Windermere : — 

"This island formerly belonged to the Philipsons, a family 
of note in Westmoreland. During the Civil Wars, two of them, 
an elder and a younger brother, eerved the King. The former, 
who was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment ; the lat- 
ter was a major. 

•' The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great 
loirit and enterprise; and for his many feats of personal bra- 
very had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the 
appellation of Robin tlie Devil. 

' After the war had subsided, and the direful efl^ects of pub- 
ic ojipxiuon had ceased, reveng> and malice loo^ kept alive 



the animosity of individuals. Colonel Brigjra a etealy fhend 
to usurpation, resided at this time at Kendi.. t^a, aniler \h» 
double character of a leading magistrate (for he was a JuBticfr- 
of-i'eace) and an active commander, held the country in awe. 
This person having heard that IMajor Thilipson was at bu 
brother's house on the island in Windermere, resolved, if poi^ 
sible, to seize and punish a man who had made himself bo 
particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, my author* 
ityi does not inform us — whether he got together the naviga- 
tion of the lake, and blockaded the place by sea, or whether 
he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do 
we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works 
without. All we learn is, that Major Philipson endured a 
siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his brother, the 
Co'onel, raised a party and relieved him. 

" It was now*tlie Major's turn to make reprisals He pal 
himself, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, and 
rode to Kendal. Here, being informed that Colonel Brigp 
was at prayers (for it was on a Sunday morning), he sta 
tioned his men properly in the avenues, and himself armed, 
rode directly into the uhurch. It probably was not a regulai 
church, but some large place of meeting. It is said he in* 
tended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; but as thii 
seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather probabU 
that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the midsi 
of the confusion to escape. Whatever his intention was, i) 
was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be eJsewIiere. 

*' The congregation, as miglit be expected, was thrown iatfl ! 
great confusion on seeing an armed man on norseback make < 
his appearance among them ; and the Major, taking advantage 
of their astonishment, turned liis horse round, and rode quietly ' 
out. But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted 
as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, 
and he was unhorsed. 

" At this instant his party made a forious attack on the as- 
sailants, and the Major killed with his own hand the man who 
had seized him, clapped* the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon > 
his horse, and, vaulting into it, rode full speed firough the 
streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow liim ; and, with 
his whole party, made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. 
The action marked the man. Many knew him : antl they wlw 
did not, knew as well from the exploit that it cou^d be nobodj 
but Robin the Devil." 

1 Dr. Burn'o Hiatory of WeitmoiitcDd, 



i 



®l)e Sri^al of ^ricrmain; 



OR, 



^l]t \)aU of St. loljn. 



A LOVER'S TALE, 



PBEFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.' 

I> the EniNBUUGH Annual Register for the year 
1809, Three Fragments were inserted, written in 
imitation of Living Poets. It must hare been ap- 
parent, that, by these prokisions, nothing burlesque, 
or d'wespectful to the authors was intended, but 
that they were offered to the pubHc as serious, 
though certainly very imperfect, imitations of that 
style of composition, by wliich each of the writers 
\b supposed to be distinguished. As these exer- 
cises attracted a greater degree of attention than 
the author anticipated, he has been induced to 
complete one of them, and present it as a separate 
publication.' 
It is not in this place that an examination of the 

\ works of the master whom he has here adopted as 
his model, can, with propriety, be introduced ; since 

' his general acquiescence in the favorable suffrage 
of the public must necessarily be inferred from the 
attempt he has now made. He is induced, by the 
nature of his sul^ect, to offer a few remarks on 
what has been called rojuntic poetry ; — the pop- 



success, of one individual. 

The original purppse of poetry is either religious 
or historical, or, as must frequently happen, a mix- 
ture of both. To modem readers, the poems of 
Homer have many of the features of pure romance ; 
|but in the estimation of his contemporaries, they 
iDrobably derived their chief value from their sup- 
I josed historical authenticity. The same may be 

generally said of the poetr}' of all early ages. The 
1 narvels and miracles which the poet blends with 
' lis song, do not exceed in number or extrav:igance 

he figments of the historians of the same period 

' Published ir March. 1813, by John Ballantyne and Co. 
2mo. 79. Gd. 

3 Sir Walter Scott, in hU Introdnction to the Lord of the 
les. aayB, — *' Being mnch urged by my intimate friend, now 
ihappily no more. WiUiam Erakine. I agreed to write the 
tie rcrnanj-, tale called the 'Bridal of Triermain ;' but it 
as on the condition, that he should make no serious effort to 
fOWB tlM 90m[»Hit]or i^^^ort ^lonld lay it at hiq door 



of society ; and, indeed, the difference betwixt 
poetry and prose, as the vehicles of liistorical truth, 
is always of late introduction. Poets, under vari- 
ous denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chrbniclers, 
and so forth, are the first historians of all niitions. 
Theit intention is to relate the events they have 
witnessed, or the traditions that have reached 
them ; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, 
merely as the means of rendering it more solemn 
in the narrative, or more easily committed to mem- 
ory. But as the poetical historian improves in the 
art of conveying information, the authenticity oi 
his narrative un.avoidably declines. He is tempted 
to dilate and dwell upon the events that are in- 
teresting to his imagination, and, conscious how in- 
different liis audience is to the naked truth of his 
poem, his history gradually becomes a romance. 

It is in this situation that those epics are found, 
which have been generally regarded the standards 
of poetry ; and it has happened somewhat strange 
ly, that the modems have pointed out as the char 
acteristics and pecuh'ar excellencies of narrative 
poetry, the very circumstances which the authors 



ularity of which has been revived in the presea^ ».ttemselves adopted, only because their art involved 
(lay, tmder the auspices, and by the imparalleletl the duties of the historian as well as the poet. It 



cannot be believed, for example, that Homer se- 
lected the siege of Troy as the most appropriate 
subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write the 
early history of his cotmtry : the event he lian 
chosen, though not very fruitful in varied incident, 
nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was nevoi- 
theless combinsd with traditionary and genealo- 
gical anecdotes extremely interesting to those whc 
were to Usten to him ; and tliis he has adorned \)j 
the exertions of a genius, which, if it has been 
equalled, has certainly been never sm-passeu. It 
was not till comparatively a late period that the 

As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and w I 
took care, in several places, to mi.T someliiing which might re- 
semble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were 
sold. A third being called for. Lord Kinedder became unwill- 
ing to aid any longer a deception which was going fjrthet 
thci he expected or deP'red, and the real aathor*i i-ame wai 
^iven." 



880 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



general accuracy of his narrative, or his pxirpose in 
Qomposing it^ was brought into question. Ao»c« 

wpCJTOi lb Ava^aydpas] (.Kadd tprjiri •ifaSoplvai cv Trat'ToSatrTj 
'JtTTopla) Tt]v 'Ofii'ipif iTolrfatv aT^otp^vaaQai eivai 7r£pi Aperrjc 

Kai 6tKaioovvng^ But whatever theories might be 
framed by specuhitive men, liis work was of an 
historical, not of an allegoiical nature. Ej/durfAAsro 
piSra Tj MivT£u), kai Sttw ckootote a^iKotTo, jrdpTa rd crt- 
X^j'ii liepioTdro, Kai laTopEiitv invvBdvtTo' eIkos Si fiiv i^v Kat 
fivrj^^ffvia irdvTfiiv ypa'^ccrfiut.^ Instead of recummend- 
ing- the choice of a subject similar to that of Ho- 
mer, it was to be expected that critics should have 
exhorted the poets of these latter days to adopt 
or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible of 
poetical ornament, and to avail themselves of that 
advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, 

1 Diogenes Laertins, lib. ii. Anaiag. Segm. 11. 

2 Homeri Vita, in Herod. Hcnr. Steph. 1570, p. 356. 

3 A RECEIPT TO MAKE aSj EPIC POEM. 
FOR THE FABLE. 

Take oat of any olJ poem, history book, romance, or le- 
gend (for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth, or Don Belianis of 
Greece), those parts of story wliich afford most scope for long 
descriptions. Put these pieces together, and throw all the ad- 
ventures you fancy into one tale. Then lake a hero whom 
you may choose for the sound of his name, and put him into 
the midst of these adventures. There let him work fortwelve 
books ; at the end of which you may take him out ready pre- 
pared to conquer or marry, it being necessary that the conclu- 
sion of an epic poem be fortanate." 

To make an Episode. — "Take any remaining adventure of 
your former collection, in which you could no way involve 
your hero, or any unfortunate accident that was too good to be 
thrown away, and it will be of use, applied to any other per- 
son, wiio may be lost and evaporate in the course of the work, 
without the least damage to the composition." 

For the Moral and Allegory. — "These you may extract 
out of the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure yon strain 
them sufficiently." 

FOR THE MANNSRS. 
" For those of the hero, take all the best qualities yon can 
find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity ; if they will not 
be reduced to a consistency, lay them all on a heap upon him. 
Be sure they are qualities which your patron would be thought 
to have: and. to prevent any mistake which the world may 
be subject to, select from the alphabet those capital letters that 
:;ompose his name, and set them at the head of a dedication 
before your poem. However, do not absolutely observe the 
exac* -juantity of these virtues, it not being determined whether 
w ^o 'l be necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest 
SHC. r'o' the under characters, jrather them from Homer and 
V^j'i ani! anange tb" -lames as occasion serves." 

FOR THE MACHINES. 
Tate of deities, male and female, as many as you can use. 
Separate them into equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. 
Let Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify him. Re- 
member oil all '/ccasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If 
you have need of devils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, 
and extract your spirits from Tasso. The use of these ma- 
chines is evident, for since no epic poem can possibly subsist 
without them, the wisest way is to reserve them for your great- 
est necessities. When you cannot e.ttrieate your hero by any 
human means, or yourself by your own wits, seek relief from 
Heaven, and the gods will do your business very readily. This 



the inferiority of genius, The contrary course hai 
been inculcated by almost all the writers upon tht 
Epopceia ; with what success, the fate of Horaer'a 
numerous imitators may best show. The ultimum 
supplicium of criticism was inflicted on the author 
if he did not choose a subject which at once de- 
prived liim of all claiju to originaUty, and placed 
him, if not in actual contest, at least in ^nl.'\l com- 
parison, with those giants in the land, whom it was 
most his interest to avoid. The celebrated leceipt" 
for writing an epic poem, which appeared in Til 
Gu:a"(lian,^ was the first instance in wliich cpinmon 
sense was appUed to this department of poetry; 
and, indeed, if the question be considered on itS' 
own merits, we must be satisfied that narrative 
poetry, if strictly confined to the great occtn-rencet 

is according to the direct prescription of Horace in his Artoi 
Poetry : 

' Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodu3 
Incident.' — Verse 191. 

' Never presume to make a god appear 
But for a business worthy of a god.' — Roscommon. 

That is to say, a poet slioald never call upon the gods for tlieii 
assistance, but when he is in great perplexity." 

FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. 

For a Tempest. — " Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and Bore- 
as, and cast them together into one verse. Add to these, ot 
rain, lightning, and of thunder (the loudest you can), quanlum 
sitjjicit. Mix your clouds and billows well together until they 
foam, and thicken your description here and there with a 
quicksand. Brew your tempest well in your head before yoo 
set it a-blo\ving." 

For a Baltic— *'^ Tick a large quantity of images and de 
scriplions from Homer's Iliad, with a smee or two of Virgil; 
and if there remain any overplus, you may lay them by for s 
skirmish. Season it well with similes, and it will make au ex- 
cellent battle." 

For a BuTning Tow?i.'—*'^ If such a description be necessary, 
because it is certain there is one in Virgil, Old Troy is ready 
burnt to your hands. But if you fear that would be tliopght 
borrowed, a cliapter or two of the Theory of Conflagration. i 
well circumstanced, and done into verse, will be a good sac- 
cedaneum." 

As for simi/es and metaphors, "they may be found all 
over the creation. The most ignorant may gather them, but 
the danger is in applying Ihcra. For this, advise with yoflt 
bookselJer."_ 

FOR THE LANGUAGK. 

(I mean the diction.) " Here it will do well to be anilAlliH 
tor of Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate him in this ' 
than any thing else. Hehraisms and Grecisras are to bp fouini 
in him witliout the trouble of learning the languages. I knew 
a painter, who (like our poet) had no genius, make his daub 
ings to be thought originals, by setting them in the smoke 
You may, in the same manner, give the venerable air of an- 
tiquity to your piece, by darkening up and down like Old Eng* 
lish. With this you may be easily furnished upon any occa- 
sion, by the Dictionary commonly printed at the end of Chan- 
cer." 

1 From Lib. iii. Oe Confla?T«tiono Miindi, or Tt-llurij Theoria Saci* 
published in 4to. 168B. By Dr. Tlttu^^Jumet, mnaUr of tie Charter- 
House. ^^ 



1 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



38) 



of Iu"'i'irj. would be deprived of the individual in- 
terest fflii> 1 it is so well calculated to excite. 

Moutrn ('oets may therefore be pardoned in 
«eckii:g simpler subjects of verse, more interesting 
fti proportion to their simplicity. Two or thi'ee 
Ssures, well grouped, suit the iU'tist better than 
a crowd, for whatever purpose assembled. For 
the s;mie reason, a scene immediately presented 
to the imagination, and directly brought home to 
the feelings, though involving the fate of but one 
or two persons,^ more favorable for poetry than 
the political struggles and convulsions which in- 
fluence the fate of kingdoms. The former are 
witliin the reach and comprehension of all, and. 
if depicted with vigor, seldom fail to fix atten- 
tion : The other, if more sublime, are more vague 
and distant, less capable of being distinctly un- 
derstood, and iniiuitely less capable of exciting 
those sentiments which it is the very purpose of 
poetry to inspire. To generalize is always to 
destroy effect. We would, for example, be more 
interested in the fate of an individual soldier in 
combat, than m the grand event of a general 
action ; with the happiness of two lovers raised 
from raiser)' and anxiety to peace and miion, than 
with the successful exertions of a whole nation. 
From what causes this may originate, is a sep- 
, aiate and obviously an immaterial consideration. 
Before ascribing this peculiaritj' to caases de- 
'cidedly and odiously selfish, it is proper to recol- 
lect, that while men see only a limited space, and 
while their affections and conduct are regulated, 
not by aspiring to an universal good, but by 
■exerting their power of making themselves and 
others happy within the hmited scale allotted to 
jeach individual, so long will individual his1;ory 
and individual virtue be the readier and more 
ftscessible road to general interest and attention ; 

I " F must not conclude without cautioning ali writers without 

ijcnioa in one material point, which ia^ never to be afraid of 

laving too much lire in their works. I should advise rather 

;0 lake their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon 

taper; for they are observed to cool before they are read." — 

'on. Tin Ouardiaii. No. 78. 

* "In all this we cheerfully acquiesce, without abating any 

iing of our former hostility to the modern Romnunt style, 

'hich is founded on very dilTerent principles. NotJiing is, in 

flr opinion, so dangerous to the very existence of poetry as 

le extreme laxity of rule and consequent facility of compo- 

'tion, which are its principal characteristics. Our very ad- 

liflsion in favor of that license of plot and conduct which is 

aimed by the Romance writere, ought to render us so much 

e more guarded in extending the privilege to the minor 

ot composition and versiticatioii. The removal of all 

i'al bars and impediments sets wide open the gates of 

imxsEus ; and bo much the better. We dislike mystery 

kite as much in matters of taste, as of politics anil religion. 

:at let us not. in opening the door, pull down the wall, and 

,«1 the very foundation of the edifice." — Critical Jicvicuj, 

\3. 



and, perhaps, we may add, that it is the- more 
useful, as well as the more accessible, inasmuch 
as it affords an ex.imple capable of being easily 
imitated. 

According to the author's idea of Romantic 
Poetry, as distinguished from Epic, the former 
comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and 
combined at the pleasure of the writer ; begin- 
mug and ending as he may judge best : which 
neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatm'al 
machiftery ; which is free from the technical rules 
of the £pie ; and is subject only to those which 
good sense, good taste, and good morals, apply 
to every species of poetry without exception. 
The date may be in a remote age, or in the 
present ; the story may detail the adventures of 
a prince or of a peasant. In a word, the author 
is absolute master of his country and its inliabi 
tants, and every thing is permitted to him, except 
ing to be heavy or^rosaic, for wliich, free ana 
unembarrassed as he is, he has no manner of 
apology. Those, it is probable, will be fotmd the 
peculiarities of tliis species of composition ; and, 
before joining the outcry against the vitiated tiiste 
that fosters and encourages it, the justice and 
grounds of it ought to be made perfectly ap 
parent. If the want of sieges, and battles, and 
great military evolutions, in our poetry, is com- 
plained of, let us reflect, -that the camjiaigns and 
heroes of our days are perpetuated in a record 
that neither requires nor admits of the aid of fic- 
tion ; and if the complaint refers to the inferiority 
of our bards, let us pay a just tribute to their 
modesty, hmiting them, as it does, to subjects 
wliich, however indifferently treated, have still 
the mterest and charm of novelty, and which thus 
prevents them from adding insipidity to their 
other more hisuperable defects.' 

" In the same letter in which William Erskine acknewl- 
edges the receipt of the fir^t four pages of Rokeby, he aj" 
verts also to the Bridal of Trierraain as being already in rapid 
progress. The fragments of this second poem, inserted in the 
Register of the preceding year, had attracted considerable 
notice; the secret of their authorship had been well kept; 
and by some means, even in the shrewdest circles of Edin- 
burgh, the belief h-ad become prevalent that they proceeded 
not from Scott, but from Erskine. Scott had no sooner com- 
pleted his bargain as to the copyright of the unwritten Rokeby, 
than he resolved to pause from time to time in its compos:^ 
tion, and weave those fragments into a shorter and lightec 
romance, executed in a different metre, and to be published 
anonymously, in a small pocket volume, as nearl;' as possible 
on the same day with the avowed quarto. He expected 
great amusement from the comparisons which the critics 
would no doubt indulge themselves in draw-ing between him- 
self and this humble candidate ; and Erskine good-homoredly 
entered into the scheme, undertaking to do nothing wbici 
should effectually suppress the notion of his having set him 
self up as a modest rival to his friend." — Life of Scott, vol 
iv. D. 13. 



382 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



€l)c JSribal of Sriermain. 



INTRODUCTION. 



CosTE, LucT I while 'tis morning hour, 

The woodland brook we needs must pass ; 
So, ere the sun assume liis power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower. 
Where dew lies long upongthe flower, 

Though vanish'd from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the .stream, tliis stony ridge 
May serve us for a silvan bridge ; 

For here, compell'd to disunite. 

Round petty isles the runnels glide, 
And chafing off their puny spite. 
The shallow murmurers waste their might. 

Yielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 

II. 

N.ay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws. 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ! 

Titania's foot without a sUp, 
Like thine, though tiuiid, hght, and slim, 

From stone to stone might safely trip. 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength : nor fear 

That this same stalwart arm of mine. 
Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear. 
Shall shrmk beneiith the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine. — 
So, — now, the danger dared at last, 
Look back, and emile at perils p.ast ! 

nt 

And now we reach the favorite glade, 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone, 
Where never harsiier sounds invade, 

To break aifection's whispering tone, 
Than the deep breeze -that w.aves the shade, 

Tlian the small brooklet's feeble moan. 
Oome 1 rest thee on thy wonted seat ; 

Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, 

* MS. — " Haughty eye." 



A place where lovers best may meet, 

Who would not that their love be seen. 
The boughs, that dim the summer sky, 
Sh.all hide us from each lurkuig spy. 

That fiiin would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye,' 
Noble in bii th, in fortunes high. 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 
Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. 

IV. 
How deep that blush 1 — how deep that sighl 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its color from some secret cause, • 

Some hidden movement of the breast. 
She would not th.it her Arthm' guesa'd 1 
O ! quicker far is lovers' ken 
Tlian the dull glance of common men,* 
And, by .strange sympathy, can spell 
The thoughts the loved one will not tell ! 
And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met 
The hues of pleasure and regret ; 
' Pride mingled in thg sigh her voice, 

And shared with Love the crimson glow 
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice. 
Yet shamed tliine own is placed so low : 
Tliou turn'st thy self-confessing cheek. 
As if to meet the breeze's cooling ; 
Then, Lucy, heai' thy tutor speak. 
For Love, too, has his hours of schooling! 



Too oft my anxious eye has spied 

That secret grief thou fiiin wouldst hide. 

The passing pang of hmnbled pride ; 

Too oft, when tlu'ough the splendid hall, 
. The load-star of each heart and eye, 
My fair one leads the gfittering ball, 
WiU her stol'n glance on Arthur fall, 
With such a blush .•md such a sigh I 
Tliou wouldst not yield, for wealth oi 
rank, 
The heart thy worth and beauty won, 



* with wings as swift 



As meditation or the thonghts of love." — Hamiet. 



fANTO I. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



389 



Nor leave me on this mossy bank, 

To meet a riyal on a throne : 
Wliv, then, should vain repiuings rise, 
That 1,0 th_\ lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A Baron's birth, a menial train, 
Since Heaven assign'd him, for his part, 
\ Ivre, a falchion, and a heart I 



Mv sword- 



VI. 

-its master must be dumb ; 



But, when a soldier names my name," 
Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come, 

Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 
My heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew, 

Of lordly rank and lofty hue. 
Is there to love and lienor true, 
That boasts a pulse so wai'm as mine !' 
riiey praised thy diamonds' lustre rare— 

Match'd "with thine eyes, I thought it faded ; 
rh(^ praised the pearls th.at bound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided ; 
ITiey talk'd of wealthy dower and land, 
And titles of high bii'th tlie token — 
thought of Lucy's heart' and hand. 
Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 
ind yet, if rank'd in Fortune's roll, 

I might have learn'd their choice unwise, 
"Vho rate the dower above the soul. 
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes.' 

VIL 
My lyre — it is an idle toy. 

That borrows accents not its own, 
Like warbler of Colombian sky. 

That sings but in a muuic tone.' 
-Ve'er did it sound o'er sainted well, 
Xor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 

' MS. — "That boasts so warm a heart as mine." 

' MS. — " And Lucy's gems before her eyes." 

> Tht Mocking Bird. 

*hIS. — "Perchance, because it sang their praise." 

*See Appendix. Note A. 

• " The Introdnclion, thongh by no means destitute of beau- 
'. eB, is decidedly inferior to the Poem : its plan, or conception, 
s ceitlier very ingenious nor very striliing. The best passages 
in ;ho<e in which the author adheres most strictly to his ori- 
ginal: in those which are composed without having his eyes 
filed on hi.4 model, there is a sort of affectation and straining 
i W humor, that will probajjly excite some feeling of disappoint- 
ment, either becanse tlie effort is not altogether successful, or 
beciuse it does not perfectly harmonize with the tone and coi- 
ning of llie whole piece. 

" The * Bridal' itself is purely a tale of chivalry ; a tale of 

Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, when midnight fairies 
j launced the maze.* The author never gives os a glance of 
>rdinary life, or of ordinary personages. From the splendid 
Mart of Arthur, we ak conveyed to the halls of encliant- 
nenf., and. of course, are introduced to a system of man- 
len Derfently decided and approprial e, hut altogether remote 



Its strings no feudal slogan pour, 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ;• 
No shouting clans applauses raise, 
Because it sung their fathers' praise ;* 
On Scottish moor, or English down, 
It ne'er was graced with fair renown; 
Nor won, — best meed to minstrel true, — 
One favoring smile from fair Bucclecoh I 
By one poor streamlet sounds its tone, 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIIL 

But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tea 

Of eiTant knight, and damozeUe ; 

Of the dread knot a "Wizard tied. 

In punishment of maiden's pride, 

In notes of marvel and of fear. 

That best may charm rom.iutic ear. 
For Lucy loves, — like Collins, ill-starred name 1* 
Whose lay's requital, was that tardy fame. 
Who bound no laurel roimd liis living head. 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead, — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand, 
And thread, like him, the maze of Fairy -land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam. 
And sltunber soft by some Elysian stream ; — 
Such lays she loves, — and such my Lucy's choice 
Whai other song can claim her Poet's voice i' 



<i[l)c JBvilial of (Jfriermain 



CANTO FmST. 



Where is the Maiden of mortal strain, 

That may match with the Barop of Triermaiu P 



from those of this vulgar world." — Quarterly Review, July 
1813. 



" The poem now before us consists properly of two distinct 
subjects, interwoven togetlier something in the manner of the 
Last Minstrel and his Lay. in the first and most enchanting of 
Walter Scott's romances. The first is the history (real or im- 
aginary, we presume not to guess which) of the author's p.T8 
sion, courtship, and marriage, with a young lady, his superior 
in rank and circumstances, to whom he relates at intervals tlie 
story whicli may be considered as tlie principal design of the 
work, to which it gives its title. This is a mode of introtlu- 
cing romantic and fabulous narratives which we very much 
approve, thongh there may be reason to fear that too frequent 
repetition may wear out its effect. It attaches a degree o( 
dramatic interest to the work, and at the same lime softens the 
absurdity of a Gothic legend, by throwing it to a greater dis- 
tance from the relation and auditor, by representing it, not ai 
a train of facts which actually took place, but as a mere fable, 
either adopted by the credulity of former times, or invented 
for the purposes of amusement, and the exercise of the ini 
agination." — Criticnl Review, 1813. 

' See Appendix, Note H. 



384 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO » 



She must be lovely, and constant, and kind, 
Holy and pure, and bumble of mind. 
Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood. 
Courteous, and geneious, and noble of blood — 
Lovely as the sim's first ray. 
When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 
Constant and true as the widow'd dove. 
Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 
Pure as the foxmtain in rocky cave, 
Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave ; 
Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 
Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies. 
Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in its 

sighs ; 
Courteous as monarch the mom he is crown'd. 
Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad 

ground ; 
i> oble her blood as the currents that met 
In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet — 
Such must her form be, her mood, and her 

strain. 
That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain. 

IL 

■ir Roland de Vaux he hath lain him to sleep, 
His blood it was fever'd, his breathing was deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long, and the skirmish hot : 
His dinted helm and liis buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 

All in the castle must hold them still. 
Harpers must lull him to his rest, 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down v^on his breast. 

Like the dew on a summer hill. 

Ill 

It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 
That like a silvery crapie was spr'^id 
Round Sldddaw's dim ."uid distant head, 
And faintly gleam'u each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 

When that Baron bold awoke. 
Stai-ting he woke, and loudly did call. 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall. 

While hastily lie spoke. 

IV. 
" Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 
Touch'd his hai'p with tliat dying fall. 

So sweet, so soft, so faint, 
It Beem'd an angel's whisper'd call 

To an expu-ing saint J 



1 Dnnmailraise is one of the grand passes from Cnroberland 
3to Weslmorclaad. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile 



And hearken, my merry -men I Wliat tune or 
where [brow 

Did she pas.s, that maid with her heavenlj 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so fair, 
And her graceful step and her angel air, 
And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair, 

That pass'd from my bower e'en now i" 

V. 

Answer'd him Richard de Bretville ; he 
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — 
" Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat since midnight close. 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings, 
Murmiu^'d from our melting strings, 
* And hush'd you to repose. 

Had a harp-note sounded here, 

It had caught my watchful ear, 
Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 

When she tliiuks her lover near." — • 
Answer'd Philip of Fastliwaite tall. 
He kept guard in the outer hall, — 
" Since at eve oiu- watch took post, ^ 

Not a foot has thy portal cross'd ; 'j 

Else had I heard the steps, though low 
And light they fell, as wJien earth receives, 
In morn of fi'ost, the wither'd leaves, • 

That drop when no winds blow." • 

VI. 
'* Then come thou hither, Henry, mv page, 
Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And redden'd all the Nine-stane HilL 
And the shrieks of deatli, that wildly broke 
Through devouring ilame and smothering smokt 

Made the warrior's heart-blood cliill. 
The trustiest thou of all niy train. 
My fleetest courser thou must rein. 

And ride to Lyulpli's tower. 
And from the Baron of Triermain . 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires, 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthm^'s and Pendragon's praise. 
And liis who sleeps at Dimmaih'aise.' 
Gifted like his gifted race. 
He the characters can trace, 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon HeUvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 
Sign and sigil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and woe, 
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 

of stones, erected, it is said, to tbe memory of DtlnmftU tlMi 
last King of Cumberland 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



386 



Prom mystic dreams and course of stars. 

He shall tell if middle earth 

To that enchanting sliape gave birth. 

Or if 'twas but an airy thing. 

Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 

Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes, 

Or fading tints of western sides.' 

For, by the Blessed Rood I swear, 

If that fair form breathe vital air. 

No other maiden by my side 

Shall ever rest Do Vaux's bride '"' 

VII. 

Tlie faithful Page he mounts his steed. 

And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead, 

Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain. 

And Eden barr'd liis course in vain. 

He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round,' 

For feats of chivalry renown'd, 

Left Maybm'gh's mound' and stones of power, 

By Druids raised in magic horn-, 

And traced the Eamont's winding way. 

Till Ulfo's lake' beneath him lay. 

vm. 

Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake ^nd hill ; 
Till, on the fragment of a rock. 
Struck from its base by lightning shock, 

He saw the hoary Sage : 
The silver moss and Hchen twined, 
With fern and deer-hair, check'd and lined, 

A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A restless, rustUng canopy. 
Then sprang young Henry from his selle. 

And greeted Lyulph grave, 
And then his master's tale did tell, 

And then for counsel crave. 
The Man of Years mused long and deep, 
Of time's lost treasures taking keep, 
And then, as rousing from a sleep, 

His solemn answer gave, 

IX. 

"That maid is born of middle earth. 

And may of man be won, 
Tlough there have gUded since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But Where's the Knight in all the north. 
That dare the adventure follow forth, 

' " Jnst like Aorora, wlien she ties 

A rainbow round the morning skies. '■ — Moore. 
"* This powerful Baron required in the fair one whom he 
Jioi.M honor with his hand an assemblage of qualities, that 
ippean to os rather unreasonable even in those high days, 
'tofnse as thoy are known to have been of perfections now 
unattainable. His resolution, however, was not more inflexi- 
le than that of any men modem roQth ; for he decrees that 
49 • 



So perilous to Imightly worth. 
In the valley of St. John? 
Listen, youth, to what I tell. 
And bind it on thy memory well ; 
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
Far distant, 'mid the wrecks of time 
The mystic tale, by bard and sage, 
Is handed down from Merlin's age. 

X. 

JLmlfys CTale. 
■ " Kjn"g ARTntiR lias ridden from merry Oarlisle, 

When Pentecost was o'er: 
He jom'ney'd like errant-knight the whila. 
And sweetly the summer sun did smile 

On motmtain, moss, and moor. 
Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back. 
Amid whose yawnmg gulfs the sim 
Cast umber'd radiance red and dun. 
Though never sunbeam could discern 
ITie surface of that sable tarn," 
In whose black rm'n'or you may spy 
1'he stars, wliile noontide lights the sky. 
The gallant lung he .skirted still 
The margin of that mighty liill ; 
Rock upon rocks incimibent hung, 
And torrents, down the gullies flung, 
Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on. 
Recoiling now from crag and stone. 
Now diving deep from huni.in ken 
And raving down its darksome glen. 
The Monarch judged this desert wdcL 
With sudi romantic ruin piled. 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of liigh achievement plann'd. 

XL 
" rather he chose, that Monarch bold. 

On vent'rous quest to ride. 
In plate and mail, by wood and wold. 
Than, with ermine trapp'd and cloth of gold. 

In princely bower to bide ; 
The bursting crash of a foeman's spear. 

As it sliiver'd against his mail. 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier's whisper'd tale : 
And the clash of Caliburn more dear. 
When on the hostile casque it i nog. 
Than all the lays 
To their monarch's praise 

his nightly visitant, of whom at this time he couid know nctl»- 
ing, but that she looked and sung like an angel, if of mortal 
mould, shall be his bride." — Quarterly Review. 

" See Appendix, Note C. » Ibid. Note D. 

s Ulswater. 

8 The small lake called Scales-tarn lies so deeply embosomeu 
in the recesses of the huge mountain called Saddleback, mora 
pootically Glaxamara, ia of such great depth, and so comntet*- 



38b 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cAiria L 



That the harpers of Eeged sung. 
He loTed better to rest by wood or river, 
Than in bower of his bride, Dame Guenerer, 
For he left tliat lady, so lovely of cheer, 
T; fullow adventures of danger and fear ; 
And the frank-hearted Monarch full little did 

wot, [Launcelot 

That she smiled in liis absence, on brave 

XII. 
" He rode, till over down and dell 
The shade more broad and deeper fell ; 
And though ai'oimd the mountain's head 
Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red. 
Dark at the base, unblest by beam, 
Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream. 
With toil the King liis way pursued 
By lonely Tlu-elkeld's waste and wood, 
Till on his coutse obhquely shone 
Tlie narrow valley of Saint John, 
Down sloping to the western sky, 
Wliere lingering suubeams love to lie. 
Right glad to feel those beams again. 
The King drew up liis charger's rein ; 
With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight. 
As dazzled with the level light. 
And, from beneath liis glove of mail. 
Scann'd at his ease the lovely vale. 
While 'gainst the sun his armor bright 
Gleam'd ruddy like the beacon's light. 

XIII. 
" Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 
And, down its verd.ant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its bed. 
But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
Arose with ahy turrets crown'd, 
Buttress, and rampire's circling bound. 

And mighty keep and tower ; 
Seem'd some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had plaun'd, 
A ponderous bulwiu'k to withstand 

Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
Above the moated entrance slung. 
The balanced drawbridge trembling hung, 

As jealous of a foe ; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With ii-on studded, clench'd, and barr'd, 
And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard 

The gloomy pass below, 
but the gray walls no baimers crown'd. 
Upon the watch-tower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to sound. 
No guard beside the bridge was found 

ly hidden from the san, that 't is said its beams never reach it, 
wd that the refl^'Ction of the stars may be seen at mid^Jay. 



And, where the Gothic gateway frown'd. 
Glanced neither bill nor bow. 

XIV. 
" Beneath the castle's gloomy pride. 
In ample roimd did Arthur ride 
Tlu-ee times ; nor living thing he spied, 

Nor heard a Uviug sound, 
Save that, awakening from her dream, 
The owlet now began to scream. 
In concert witli the rushing stream. 

That wash'd the battled mound. 
He Ughted from liis goodly steed. 
And he left him to graze on bank and mead , 
And slowly he climb'd the narrow way. 
That reach'd the entrance grim and gray, 
And he stood the outward arch below. 
And his bugle-horn prepared to blow, 

In summons bhthe and bold 
Deeming to rouse from hon sloop 
The guardian of this dismal Keep, 

Which well he guess'd the hold 
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim. 
Or pagan of gigantic limb. 

The tyrant of the wold. 

XV. 

" The ivory bugle's golden tip 

Twice touch'd the Monarch's manly Up, 

And twice his hand withdrew. 
— Think not but Arthm-'s heart was gooa i 
His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood. 
Had a pagan host before liim stood. 

He had charged them through and through 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Simk on liis heart, and he paused i space 

Ere yet his horn he blew. 
But, instant a" its 'larura rung,* 
The castle gate was open flung, 
Portculhs rose with crashing groan 
Full harshly up its groove of stone : 
The balance-beams obey'd the bla.st, 
And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; 
The vaulted arch before him lay, 
With naught to bar the gloomy way. 
And onward Arthur paced, with hajid 
On Calibm'n's' resistless br.ind. 

XVL 

" A hundred torches, flasliing bright, 
DispeU'd at once the gloomy night 

Tliat lour'd ijong the walls. 
And show'd the King's astonish'd sight 

The inm.ates of the haUs. 
Nor wizard stern, nor goblm grim, 

1 This was the name of King Artlmr's well-known swori 
sometimes also called Exc'ilibar. , 





X 


CANTO I. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 387 


Vor giant huge of form and limb, 


Raised, with imposing air, her hand, 


Nor heathen knight, -was there ; 


And reverent silence did command, 


.But the cressets, which odors flung aloft. 


On entrance of their Queen, 


Show'd by theu- yellow light and soft, 


And they were mute. — But as a glance 


A band of damsels fill;-. 


They steal on Artlmr's countenance 


Onward they came, like summer wave 


Bewilder'd with surprise, 


Tliat dances to the shore ; 


Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak. 


Ar. hundred voices welcome gave, 


In arclily dimpled chin and cheek. 


And welcome o'er and o'er I 


And laughter-lighted eyes. 


Ac hunch-ed lovely hands assail 




The bucklers of the monarch's mail, 


XIS. 


And busy labor'd to unhasp 


" The attributes of those high days 


Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 


Now only Uve in minstrel lays ; 


One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair. 


For Nature, now exhausted, still 


And one flung odors on his hair ; 


Was then profuse of good .and ill. 


His short curl'd ringlets one smooth'd down, 


Strength was gigantic, valor high, 


One wreathed them with a myrtle crowa 


And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky, 


A bride upon her wedding-day, 


And beauty had such matchless beam 


Was tended ne'er by troojj so gay. 


As lights not now a lover's dream. 




Yet e'en in that romantic age. 


XVIL 


Ne'er were such cliarms by mortal seen. 


" Loud laugh'd thoy all, — the King, in vam. 


'As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, 


With questions task'd the giddy train ; 


When forth, on that enchanted stage, 


Let liim entreat, or crave, or call. 


With guttering train of maid and page, 


'Twas one reply, — loud laugh'd they all. 


Advanced the castle's Queen ! 


Then o'er him mimic chains they fling, 


While up the hall .she slowly pass'd. 


* Framed of the fairest -flowers of spring. 


Her dark eye on the King she cast, 


While some their gentle force unite, 


That fla.?h'd expression strong f 


Onward to drag the wondering knight, 


The longer dwelt that lingering look, 


Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows, 


Her cheek the liveher color took. 


Dealt with the lily or the rose. 


And scarce the shame-faced King could brook 


Behmd him were in triumph borne 


The gaze that lasted long. 


The warlike arms he late had worn. 


A sage, who had that look espied. 


Four of the train combmed to rear 


Where kindling passion strove with pride, 


The terrors of Tintatigel's spear ;^ 


Had whisper'd, ' Prince, beware ! 


Two, laugliing at their lack of strength, 


From the chafed tiger rend the prey, 


Dragg'd C;diburn in cumbrous length. 


Rush on the lion when at bay. 


One, wliile she aped a martial stride, 


Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, 


Placed on her brows the helmet's pride ; 


But shun that lovely snare !' — ' 


Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter jnd surprise, 


' 


To feel its depth o'erwhelm lier eyes. 


XX. 


With revel-shout and triumph-song, 


" At once, that inward strife suppress'd. 


Thus gayly march'd the giddy thi'ong. 


The dame approacli'd her warlike guest, 




With greetitig m that fair degree, 


XVIII. 


Where female pride and courtesy 


" Tlirough many a gallery and haU 


Are bended with sucli passing art 


They led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 


As awes at once and cliarms tlie heart.* 


At length, beneath a fair arcade 


A coin-tlv welcome first >he gave. 


Their march and song at once, they staid 


Then of his goorhiess 'gan to crave 


The eldest maiden of the band 


Construction fair and true 


(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen), 


Of her light maidens' idle mirth. 


■ Tintadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to liave been the 


3 " Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts. 


(inii-place of King Arthur. 


Strive with the half-st.irved lion for his prey ; 




Lesser the ri.sk, than rouse the slumbering fire 


3 *' In the description of the (iueen s entrance, ae well as in 


Of wild Fanaticism." 


the contrasted enumeration of the levities of her att^idants, the 


WaverUy Kavds, vol. xvii. p. 307 


ftothor, we think, has had in his recollection Gray's celebrated 


* " Still sways their souls with that commanding art 


ieecription of the power of harmony to prodoce all the graces 


Tha', dazzles, l^ids, yet chills the vulgar heart." 


^IBO'osi in the l-oAy."— Quarterly Review 


Byron's Cors.iir, laH 



S88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



UANTO H 



Who drew froir lonely glens their birth, 
Nor kne"W to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 
And then she pray'd that he would rest 
That night her castle's honor'd guest. 
Tile Jlonarch meetly thanks express'd ; 
The banquet rose at her behest, 
With lay and tale and laugh and jest, 

Apace the eyening ^ew.' 

XXI. 
" The Lady sate the Monarch by. 
Now in her t\u-n abash'd and shy. 
And with mdifference seem'd to hear 
The toys lie whisper'd in her ear. 
Her bearmg modest was and fair, 
Yet shadows of constraint were there. 
That show'd an over-cautious care 

Some inward thought to hide ; 
Oft did she pause in fiiU reply. 
And oft cast dovn\ her large dark eye, 
Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh. 

That heaved her bosom's pride. 
Shght symptoms tliese, but shepherds know 
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. 

From the mist of morning sky ; 
And so the wily monarch guess'd. 
That this assumed restraint express'd 
More ardent passions in the breast. 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he press'd, while beakers rang, 
While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang. 

Still closer to her ear — 
But why pursue the common tale ? 
Or wherefore show how knights prevail 

When ladies dare to hear ? 
Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause 
Its source one tyrant passion draws. 

Tin, mastering all within," 
Where lives the man that has not tried. 
How mirtli can into folly glide. 

And foUy into sin ?" 



2[|}e Bribal of (Ericrmain. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Hjulpt's Ealc, contfnurtr. 

" Another oay, another day, 
And yet another glides away ! 

"1 "On the opinion that may be formed even of these two 
■tanzas (\ix. and xv.) we are willing to hazard the jnstnesg of 
tAe enlogiora we have bestowed on the general poetical merit 
of this little work." — Quartcrljf keview. 
« ' One M.V9TER PissiON in the breast, 



The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, 
Mai'aud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower. 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 
The horn, that foemen wont to fear, 
Soimds but to wake the Cumbrian deer. 
And CaUburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 

IL 

" Another day, another day. 

And yet another, glides away ! 

Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd. 

He thinks not of the Table Round ; 

In lawless love dissolved liis life. 

He tliinks not of his beauteous* wife : 

Better he loves to snatch a flower 

From bosom of his paramour, 

Than from a Saxon knight* to wrest 

The honors of liis heathen cre.st I 

Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown, 

The heron's plume her hawk struck down, 

Than o'er the altar give to flow 

The banners of a Paynim foe.' 

Thus, week by week, and day by day 

His life inglorious gUdes away ; 

But she, that soothes liis dream, with fear 

Beholds his hour of waking near I' 

III. 

" Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 
But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Ea'ch maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth. 
Her sire a Genie of the earth. 
In days of old deem'd to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride, 
By youths and virgins worship'd long. 
With festive dance and choral song, 
TiU, wlien the crOss to Britain came. 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep m Wastdale solitude, 
Tlie downfall of his rights he rued. 
And, born of his resentment heir. 
He train'd to guile that lady fair, 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The cliampions of the Christian name. 
Well skill'd to keep vain thoughts alive 
And all to proimse, naught to give, — 
The timid youth had hope in store, 
The bold and pressing gain'd no more. 
As wilder'd children leave their home. 

Like Aaron's serpent, swallows np the rest." — Popl 
' MS.— " Lovely." J MS.—" Paynim knight. 

5 MS. — " Vanquish'd foe." 

» The MS. has this and the sixth couplet of stanza ill n 
terpolated. 



tAtnt) J} 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



389 



After the niinbow's arch to roam, 


VI. 


Her lovers barter'd fair esteem, 


" Three summer months had scantly flown 


Faith, fame, and honor, for a dream.' 


When Arthur, in emban'ass'd tone. 




Spoke of liis Uegemen and his throne ; 


IV. 


Said, all too long had been his stay, 


•' Her sire's soft arts tlie soul to tame' 


And duties, wliich a monarch sway, 


She practised thus — till Ai'thur came ; 


Duties, unknown to humbler men. 


Thcu, frail humanity had jjart, 


Must tear her knight from Guendolen. — 


And all the mother claim'd her heart. 


She listeu'd silently the while. 


Forgot each rule her father gave, 


Her mood express'd in bitter smile ;*" 


Sunk from a prmcess to a slave. 


Beneath her eye must Ailhur quail, 


Too late must Guendolen deplore. 


And oft resume the unfinish'd tale,' 


He, that has all,* can hope no more ! 


Confessing, by his downcast eye, 


Now must she see' lier lover strain, 


The wrong he sought to justify. 


At every turn, her feeble chain ;' 


He ceased. A moment mute she gazed, 


Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink 


And then her looks to heaven she raised ; 


To view each fast-decaving link. 


One palm her temples veil'd, to hide" 


Art she invokes to Nature's aid, 


The tear that sprung iu spite of pride. • 


Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 


The other for an instant press'd 


Kach varied pleasure heard her call. 


The foldings c( her silken vest 1 


The feast, the tourney, and the ball : 




Her storied lore she next appUes, 


VII. 


Taxing her mind to aid her eyes; 


" At her reproachful sign and look. 


Now more than mortal wise, and then 


The hint the Monarch's conscience took." 


In female softness sunk again ; 


Eager he spoke — ' No, lady, co I 


Now, raptuj'ed, with each wish complying, 


Deem not of British Arthur so. 


With feigu'd reluctance now denying ; 


Nor think he can deserter prove 


Each charm she varied, to retain 


To the dear pledge of mutual love. • 


A varying heart" — and aU in .vain ! 


I swear by sceptre and by sword. 




As belted knight and Britain's lord. 


V. 


That if a boy shaU claim my care, 


" Thus in the garden's narrow bound, 


That boy is born a kingdom's heir : 


FlanVd bv some castle's Gothic round, 


But, if a maiden Fate allows, 


Fain would the artist's skiU provide. 


To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 


The hmits of his realms to hide. 


A summer-day in lists shall strive 


The walks in labyrinths he twines. 


My knights, — the bravest knights ahve, — 


Shade after shade with sldll combines. 


And he, the best and bravest' tried. 


With many a varied flowery knot. 


Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.' — 


And copse, and arbor, decks the spot, 


He spoke, with voice resolved and high — 


Tempting the hasty foot to stay, 


The lady deign'd him not reply. 


And Unger on the lovely way 




Vain art ! vam hope ! 'tis fruitless aU 1 


VIII. 


At length we reach the bounding wall. 


" At dawn of mom, ere on the brake 



And, sick of flower and trim-dress'd 

tree, 
Long for rough glades aud forest free. 

' MS. — " ?o the poor dopes exchanged esteem, 

Fame, faith, and honor, for a dream." 
> MS. — " Sach art": as best her sire became." 
• MS.— "That who gives all." &c. 
i MS. — *' Now must she watch,*' &c. 
Ms. " her wasting' chain," 

■' As some lair female, nnidorn'd and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowM charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
Bat when those charms are past, for charmi »;e frai 
Wheo time SLWances, and .^hen lovers fail. 



His matin3 did a warbler make,*^ 
Or stii'rd Ms wing to brnsli away 
A single dew-drop from the spray. 

She then shines forth, soliintons to oless, 
In all the glaring imputence of dress." 

Goldsmith. 
7 mg, — •' Wreathed were her lips in bitter smile '* 

6 MS. " his broken tale, 

With downcast eye and flushing cheeks, 
As one who 'gainst his conscience speaks." 
" MS. — * ' One hand her temples press'd to hide." 

10 " The scene in which Arthur, sated with his lawless ova 
and awake at last to a sense of his duties, announces his imma 
diate^eparture, is managed, we tliink, with onwmmon skil 
and delicacy." — Quarterly Review. 

11 MS.—" A Bingle warbler was awako." 



390 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO a 



Ere yet a sunbeam, through the mist, 
The castle-battlements had kiss'd. 
The gates revolTe, the drawbridge falls, 
And Arthiu- sallies from the walls. 
Doff'd liis soft garb of Persia's loom. 
And steel from spur to helmet-plume, 
His Lybian steed full proudly trode, 
\jid joyful neigh'd beieath liis load, 
rhe Monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence' and pleasures by. 
When,' lo I to his astonish'd ken 
Appear'd the form of Guendolen. 

IX. 
" Beyond the outmost waU she stood. 
Attired like huntress of the wood : 
Sandall'd her feet, her luikles bare,' 
And eagle-plumage deck'd her hair ; 
Firm was her look, her bearing bold, 
And in her hand a cup of gold. 
' Thou goest !' she said, ' and ne'er again 
Must we two meet, in joy or pain. 
Full fain would I tliis hour delay, 
Though weak the wish — yet, wilt thou stay ? 
— No ! thou look'st forward. Still attend, — 
Part we like lover and like friend.' 
She raised the cup — ' Not this the juice 
The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 
Pledge we, at parting, m the Aaught 
Which Genii love !'— she said, and quaflf'd ; 
And strange unwonted lustres fly 
From her flush'd cheek and sparkling eye. 



" The courteous Monarch bent him low, 
And, stooping down from saddlebow. 
Lifted the cup, in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet's brink — 
Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright. 
He bolted twenty feet upright — 
— The peasant still can show the dint. 
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint. — 
From Arthur's hand the goblet flew. 
Scattering a .shower of fiery dew,' 

MS — ' To deep remoree." 
» MS.— " Her arms and buskin'd feet were bare." 

.MS. .■ofS[:"™"8{dew." 

' blazing t 

* The author has an indistinct recollection of an ailventni^, 
■omewhat similar to that which is here ascribed to King Ar^ 
Ihur, having befallen one of the ancient Kings of Denmark. 
The horn in which the burning liquor was presented to that 
Monarch, is said still to be preserved in the Royal Museam at 
Copenhagen. 

* M > ' Curb, bit, and bridle he disdain'd, 

Tlutil a mountain crest he gain'd, 



That burn'd and blighted where it fell I* 
The frantic steed rush'd up the dell,' 
As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed. 

Until he gain'd the hill ; ' 
Then breath and sinew fail'd apace. 
And, reeling from the desperate race, 

He stood, exhausted, still. 
The Monarch, breathless and amazed, 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon could he spy. 
Darkening against the morning sky ;' 
But, on the spot where once they frown'd. 
The lonely streamlet brawl'd aroimd 
A tufted knoU, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone.' 
Musing on tliis strange hap the wliile, 
The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway. 
Wore memory of the past away. 

XI. 

" Full fifteen years, and more, were sped. 

Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought, 

TTie Saxons to subjection brought :' 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 

By his good brand, reUeved Bretagne : 

The Pictish GUlamore in fight 

And Roman Lucius, own'd his might ; 

And wide were through the world renown'd* 

The glories of his Table Round. 

Each knight, who sought adventurous fame, 

To tlie bold court of Britain came, 

And all who suffer'd causeless wrong, 

From tyrant proud, or faitoiu- strong. 

Sought Arthur's presence to complain. 

Nor there for aid implored in vain." 

xn. 

" For this the King, with pomp and pride. 
Held solemn cotu-t at Wliitsuntide, 

And summon'd Prince and Peer, 
All who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 
Or who had succor to demand, 



Then stopp'd exhausted ; — all amazed, 

The rider down the valley gazed. 

But tower nor donjon," &c. 
B See Appendix, Note E. 
' MS. — " But, on the spot where once t^ey frown'd, 

The stream begirt a silvan mound, 

With rocks in shatter'd fragments crown'd. ' 
^ Arthur is said to hav** defeated the Saxons in weiTi 
pitched battles, and to ha achieved the other feats allodef 
to in the te.xt. 
^ MS. — " And wide was blazed the world arotlDd." 
If MS.—" Sought before Arthur to complain. 

Nor there for succor sued in vain." 



CANTO II. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



391 



To come from for and near. 
At such high tide, were glee and game 
Mingled with feata of martial fame, 
Vor many a stranger champioa came, 

In lists to break a spear ; 
And ni t a kiught of Arthur's host, 
Savo that he trode some foreign coast, 
But at this feast of Pentecost 

Before him must appear. 
Ah, Minstrels ! when the Table Round 
Arose, with all its warriors crown'd, 
There was a theme for bards to sound 

In triumph to their string ! 
Five hundred years are past and gone. 
But Time shall draw his dying groan. 
Ere he behold the British throne 

Begirt with such a ring 1 

XIIL 
" The heralds named the appointed spot. 
As Caerleon or Camelot, 

Or Carhsle fair and free. 
At Penritli, now, the feast was set, 
And in fair Eamont's vale were met 

The flower of Chivalry.' 
There Galaad sate with manly grace. 
Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace,^ 

And love-lorn Tristrem there : 
And Dinadam with lively glance. 
And Lanval with the fairy lance, 
And Mordred with his look askance, 

Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers more ? 
Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Su' Bore, 

Sir Carodac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's comteous lore, 
Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 
And Liincelot,' that ever more 

Look'd stol'n-wise on the Queen.* 

XIV. 
" Wli<sn wine and mirth did most abound. 
And hf.rpers play'd their blithest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the ground. 
And marshals clear'd the ring ; 

* "Itie whole description of Artlinr's Court is picturesquG 
toe 6_u,iropriale." — Quarterly ReBteio. 

' in A-ipendix. Note F. 

* MS — ' And Lancelot for evermore 

Tliat scowl'd upon the scene." 
' See Appendix, Note G. 

* M3 — " The King with strong emotion saw, 

„ I dignity and mingled i 

t strange attire, her reverend J 

Attired ( ,-, . ... 

„ , J htte huntress of the wold, 

Het 6ilken buskins braced with gold, 
( sandall'd feet, her 



I arms and buskin'd 



' ankles bare, 



A maiden, on a palfrey white. 
Heading a bixnd of damsels bright. 
Paced through the circle, to ahght 

And kneel before the King. 
Arthiu*, with strong emotion, saw 
Her graceful boldness check'd by awe, 
Her dress, Uke huntress of the wold. 
Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold. 
Her sandall'd feet, her ankles bare," 
And the eagle-plume that deck'd her hair. 
Graceful her veil she backward flung — 
The King, as from liis seat he sprimg. 

Almost cried ' Guendolen !' 
But 'twas a face more frank and wild. 
Betwixt the woman and the child. 
Where less of magic beauty smiled 

Than of the race of men ; 
And in the forehead's haughty grace, 
• The hues ol Britain's royal race,* 

Pendragon's, you might ken 

XV. 
" Faltering, yet gracefully, she said — 
' Great Prince ! behold an orphan maid 
In her departed mother's name, 
A father's vow'd protection claim ! 
The vow was sworn in desert lone. 
In the deep valley of St. Jolin.' 
At once the lung the suppliant raised, 
And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praLaed ; 
His vow, he said, should well be kept. 
Ere in the sea the sun w.as dipp'd, — '' 
Then, conscious, glanced upon liis queen: 
But she, unruffled at the scene 
Of human frailty, construed mild, 
Look'd upon Lancelot and smiled. 

XVL 
" ' Up ! up ! each knight of gallant crest 

Take buckler, spear, and br.iiid 1 
He that to-day shall bear hun l>est, 

Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
And Arthur's daughter, when a bride. 

Shall bring a noble dower ; 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Ri ^ed wide, 

And Carhsle town and tower.' 

And eagfe-plunies that deck'd her hair." 

^ MS. — '* The lineaments of royal race.'' 

' Mr. Adolphos, in conimentmg on ine simi arity of man 
nets in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of hii 
then anonymous Novels, says, " In Rokeby, the filial att^'ich 
ment and duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading feac 
tare of her character, and the chief source of her distresses. 
The intercourse between King Arthur and his daughter Gyneth, 
in The Bridal of Triermain, is neither long nor altogether ami- 
cable ; but the monarch's feelings on fir^t beholding that beaO' 
tifal ' slip of wilderness,' and his manner of receiving hel 
before the Queen and Court, are too forcibly and natnimlly 
described to be' omitted in this enumeration." — Letters on tk. 
Author of Waverley, 1823, p. 212. 



t»2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO U 



Then mig)it you hear each valiant knight, 

To page and squue that cried, 
' Bring my armor bright, and my courser wight I 
'Tis not each day that % wai'rior's might 

May win a royal bride.' 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 
• In haste aside they fling ; 

The helmets glance, and gleams the lance. 

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful array. 

They might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and bnmible gUtter'd gay, 

With peails and cloth of gold. 

XVII. 
" Within trimipet sound of the Table Round 

Were fifty champions free, 
And they all arise to fight that prize, — 

They all arise but three. • 

Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath, 

Une gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow. 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glauce from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown. 
To plead their right, and true-love plight. 

And 'plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast. 

With buckling spur and belt. 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast. 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance. 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride ! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide. 

And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the loveUest maid, beside. 

That ever hoir'd a crown.' 
So in haste their coursers they bestride. 

And strike their visors down. 

XVIII. 
" Hie champions, arm'd in martial sort, 

Have throng'd into the Ust, 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney missed. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were two who loved their neighbor's wives, 

And one who loved liis own.* 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

I See Appendix, Note H. 

» See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third 
•olume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton 
n Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken 
■ia Tale of the Enchanted Cup. 

• " TI,e prepanitions for the combat, and the descriptions of 



The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was vahant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold,' 
What time, of aU lung Arthiu^'s crew 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh), 
He, as the mate of lady true, 

Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy's tongue would fain stmniM^ 

That, but for very shame, 
Su- Carodac, to fight that prize. 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet, since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine, 
Brand him who wiU with base reports- 
He shall be free from mine. 

XLX. 

*' Now caracoled the steeds in air, 
Now pltunes and pennons wanton'd fair- 
As aU aroimd the fists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw, with startled eye. 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The bulwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in hotu" of need. 
Too late he thought lilm of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ;' 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth tlien apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-staff resign'd. 
But added caution grave and kind. 

XX. 
" ' Thou see'st, my child, as promise-boimd, 
I bid the trump for tourney sound. 
Take thou my warder, as the queen 
And umphe of the martial scene ; 
But mark thou tliis : — as Beauty bright 
Is polar star to valiant knight, 
As at her word his sword he draws, 
His fairest guerdon her applause. 
So gentle maid should never ask 
Of knighthood vain and dangerous task ; 
And Beauty's eyes should ever be 
Like the twin st.^rs tliat soothe the sea, 
And Beauty's breath shall whisper peace. 
And bid the storm of battle cease. 
I toU theq this, lest all too far, 
Tliese knights urge tourney into war. 
BUthe at the trumpet let them go, 

its pomp and circumstance, are conceived in the best maoncff 
of the author's original, seizing the prominent parts of tbt 
picture, and detailing them with the united beauty of Mr. 
Scott's vigor of language, and the march and richneea of *in 
late Thomas Warton's versificatioo." — Quarterly Revtev 
1813. 



I 



I 



CANTO II. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



39S 



Aiid fairly counter blow for blow ; — 
No striplings these, who succor need 
For a razed helm or falling steed. 
But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm. 
And threatens death or deadly harm, 
Tliy sii'e entreats, thy king commands, 
Thou drop the warder from thy hands. , 
Ti'ust thou thy father witli thy fate, 
Doubl not he choose thee fitting mate ; 
No: be it said, through Gyueth's pride 
A. rose of Arthur's chaplet died.' 

XXI. 
* A pro'.id and discontented glow 
O'crshadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder by : — 
' H*!serve thy boon, my liege,' she said, 
'I'hus chaffer'd down and limited, 
Deba.sed and uarrow'd, for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
A.t a more honor'd price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the 5im-bm*n"d maid, for dower, 
Has but her father's rugged tower. 

His barren hill and lee. — 
King Artluir swore, "By crown and sword, 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That a whole summer's day should strive 
His knights, the bravest knights alive !" 
Recall thine oath 1 and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy daughter wiU the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
But think not slie will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried ; 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splinter'd spear, 

Nor shi'iuk though blood should flow, 
And all too well sad Guendoleu 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men, 
That cliild of hers should pity, when 

Their meed they undergo.' — 

XXII. 
"Hi. frown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold:- 
' 1 give— what I may not witlihold ; 
For, not for danger, dread, or death, 
Mu * British Aithur break liis faith. 
Too late I mark, thy mother's art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
I blame her not, for she had wrong, 
Bti' not to these my faults belong. 
Pse, then, the w.irder a-s thou wilt ; 
But trust me, that if life be spilt,' 
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace, 
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.' 



■MS.— 
SO 



.'*if blood be spiU." 



With that he turn'd his head aside, 
Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride. 
As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 
The ai'bitress Of mortal fate ; 
Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed. 
How the bold champions stood opposed. 
For .shi'ill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell !"' 
Then first from sight of martial fray 
Did Britain's hero tm'n away. 

xxni. . 

" But Gyneth heard the clangor high. 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
Oh, blame her not ! the blood was hers, 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

A while untroubled view ; 
So well accomplish'd was each knight, 
To strike and to defend in fight. 
Their meetmg was a goodl}' sight, 

Wliile plate and mail held true. 
The lists with planted plumes were strown, 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm aud breastplate bloodless shone. 
It seem'd their feather'd crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows. 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose. 
Like lark's shrill song the flourish flows. 
Heard while the gale of April blows 

The merry greenwood through. 

XXIV. 
" But soon too earnest grew their game, 
The spears drew blood, the swords struck flam* 
And, horse and man, to ground there came 

Knights, who shall rise no moi e I 
Gone was the pride the war that graced, 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced. 

And pennons stream'd with gore. 
Gone, too, were fence and fair array, 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray, 
And blows were dealt with headlong swi.y, 

Unheeding where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's clamors seem 
Like the shrUl sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing streaur, 

The sinking seaman's knell 1 

XXV. 
" Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 

And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 



"MS.- 



* djinj; knaU.' 



su 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAMTO n. 



Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivalry the prime.' 
Arthur, in anguish, tore away 
From head and beard his tresses gray, 
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay, 

And quaked with ruth and fear • 
But stUl she deem'd her motlier's shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid. 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 

And many a champion more ; 
Rochemont and Dinadam are down. 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in liis gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt presa'd 
Even to the confines of the list. 
Young Vanoc of the beai-dless face 
(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), 
O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled, 
His heart's blood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast. 
Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, 

And, rent by sudden throes, 
Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth. 
And fiom the gulf, — tremendous birth 1 — 
The form of Merlin rose. 

XXVL 
" Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The di-eary lists with slaughter dyed. 

And sternly raised his hand : — 
'Madmen,' he said, 'your strife forbear! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief hear 
The doom tliy fates demand ! 

Long shall close in stony sleep 

Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 

L'on lethargy shall seal 

Heart that pity scorn'd to feeh 

Yet, because thy mother's art 

Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart. 

And for love of Arthur's race. 

Punishment is blent with grace. 

Thou shalt boar thy penance lone 

In the Valley of Saint John, 

A_. this weird' shall overtake thee ; 

Sleep, until a knight .shall wake thee, 

1 " The difEcult subject of a tournament, in which several 
tnights engage at once, is admirably treated by the novelist in 
[vanhoe, and by his rival in The Bridal of Triermain, and the 
leading thought in both descriptions is the sudden and tragic 
change from a scene of pomp, gayety, and youtlifol pride, to 
one of misery, confusion, and deatii." — ^'idolpkus, p. 245. 

" The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the south- 
erfl, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one 
or the other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows, 
end the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfoZiy with the 



For feats of arms as far rcnown'd 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy sltmiber 
Well may teach the world to number 
AH their woes from Gyneth's pride. 
When the Bed Cross champions died.' 

xxvn 

" As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slimiber's load begins to lie ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice, with etfort and with pause, 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
Twice her strength in vain she tries 
From the fatal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall, 
Curtaining each azure ball. 
Slowly as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down her sinking hand. 
On her slioulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden tlu-ead. 
Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seem'd she there, 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry sire, repenting. 
Craved stern Merlin for relpntia;.^. 
And the champions, for her sa!ii.. 
Would again the contest wake ; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 

•XXVilL 

" Still she bears her weird alone. 
In the Valley of Saint John ; 
And her semblance oft will seem. 
Mingling ia a champion's dream, 
Of her weary lot to 'pl.ain. 
And crave his aid to burst her cbaia 
While her wondrous tale was new, 
Warriors to her rescue drew. 
East and west, and south and north, 
From the Liffy, Tlianies, and Forth. 
Most have lought in vain the glea, 

sound of the trumpets, and drowned t'.ie ',<»ai*' ot those whi 
fell, and lay rolling defenceless l)eD'.at> th' leet of the horeea. 
The splendid armor of the combat' .atr va/i -ow def:.ied with 
dust and blood, and gave w.y it 've^ stf-ke of the sword 
and battle-axe. The gay r'airdge, shorn from the crests, 
drifted upon the breeze like ar (W dates. All that was bea*' 
tiful and graceful in the r d»'..al arr.iy had disappeared, and 
what was now visible was -nly cslcnlated to awake terror or 
compassion." — [vanhoe — f^averUy JVovelSj vol. xvi. p. 18? 
'^ Doom. 



CANTO II. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIF. 3&JI 


Tower nor castle could they ken ■ 


Damning whate'er of vast and fair 


Not at every time or tide. 


Exceeds a canvas three feet square. 


Nor by every eye. descried 


This thicket, for their f^umption fit, 


Fast and vigil must be borne, 


May fm-nish such a happy bit. 


Many a night in watching worn. 


Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite 


Ere an eye of mortal powers 


Then- own sweet lays by waxen light, 


Caj; discern those magic towers. 


Half in the salver's tingle -U'own'd, 


• Of the persevering few. 


While the chasse-cafe glides around ; 


Some from hopeless task withdrew, 


And such may hither secret stray. 


When they read the dismal threat 


To labor an extempore : 


Graved upon the gloomy gate. 


Or sportsman, with his boisterous hoUo, 


Few have braved the yawning door, 


May here his wiser sp.aniel follow. 


And those few return'd no more. 


Or stage-struck Jidiet may presume 


In the lapse of time forgot, 


To choose this bower for tiring-room ; 


Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot ; 


And we alike must shun regard, • 


Sound her sleep as in the tomb, 


From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 


Till waken'd by the trump of doom." 


Insects that skim in Fashion's sky, , 




Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, , 


END OF LTULPHS TALE. 


Lucy, have all alarms for us. 




For all can hum and all can buzz. 

in. 

But oh, my Lucy, say how long 


Here pause, my tale ; for all too soon 


My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 


We still must dread this trifling throng, 


Already from thy lofty dome 


And stoop to hide, with coward art, 


Ita comily inmates 'gin to roam, 


The genuine feelings of the heart ! 


And each, to IdU the goodly day 


No parents thme, whose just comm<and 


That God has grimted them, his wiiy 


Should rule tlieir child's obedient hand ; 


Of lazy sauntering has sought : 


Thy guardians, with contending voice, 


Lordlings and witlings not a few. 


Press each his individual choice. 


Incapable of doing aught. 


And which is Lucy's ? — Can it be 


Yet iU at ease with naught to do. 


That ptmy fop, trimm'd cap-a-pee. 


Here is no longer place for me : 


Who loves in the saloon to show 


For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see 


The arms that never knew a foe ; 


Some phantom, fashionably tliin. 


Whose sabre trails along the ground, 


With limb of lath and kerchief 'd chin, 


Whose legs in sl.dpeless boots are drown*'^ 


And lounging gape, or sneering grin. 


A new Aclulles, sure, — the steel 


Steal sudden on om- privacy. 


Fled from his breast to fence his heel , 


And how should I, so humbly born. 


One, for the simple manly grace 


Endure the graceful spectre's scorn ? 


That wont to deck our martial race, 


Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand 


Who comes in foreign trashery 


Of English oak is hard at hand. 


Of tuikling chain and spur, 




A walking haberdashery. 


IL 


Of feathers, lace, and fur: 


Or grant the hour be all too soon 


In Rowley's antiquated phrase. 


For Hessian boot and pantaloon, 


HorsS-milliner' of modern days ? 


Ajid gi-ant the lounger seldom straya 




Beyond the smooth and gi-avell'd maze, 


IV 


Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train 


Or is it he, the wordy youth. 


Holds hearts of more adventurous strain 


So early train'd for statesman's part, 


Artista are hers, who scorn to trace 


Who talks of honor, faith, and truth. 


Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, 


As themes that he has got by heart ; 


But their right paramount assert 


Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. 


To limit her by pedant art. 


Whose logic is firom Single-speedi ;' 


' " The trammelg of the palfraye pleased his sight, 


> See " Parliamentary Logic. &c., by the Right Hororabll 


And the Iwrsomillnnere his heat! with roses dight." 


William Gerard Hamilton" (1808), commonly called " 3ia> 


Rowley's Ballads of Chantie. 


gle-Speecb Hamilton." 



S96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IB 



Who scorns the meanest thought to vent, 
Save ui the pluase of Parhament ; 
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse. 
Calls " order," and " divides the house," 
Who " craves permission to reply," 
Whose " noble friend is in liis eye ;" 
W) ose loving tender some have reckon'd 
\ motion you should gladly second ? 

V. 
What neither ? Can there be a third. 
To such resistless swaflns preferr'd ? — 
why, my Lucy, turn aside. 
With that quick glance of injured pride ? 
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 
That alter'd and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Russel mine. 
And all the rank of Howard's hue. 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That dew-drop trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I Tern- such fops can wile 
From Lucy more than cm*eless smile ; 
But yet if wealth and high degi-ee 
Give gilded counters currency, 
Must I not fear, when rank and bii-th 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth \ 
Nobles there are, whose martial fires 
Bival the fame that raised their sires, 
And patriots, skill'd through storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reehng state. 
Such, such there are — If such .should come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb, 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore. 
And mourn till Ufe and grief are o'er. 

VL 
What sight, what signal of alarm. 
That Lucy cUngs to Arthur's arm ? 
Or is it, that the rugged way 
Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay ? 
Oh, no ! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake. 
And tills trim sward of velvet green, 
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell. 
That Lucy loves her Arthur well, 
And fain would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 

vn. 

But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 
Like mist before the dawning sky 
There is but one resistless spell — 
Say, wilt thou guess, or must I teU % 
'Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase; 
A landaulet and foiu blood-b.ays, 
But bards agree this wizard band 
Can but be bound m Northern land. 



'Tis there — nay, draw not back thy hand 1- 

'Tis there this slender finger round 

Must golden amulet be bound. 

Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer. 

Can change to rapture lovers' care, 

And doubt and jealousy shall die. 

And fears give place to ecstasy. 

vin. 

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
0, why so silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
I ask but one — a simple sound, 
Witliin three Uttle letters bound, 

O, let the word be YES I 



®l)e JBrilial of Svicrmain. 



CANTO THIRD. 



INTRODUCTION. 



\. 



Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won. 

My life's best hope, and now mine own ! 

Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 

Recall our favorite haunts agen ? 

A wild resemblance we can trace, 

Though reft of every softer grace. 

As the rough warrior's brow may bear 

A likeness to a sister fair. 

Full well advised our Highland host. 

That tills wild pass on 'Dot be cross'd. 

While round Ben-Cr .i'* mighty base 

Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaisa. 

The keen old carl, with Scottish pride. 

He praised his glen and mountains wide : 

An eye he bears for nature's face, 

Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 

Even in such mean degree we find 

Tlie subtle Scot's observing mind ; 

For, nor the chariot nor the train 

Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 

But when old Allan would expound 

Of Beal-na-paish' the Celtic sound, 

His bonnet doff 'd, and bow, apphed 

His legend to my bonny bride ; 

WhUe Lucy blu.sh'd beneath his eye. 

Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 

• BeaJ-na-paish, the Vale of th« Brid*L 



)AjiTO ni. THE BRIDAL 


OF TRIERMAIN. 391 


II. 


Wlien twice you pray'd I would again 


Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose, 


Eeeume the legendary strain 


Pluuged in the v;ile, tlie lUstaut views, 


Of the bold Knight of Triermain? 


Turn thee, my love ' look back once more 


At length yon peevish vow you 


To tlie blue lake'.i rctii-ing shore. 


swore. 


On its smooth breast the shadows seem 


That you would sue to me no more,' 


Like objects in a momiiig dream, 


Until the minstrel fit drew near, 


What time the slumberer is aware 


And made nie prize a listening ear. 


He sleeps, and all the vision s air : 


But, loveUest, when thou first didst 


Even so, on yonder liquid lawn. 


pray 


In hues of bright reflection drawn, 


Continuance of the knightly lay. 


Oistinct the shaggy mountains lie, 


Was it not on the happy day 


ristiuct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 


That made thy hand mine own 8 


The summer-clouds so plain we note, 


When, dizzied with mine ecstasy, 


That we might count each dappled spot : 


Naught past, or present, or to be, 


We gaze and we admire, yet know 


Could I or think on, hear, or see, 


The scene is all delusive show. 


Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 


Such dreams of bliss' would Arthur draw, 


A giddy draught my rapture was, 


When first his Lucy's form he saw ; 


As ever chemist's ma^ic gas. 


Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew, 




Despairing they could e'er prove true 1 


V. , 




Again the summons I denied 


III. 


In yon fair capital of Clyde : 


But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 


My Harp — or let me rather choose 


Up the fair glen, our destined way : 


The good old classic form — my Muse^ 


The fairy path that we pursue, 


(For Harp's an over-scutched plirase 


Distinguish'd but by greener hue, 


Worn out by bards of modern days), 


Winds round the purple brae, 


My Muse, then — seldom wiU she wakj, 


While Alpme flowers of varied dye 


Save by dim wood and silent lake • 


For carpets serve, or tapestry. 


She is the wild and rustic Maid, 


See how the little runnels leap, 


Whose foot unsandaU'd loves to tread 


In threads of silver, down the steep, 


Where the soft greensward is inlaid 


To swell the brooklet's moan 1 


With varied moss and thyme • 


Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves. 


And, lest the simple lily-braid. 


Fantastic while her crown she weaves. 


Tliat coronets her temples, fade, 


Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, 


She hides her stUl in greenwood shade, 


So lovely, and so lone. 


To meditate her rhyme. 


There's no illusion there ; these flowers. 




That Wiuhng brook, these lovely bowers. 


VL 


Are, Lucy, all our own ; 


And now she comes! The murmur 


And, smce thine Arthur call'd thee wife, 


dear 


Such seems the prospect of his life. 


Of the wild brook hath caught her ear, 


A lovely path, on-winding stiU, 


The glade hath won her eye ; 


By gurgling brook and sloping hiU. 


She longs to join with each bUthe rUl 


"Tis true, that mortals cannot tell 


That dances down the Highland hil., 


What waits them in the distant dell ; 


Her bUther melody." 


But be it hap, or be it hai-m. 


And now my Lucy's way to cheei , 


We tread the pathway arm m arm. 


She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 




How closed the tale, my love whilere 


IV. 


Loved for its chivahry. 


And now, my Liicy, wot'st thou why 


List how she tells, in notes of flame. 


I could thy bidding twice deny. 


" Child Roland to the dark tower came P 


* MS. — " Scenes of bliss." 


' MS.—" Her wild-wood melody." 


* MS. — " Until yon peevish oath you swore. 


%' 


That you would sue for it no more." 

1 


> The MS. has not this co: ieU 



898 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in 



Qllje JBribal of ©ricrmain. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Bkwcastle DOW must keep the Hold, 

Speii'-Adaju's steeds must bide ia stall. 
Of Hartley-bum the bowmeD bold 

Must only elioot from b.attled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur, 

And Teviot dow may belt the brand, 
Taras and Ewes keep nightly stir. 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of w.osted fields and plunder'd flocks 

The Borderers bootless may complain ; 
They lack the sword of brave de Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
That lord, on high adventure bound, 

Hath wander'd forth .alone, 
And day .and tiight keeps watchful round 

In the valley of Saint John. 

II. 
When first began his vigil bold, 
rhe moon twelve summer nights was old. 

And shone both fau- and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue. 
O'er streamlet, d.ale, and rock, she threw 

Her hght composed and cool. 
Stretch'd on the brown lull's heathy breast, 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguish'd hom the rest. 
Those clustermg rocks uprear'd their crest. 
The dwelling of the f;ur distresa'd. 

As told gi-ay Lyulph's tale. . 
Tims as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivermg on his .armor bright. 

In beams that rose and fell. 
And danced upon his buckler's boss, 
That lay beside him on the moss, 

As on a crystal well. 

III. 
Ever he watch'd, and oft he deem'd, 
While on the mound the moonUght stream'd. 

It alter'd to his eyes ; 
fasa would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
To buttress'd walls then- shapeless range. 
Fain think, by transmutation strange, 

He saw gray tuiTets rise. 
iJut scarce his heart with hope throb'd high. 
Before the wild illusions fly. 

Which fancy had conceived, 
Abetted by an auxious eye 

That long'd to be deceived. 
It was a fraid deception all. 



Such as, in soUtary hall. 

Beguiles the musing eye. 
When, gazmg on the sinking fire. 
Bulwark, and battlement, and spire, 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night, 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright. 
Or by the dawn of morning light, 

Or evening's we«tern flame. 
In every tide, at every hour. 
In mist, in simshine, and in shower, 

The rocks remain'd the same. 

IV. 
Oft has he traced the charmed mound, 
Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round. 

Yet nothing might explore. 
Save that the crags so rudely piled, 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. • 

Yet stiU his watch the Warrior keeps. 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, 

And drinks but of the weU ; 
Ever by day he walks the hiU, 
And when the evening gale is chUl, 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead. 
And teU liis Ave .and liis Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his , speU. 



And now the moon her orb has hid. 
And dwindled to a silver thi-ead, 

Dim seen in middle heaven, 
Wliile o'er its curve careermg fast. 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoln the rills, 

And down the torrents came ; 
Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of hghtniug flame. 
De Vaux, within his mountain cave 
(No human step the storm dur.st brave), 
To moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul,' 
TiU, lull'd by distant torrent sound, 
And the s,ad winds that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, 

A broken slumber stole. 

VL 
'Twas then was heard a heavy sound 
(Sound, strange and fearful there to heal 

1 MS — " His faculties of sonL" 



CANTO 111. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



398 



'Mongol dosert hills, where, leagues around, 

Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer) : 
As starting from liis couch of fern," 
Again he heard, iii clangor stern, 

Tliat deep and solemn swell, — 
Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke, 
Like some proud mitister's pealing clock, 

Or city's larum-bell. 
What thouglit was Roland's first when fell, 
In that deep wilderness, the knell 

Upon his startled ear ? 
To slander warrior were I loth, 
Tet must I hold my minstrel troth, — 

It was a thought of fear. 

VII. 
But lively was the mingled thrUl 
That chased that momentary chill. 

For Love's keen wish was there. 
And eager Hope, and Valor high. 
And the proud glow of Chivalry, 

That hurn'd to do and dare. 
Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd. 
Long ere the mountain-voice' was hush'd. 

That answer'd to the knell ; 
For long and far the unwonted sound. 
Eddying in echoes round and roimd. 

Was toss'd from fell to fell ; 
And Glaramara answer flung. 
And Grisdale-pike responsive rung. 
And Legbert heights their echoes swung. 

As far as Derwent's delL' 

vm. , 

Kortli upon trackless d.u'kiiess gazed . 
The Kniglit, bedeafen'd and amazed. 

Till all was hush'd and still, 
Save the swoln ton*ent's sullen roar. 
And the night-blast that wildly bore 

Its course along the hill. 
Tlien on the noi*thern sky there came 
A light .as of reflected flame. 

And over Legbert-head, 
As if by magic art controU'd, 
A mighty meteor slowly roll'd 

Its orb of fieiy red ; 
Thou woulist have thought some demon dire 



MS.-- 



-*' hig couch of rock. 



Again upon his ear it broke.' 
" mingled sounds were hush'd.' 



MS- 

' "The rock, like something starting from a sleep. 
Took np the lady's voice, and langh'd again ; 
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-Crag 
Was rea<iy with her cavern ; Hammar->car, 
And the tall steep of Silver-How. sent forth 
A noise of laughter ; southern Loughrigg heard, 
And Fairfield answer'd with a mountain tone ; 
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky 
VSutied the lady's ' lice, — old Skiddaw blew 



Came mounted on that car of fire. 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valley's course. 
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 
Shingle and Scrac,* and Fell and Force, 

A dusky liglit arose : 
Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene 
Dark rock, and brook of .silver slieen, 
Even the gay thicket's summer green, 

In bloody tincture glows. 

IX. 
De Vaux had mai'td the sunbeams set. 
At eve, upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound. 
And seen but crags at random flung. 
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,' 

In desolation frown'd. 
What sees he by that meteor's lour ? — 
A banner'd Castle, keep, and tower, 

Return the lurid gleam. 
With battled walls and buttress fast. 
And barbican' and ballium^ vast. 
And airy flanking towers, that cast 

Tlieir sliadows on the stream. 
'Tis no deceit ! — distinctly clear 
Creneff and parapet appear. 
While o'er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momentary pause ; 
Then forth its solemn path it drew, 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the view, 

As its wild light withdraws. 



Forth from the cave did Roland rush. 

O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; 

Yet far he had not sped,'" 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills, and utter niglit 

Was on tlie valley spread." 
He paused perforce, and blew his horn, 
And, on tlie mountain echoes borne." 

Was heard an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet-note,— 
In middle au' it seem'd to float 

High o'er the battled mound ; 



His speaking-trumpet ; — back oat of the clouds 
Of Glaramara southward came the vo.'ce ; 
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head." 

Wordsworth 

* Bank of loose stones. '•' Waterfall 

G MS. "rocks at random piled. 

That on the torrent brawling wild." 

' The outer defence of the castle gate. 

8 Fortified court. » Ajwrtnres for shooting aiTOWl 

'0 MS. " had not gone." 

" MS. *' the valley lone." 

13 MS. — " And far upon the echoes borne." 



400 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO m 



And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
Of some proud castle, holding ward. 

Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermiiin 
Rung forth his challenge-blast again, 

But answer came there none ; 
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain. 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain,' 

Until the dawning shone ; 
And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, 
Distinctly seen by meteor-Ught, 

It .all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mound once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore, 

As at the close of day, 

XL 

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorn'd from liis ventui'ous quest to part, 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees, by night or day. 
That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray. 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, through hills of azure borne,' 
The moon reneVd her silver horn. 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A sunmier mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapors float. 
And cloudy undulations moat' 
That tufted mound of mystic note. 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide* 

Tlie rock's majestic isle; 
It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn, 
By some fantastic fairy drawn' 

Around enchanted pile. 

XII. 
The breeze came softly down the brook,' 
And, sigliing as it blew, 

I MS. " he sought the towers in vain.'* 

^ MS. — " But when, through fields of azure borne." 
3 MS. — " And witli thoir eddying billows moat.'* 
* MS.—" lentil the mist's gray bosom hide." 

s MS. " a veil of airy lawn." 4 

s " A sliarp frost wind, wliich made itself heard and felt 
f'rom time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might 
otherwise liave slumbered till morning on the valley ; and, 
though It conid not totally disperse the clouds of vapor, yet 
threw them in confused and changeful masses, now hovering 
round the heads of tlie mountains, now filling, as with a dense 
and voluminous stream of smoke, the various deep gullies 
where masses of the composite roclt, or hrescia, tumbling in 
fragments from the clilTs, have ruslied to the valley, leaving 
each behind its course a rent and torn ravine, resembling a de- 
lerted water-course. The moon, which was now high, and 
winkled witfc all the vivacity of a frosty atmospliere, silvereil 



The veil of silver mist it shook, 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renew'd that wondrous view. 
For, though the loitering vapor braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold; 
And still, when shook that filmy screen. 
Were towers and bastions dimly seen. 
And Gothic battlements between 

Their gloomy length unroU'd.'' 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die ! 

— -The gallant knight 'gan speed ' 

As prompt and light as, when the hotmd 
Is opening, and the horn is wound, 

Careers the hunter's steed 
Down the steep deU his coiu-se amain 

Hath riv.all'd archer's shaft ; 
But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And, mocking loud his labor vain. 

The mountain sphits laugh'd. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

xm. 

Wroth wax'd the Warrior.—" Am I then 

Fooled by the enemies of men. 

Like a poor hind, whose homeward wav 

Is liaunted' by mahcious fay ? 

Is Tiiermain become your taunt, 

De Vaux yom' scorn ? False fiends, avaiint f 

A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 

The baleful blade so bright and square, 

And the tough shaft of heben wood. 

Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 

Backward his st.ately form he drew, 

And at the rocks the weapon threw. 

Just where one crag's projected crest 

Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 

Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 

Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 

If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell, 

the windings of the river, and the peaks and precipices whicfc 
the mist left visible, while lier beams seemed, as it were. &}>• 
sorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick 
and condensed, and gave to the more light and vapory specki, 
which were elsewhere visible, a sort of filmy transparency re. 
sembling the lightest veil of silver gauze." — JVavcjtey J^<h 
vcls — Rob Roy — vol. viii. p. 267. 

" The praise of truth, precision, and distinctness, is not very 
frequently combined with that of extensive magnificence and 
splendid complication of imagery ; yet, how masterly, and JL 
often sublime, is the panoramic display, in all these works, of M 
vast and diversified scenery, and of crowded and tumuItDOU* ' 
action," &c. — .fjdolphus, p. 163. 

' " The scenery of the valley, seen by the light of the iliro» 
merand autumnal moon, is described with an aerial toaok t» 
which we cannot do justice." — (Quarterly Rcoiew* 

« MS.— "Is *ilder'd." 



i 



CANTO in. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 401 


()r if the blow dissolved some spell. 


This enduring fabric plann'd ; 


But dovrn the headlong ruin came, 


Sign and sigil, word of power. 


With cloud of dust, and flasli of flame. 


From the earth raised keep and tower. 


Down bank, o'er bush, it's course was borne, 


View it o'er, and pace it round. 


Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 


Rampart, turret, battled mound. 


Till st.iid at length, the ruin dread 


Dare no more ! To cross the gate 


Cumber'd the torrent's rocl;y bed. 


Were to tamper with thy fate ; 


And bade the w.aters' high-swoln tide 


Strength and fortitude were vain. 


Seek other p.assage for its pride. 


View it o'er — and turn again." — 


XIV. 


XVII. 


(Vhen ceased that thunder, Tiiermain 


" Tliat would I," said the Warrior bold, 


Survey 'd the mound's rude front again ; 


" If that my frame were bent and old. 


And, lo I the ruin had laid bare. 


And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold 


Hewn m the stone, a winding stair. 


As icicle in thaw ; 


Wliose moss'd and fractured steps might lend 


But wliile my heart can feel it dance, 


The means the summit to ascend ; 


Blitlie as the sparkling wine of France, 


And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 


And tliis good arm wields sword or lance. 


tiegan to scale these magic rocks, 


I mock these words of awe !" 


And soon a platform won, 


He said ; the wicket felt the sway 


Where, the wild witchery to close, 


Of his strong hand, and straight gave wa» 


Within three lances' length arose 


And, with rude cr.ish and jarimg bvav 


The Castle of Saint John 1 


The rusty bolts withdraw ; 


No misty phantom of the air. 


But o'er the threshold as he .strode. 


No meteor-blazon'd show was there ; 


And forward took the vaulted roaif. 


Tn morning splendor, full and fair. 


An unseen iu-m, with force amain. 


The massive fortress shone. 


The ponderous gate flung close again. 


• 


And rusted bolt and bar 


XV. 


Spontaneous took their place once ii..*ie, 


Embattled high and proudly tower'd. 


WhUe the deep arch with sullen roar 


'^hadpd by pond'rous flankers, lower'd 


Return'd their surly jar. 


The portal's gloomy way. 


" Now closed is the gin and the prey withii, 


Though for six hundrod years and more, 


By the Rood of Lanercosf ! 


Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar 


But he that would win the war-wolf's skin. 


The scutcheon'd emblems wliich it bore 


May rue him of liis boa.st." 


Had suffer'd no decay : 


Thus muttering, on the Wiirrior went. 


But from the eastern battlement 


By dubious light down steep descent. 


A turret had made sheer descent, 




And, down in recent ruin rent. 


XVIII. 


In the mid torrent lay. 


ITnb.arr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port 


Else, o'er the Castle's brow sublime. 


Led to the Castle's outer court : 


Insults of violence or of time 


There the main fortress, broail and tall 


Unfelt had pass'd away. 


Spread its long r.ange of bower and hall. 


In shapeless characters of yora, 


And towers of varied size, 


The gate this stern inscription bore : — 


Wrought with each ornament extreme, 




That Gotliic art, in wildest dream 


XVI 


Of fancy, could devise ; 


Knstrfptfon. 


But full between the Warrior's way 


" Patience waits the destined day, 


And the main portal arch, there lay 


Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 


An imier moat ; 


Warrior, who hast waited long. 


Nor bridge nor boat 


Firm of soul, of sinew strong. 


Affords De Vaux the means to cross 


It is given to thee to gaze 


Tha clear, profound, and silent fosse. 


On the pile of ancient days. 


His arms aside in haste he flings. 


Never mortal builder's hand 


Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings. 




And down falls helm, and down the shielcL 


1 Ms. — " And bade its watera, in their pride 


Rough with the dints of many a field. 


Seek other current for their tide." 


Fair was his manly form, and fair 







t02 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



uxMo in. 



His keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair, 
When, all unarm'd, save that the brand 
Of well-proved metal gi-aced his hand, 
With naught to fence liis dauntless breast 
But the close gipon's' under-vest, 
Whose sullied buflf the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
Eiland De Vaux upon the brim 
Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 

XIX. 

Acco'itred thus he dared the tide. 
And soon he reach'd the farther side. 

And enter'd soon the Hold, 
And piiced a hall, whose walls so wide 
Were blazon'd all with feats of pride. 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they counter'd here, 

While trumpets secm'd to blow ; 
And there, in den or desert drear. 

They qucll'd gigantic foe." 
Braved tlie fierce grhfon in his ire. 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Strange in their arms, and strange in face. 
Heroes they seem'd of ancient race. 
Whose deeds of arras, laid race, and name, 
forgotten long by later fame, 

Were here depicted, to appal' 
rhose of an age degenerate. 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some short space the venturous KnigW 
With these liigh marvels fed his sight, 
Then sought the chamber's upper end. 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arcli'd portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate. 

And, ere he ventured more. 
The gall;mt Knight took earnest view 
The gratet" wickeVwindoM through. 

XX. 

) for his arms I Of martial weed 

Had never mortal Knight such need ! — 

Hf spied a stately galleiy ; aU 

nf snow-wliite marble was the wall, 

Tlie vaulting, and the floor ; 
Ana, contrast strange ! on either hand 
There stood airay'd in s.able band 

Four Maids whom Afric bore ;* 
And each a Lybian tiger led. 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair. — 

■ A sort of douc.fet, ^orn beneath tlie armor. 

MS.—" They counterM giant foe." 
I MS. — " Portray'd by hnuier to appal." 
* MS.—" Four Maidens stood in gable band 



For the leash that bound these monsters 
dread 

Was but of goss;^er. 
Each Maiden's short barbaric vest' 
Left aU miclosed the knee and breast. 

And limbs of shapely jet ; 
White was their vest and turban's fold. 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on then- shoulders lay, 
And in their hand an assagay." 
Such and, so silent stood they there, 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare, 
Station'd the gazer's soul to scare ; 

But, when the wicket oped, 
Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, 
Roll'd his grun eye, and spread his claw. 
Scented the air, and hck'd his jaw ; 
While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue, 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXL 

" Rash Adventurer, bear thee back I 

Dread the spell of Dahomay 1 
Fear the race of Zaharak,' 

Daughters of the burning day I 

' When the whulwind's gusts are wheeling; 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarah's sands in pUlars reeling, 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the Moon has donn'd her cloak, 

And the stars are red to see. 
Shrill wlien pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 

" Where tlie shatter'd columns lie, 

Showing Carthage once had been. 
If the wandermg Santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death, 

To the nations preaches doom, 
' Azrael's brand iiath left the sheath I 

Moslems, tliink upon the tomb !' 

" Ours the scorpion, ours the snako, 

Ours the hydra of the fen. 
Ours the tiger of the brake. 

All that plagues the sons of mea 
Ours the tempest's midnight wrack, 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
Dread the race of Zaharak 1 

Fear the spell of Dahomay 1 

The blackest Afriqae tore." 
(> MS. — " Each Maiden's short and savage vest. ' 
« The MS. has not Iliis couplet. 
' Zaharak or Zaharah is the Arab name of the Oreat Del 



CANTO in. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



403 



xxri. 

CTncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted roofs among, 
Long it was ere, faint and still. 

Hied the far-resoyuding song. 
>Vhile yet the distant echoes roll. 
The Wan'ior communed with liis souL 

^ IrMien first I took this ventui'ous quest, 
I swore upon the rood, 

Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest, 
For evil or for good. 
My foi-ward path too well I ween. 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between ! 
For man imarm'd, 'tis bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope — 
Yet, if I turn, what waits me there, 
Save famine dire and fell despair ? — 
Other conclusion let me try. 
Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 
Forward, lies faith and knightly fame ; 
Behind, are perjury and .shame. 
In hfo or death I hold my word I" 
With that he drew his trusty sword. 
Caught down a b.inner from the wall, 
And tnter'd thus the fearful halL 

xxnL 

On high each wayward Maiden threw 

Her swarthy arm, with wild lialloo I 

On either side a tiger sprung' — 

Against the leftward foe he flung 

The ready banner, to engage 

With tangling folds the brutal rage ; 

The right-hand monster in mid-air 

He struck so fiercely and so fair, 

Through jpiUet and througli spinal bone 

The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 

His grisly brethren ramp"d and yell'd. 

But the slight leasli their rage withlield, 

Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 

Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 

Safe to the gallery's bound he drew, 

Safe pass'd an open portal through ; 

And when against pursuit he flung 

The gate, judge if the echoes rung I 

Onward his daring comse he bore, 

While, mix'd with dying growl and roar, 

Wild jubilee and loud Imrra 

Pursued him on liis venturous way. 

xxrv. 

" Hurra, hurra I Our watch is done ! 
W 5 hail once more the tropic sun. 
P.aUi J beams of northern day, 
Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 

Ms. — Tliat flash'd with soch a golden flame." 



" Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agen ; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
Dared to crass the Hall of Fear. 

" Warrior ! thou, whose dauntless heart 
Gives us from our ward to part. 
Be as strong m future trial, 
Wliere resistance is denial. 

" Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 

Zaliai;ik and Daliomay I 

Mount the winds ! Hurra, hurra I" 

XXV. 
"fhe wizard song at distance died. 

As if in ether borne astray, 
While through waste halls and chamberi 
wide 

The Knight pursued his steady way, 
Till to a lofty dome lie came. 
That flash'd with such a brilliant flame, 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 
For here the gold, in sandy heaps. 
With duller earth, incorporate, sleeps-. 
Was tliere in ingots pUed, and there 
Coin'd badge of empery it bare ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
Diram'd by the diamond's neighboring ray 
Like the pale moon in raorn'mg day ; 
And in the midst four Maidens stand, 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was of the dark-red dye. 
That fi'inges oft a thunder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare, 
And cotton fillets bound their hair ; 
Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
To earth they bent the humbled eye. 
Folded theii- arms, and suppliant kneel'd. 
And thus their profTe'r'd gifts reveal'd.' 

XXVL 

CHORUS. 

" See the treasures Merlin piled, ■ 
Portion meet foi^Arthur's child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream. 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream !" 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

" See these clots of vugin gold ! 
Sever'd from the sparry mould, 
Nature's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie ; 



■> MS.- 



' And, snppliant as on earth they kneel'd, 
The gifts they profler'd thus reveal'd " 



♦04 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ni 



And their (irient smile can win 


And soon he reach'd a court-yard square, 


Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 


Where, dancing in the sultry air. 




Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair 


SECOND MAIDEN. 


Was sparkling in the sun. 


" See, these pearls, that long have slept ; 


On right and left, a fair arcade. 


' These were tears by Naiads wept 


In long perspective view display'd 


For the loss of Marinel. 


Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : 


Ti-itons in the silver shell 


But, full in front, a door. 


Tieasured them, till haid and white 


Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it led 


As the teeth of Amphitrite." — 


To the lone dweUiug of the dead, 




Whose memory was no more. 


THIKD MAIDEN. 




" Does a livelier hue delight ? 


XXLX. 


Here are rubies blazing bright, 


Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space, 


Here the emerald's fauy green, 


To bathe his parched Ups and face. 


And the topaz glows between; 


And mark'd with well-pleased eye, 


Here their varied hues unite, 


Refracted on the fountain stream, 


In the changeful chrysolite." — 


In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 




Of that gay summer sky. 


FOnETH MAIDEN. 


His senses felt a mild control. 


" Leave these gems of poorer shine, 


Like that which lulls 'iie weary soul, 


Leave theni all, and look on mine 1 
Wliile their glories I expand. 


From contempltt on high 


Relaxing, when the es.r receives 


Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand. ^ 


The music that the gi tenwood leaven 


Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 


Make to the breezes' sigh. 


Blind the rash beholder's gaze." — 






XXX. 


OHOBUS. 


And oft in such a dreamy mood. 


" Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 


The half-shut eye can frame 


Would 'twere all our mountains bore 1 


Fail- apparitions in the wood, 


We should ne'er in futm-e story. 


As if the nymphs of field and flood 


Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory !" 


In gay procession came. 




Are these of such fantastic mould, 


XXVIL 


Seen distant down the fair arcade, 


Calmly and unconcern'd, the Knight 


These Maids enlink'd in sister-fold, 


Waved aside the treasures bright : — 


Who, late at bashful distance^taid. 


" Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray 1 


Now tripping from the greenwood shada 


Bar not thus my destined way. 


Nearer the musing champion draw. 


Let these boasted brilliant toys 


And, in a pause of seeming awe. 


Braid tlie hair of gu-ls and boys 1' 


Again stand doubtful now ? — 


Bid yom- streams of gold expand 


Ah, that sly pause of witching powers 1 


O'er proud London's thirsty land. 


That seems to say, " ^o please be ours, 


De Vaux of wealth saw never need, 


Be yours to tell us how." 


Save to piu-vey him arms and steed. 


Their hue was of the golden glow 


And all the ore he deign'd to hoard 


Tliat suns of Candahar bestow. 


Inlays his helm, and hilts his sword," 


O'er wliich in sUght suffusion flows 


Hus gently parting from thfeir hold. 


A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 


He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 


Their Umbs were fasliion'd fair and free, 




In nature's justest symmetry ; 


xxvin. 


And, wreathed with flowers, with odors graoe4 


And now the morning sun was high, 


Their raven ringlets reach'd the waist : 


De Vaux was weary, faiut, and dry ; 


In eastern pomp, its gUding pale 


When, lo 1 a plasliing sound he hears, 


Tlie hennah lent each shapely nail. 


A gladsome signal that he nears 


And the dark sumah gave the ey« 


Some frolic water-run ; 


More liquid and more lustrous dyo. 




The spotless veil of misty lawn, 


' MS - " Let those boasted gems and pearU 


In studied disarrangement, dra\ i 


Braid the hair of toy-caaght girlj." 


The form and bosom o'er, 



alNTO UL 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



405 



To win the eye, or tempt the touch, 


" Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart 1 


For modesty show d all too much — 


Go, wliere the feelings of the heart 


Too much — yet promised more. 


With the wai-m pulse in concord move ; 




Go, where Virtue sanctions Love 1" 


XXXI. 




• Gentle Knight, a while delay," 


XXXIII. 


Thus they sung, " thy toilsome way, 


Downward De Vaux tlirough daiksome waw 


WTiile we pay the duty due 


And ruined vaults has gone. 


To our Master and to you. 


Till issue from their wilder'd maze, 


Over Avarice, over Fear, 


Or safe retreat^ seem'd none, — 


Love triimiphaiit led thee here 


And e'en the dismal path he strays 


Warrior, list to us, for we 


Grew worse as he went on. 


Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 


For cheerful sun, for livmg air. 


Though no treasured gems have we, 


Foul vapors rise and mine-fires glare. 


To proffer on the bended knee. 


Whose fearful light the dangers show'd 


Though we boast nor arm nor heart, 


That dogg'd him on that dreadful road. 


For the assagay or dart. 


Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. 


Swains allow each simple girl 


They show'd, but show'd not how to shun 


Ruby lip and teeth of pearl ; 


These scenes' of desolate despair. 


Or, if dangers more you prize. 


These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 


Flatterers find them in our eyes. 


How g'ladly had De Vaux exchanged. 




Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged 1 


" Stay, then, g^tle Warrior, stay. 


Nay, soothful bards have said. 


Rest tUl evening steal on day ; 


So perilous his state seem'd now. 


Stay, stay 1 — in yonder bowers 


He wish'd him under arbor bough 


We will braid thy locks with tlowers, 


With Asia's wilUng maid. 


Spread the feast and fill the wine. 


When, joyful sound 1 at distance near 


Chiu-m thy ear with sounds divine. 


A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, 


Weave our dances till delight 


And as it ceased, a lofty lay 


Yield to languor, day to night. 


Seem'd thus to chide his lagging waif. 


Then shall she you most approve. 




Smg the lays that best you love. 


XXXIV. 


Soft thy mossy couch shall spread. 


" Son of Honor, theme of story. 


Watch thy pillow, ]»rop thy head. 


Think on the reward before ye 1 


Till the weary night be o'er — 


Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 


Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 


'Tis Ambition bids thee rige.. 


Wouldat thou more, fair Wanior, — she 




Is slave to Love and slave to thee." 


" He that would her heights ascend. 




Many a weary step must wend ; 


xxxn. 


Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 



do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme, 
, For Stoic look. 
And meet rebuke. 
He lack'd the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip. 
He kiss'd one damsel's laughing Up,' 
And press'd another's proffered hand 
Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
But broke their magic circle through ; 
" Kind Maids," he said, " adieu, adieu I 
My fate, my fortmie, forward lie,s." 
He said, and vanish'd from theu- eyes ; 
But, as he dared that darksome way, 
Btill heard behind their lovely lay ; — 

* MS. — '* As roQnd the band of sirena press'd, 
Ooe da xsel's laagbiDg Up be kiu'd." 



Thus Ambition's minions rise. 

" Lag not now, though rough the way. 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
Grasp the boon that's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory T 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the Wanderer found, 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air. 
And next a welcomf; glimpse was given) 
That cheer'd him with the light of l^eaven 

At length his toil had won 

1 MS.—" This slate," tie. 



106 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. camto to. 


A lofty hnll ■with trophies dress' d, 


Bid your vatilted echoes moan, 


Where, as to greet imperial guest, 


As the dreaded step they own. 


Four Maidens stood, whose crimson vest 




Was bound with golden zone. 


" Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell. 




Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well 1 


XXXV. 


Spread your dusky wings abroad,' 


Of Europe seem'd the damsels all ; 


Botme ye for your homeward road 1 


The first a nymph of Uvely Gaul, 




Whose easy step and laughing eye 


" It is His, the first who e'er 


fler borrow VI air of awe beUe ; 


Dared the dismal HaU of Fear ; 


Tlie next a maid of Spain, 


His, who hath the snares defied 


Dark-eyed, dai-k-haii 'd, sedate, yet bold; 


Spread by Pleasine, Wealth, and Pride 


Wnite ivory skin and tress of gold. 




Her shy and bashful comrade told 


" Qujike to your foundations deep, 


For daughter of Almaine. 


Bastion huge, and Turret steep !* 


These maidens bore a royal robe, 


Tremble, Keep ! and totter. Tower 1 

Tliis is Gyneth's waking hour." 1 


With crown, with sceptre, and with globe. 


Emblems of empery ; 


The fourth a space behind them stood, 


XXXVII. 


And leant upon a harp, in mood 


•Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight 


Of minstrel ecstasy. 


Has reach'd a bower, where milder light' 


Of merry England she, in dress 


Tlu-ough crimson curtains fell ; 


lake ancient British Druidess. 


Such soften'd shade the hill receives, . 


Her hair an azure fillet bound. 


Her purple veil when twilight leaves ' 


Her graceful vesture swept the ground, 


Upon its western swell. 


And, in her hand display'd. 


That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 


A crown did that fourth Midden hold, 


Hath wondi-ous store of rare and rich 


But unadorn'd with gems and gold, 


As e'er was seen with eye ; 


Of glossy laurel made.' 


For there by magic skill, I wis, 




Form of each thing that Uving is 


XXXVI. 


Was limn'd in proper dye. 


At once to brave De Vaui knelt down 


All seem'd to sleep — the timid hare 


These foremost Miiidens thj-ee, 


On form, the stag upon liis lair. 


And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, 


The eagle in her eyrie fair 


Liegedom and seignorie. 


Between the earth and sky. 


O'er many a region wide and fair. 


But what of pictured rich and rare' 


Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir ; 


Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where 'j 


But homage would he none : — ' 


Deep slumbering in the fatal chair. 


" Rather," he said, " Do Vaux would ridt 


He saw King Arthur's cliild 1 ' 


A Warden of the Border-side, 


Doubt, and anger, and dismay, j 
From her brow had pass'd away. < 


In plate and mail, than, robed in pride. 


A monarch's enipu-e own ; 


Forgot was that fell tourney-day,' 


Rather, far rather, would he be 


For, as she slept, she smiled : 


A free-born knight of England free. 


It seem'd, that the repentant Seer 


Than sit on Despot's tlu-one." 


Her sleep of many a himdred year 


So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid, 


With gentle di-eams beguiled. 


• A s^tarting fi-om a tralice. 




Upon the harp her finger laid ; 


xxxvin. 


Her magic touch the chords obey'd, 


That fonn of miiiden lovehness. 


Their soul awaked at once 1 


"Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 




That ivory chair, that silvan dress, 


SONG OF THE FOnRTH MAIDEN. 


The arms and ankles bare, express | 


" Quake to yoiu' foundations deep, 


Of Lyvdph's tale the truth. 


Stately Towers, and Banner'd Keep, 


Still upon her gai-ment's hem 


I MS — " Of laurel leaves was made." 


< MS. " and battled keep.** 


» MS.—" But the firm knight pass'd on." 


' MS. " Boften'd light.** 


• MS. — " Spread your pennons all abroad.** 


« MS.—" But what *>£ rich or what of raw." 



lANTo in. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 407 


Vanoc's blood m.iJe purple gem, 


And to require of bard 


Ani the wanler of command 


Tliat to his dregs the tale should run, 


Cumber'd still her sleepini; htmd ; 


Were ordinance too hard. 


Still her dark locks dishnvell'd flow 


Our lovers, briefly be it said. 


From net of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 


Wedded as lovers wont to wed,' 


And so fan- the slumberer seems, 


When tale or play is o'er ; 


That De Vaux impeach'd his dreams, 


Lived long and blest, loved fond anH 


Vapid all and void of might, 


true. 


Hiding half her charms from sight. 


And saw a numerous race renew 


Motionless a while he stands, 


The honors that they bore. 


Folds his arms and clasps liis hands. 


Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays, 


TrembUng in his fitful joy, 


In morning mist or evening maze. 


Doubtful how he should destroy 


Along the mountain lone. 


Long-enduring spell } 


That fairy fortress often mocks 


Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 


His gaze upon the castled rocks 


Dai-k-fringed Uds of Gyneth's eyes 


Of the Valley of St John ; 


What these eyes shall teU. — 


But never man since brave De Vaux 


" St. George ! St. Mary ! can it be 


The charmed portal won. 


That they will kindly look on me !" 


'Tis now a vain illusive show, 




That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow 


XXXIX. 


Or the fresh breeze hath blown." 


Gently, lo ! the Warrior kneels. 




Soft that lovely hand he steals. 


IL 


Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp- 


But see, my love, where far below 


But the warder leaves her grasp ; 


Our lingering wheels are moving slow, " 


Lightning flashes, rolls the tlnmder I 


The whiles, up-gazing still. 


Gyneth startles from her sleep, 


Our menials eye our steepy way, 


Totters Tower, and trembles Keep, 


Marvelling, perchance, what wliim can sla» 


Burst the Castle-walls asunder I 


Our steps when eve is sinking gray. 


Fierce and frequent wore the shocks, — 


On this gigantic hill. 


Melt the magic halls away ; 


So thmk the vulgar — Life and time 


But beneath their mystic rocks, 


Ring all their joys in one dull chime 


In the arms of bold De Vaux, 


Of luxury and ease ; 


Safe the princess lay ; 


And, ! beside these simple knaves. 


Safe and free from magic power, 


How many better born are slaves 


Blusliing lilie the rose's flower 


To such coarse joys as these, — 


Opening to the day ; 


Dead to the nobler sense that glows 


And roimd the Champion's brows were bound 


Wlien nature's grander scenes unclose ! 


The croAvn that Druidess had wound. 


But, Lucy, we will love them yet, 


Of the green lam-el-bay. 


The mountain's misty' coronet, 


And this was what remain'd of all 


Tlie greenwood, and the v-Id; 


The wealth of each enchanted hall. 


And love the more, that of ther maze 


The Garland and the Dame : 


Adventure high of other days 


But where should Warrior seek the meed. 


By ancient bards is told. 


Pa^ 1 1 high worth for daring deed. 


Bringing, perchance, like my pi.Dr tale. 


Ex-jp '. from Love and Fame I 


Some moral truth in fiction's veil :* 




Nor love them less, that o'er the hiU - 
The evening breeze, as now, comes chill — 






My love sh.-ill wrap her warm. 


CONCLUSION. 


And, fearless of the slippery way. 




While safe she trips the heathy brae. 


L 


Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 


My LnoT, when the Maid is won. 




The Minstrel's task, thou knovr'st, is done ; 


THE END OF TEIEEMAIN.' 


M3. — *' Yet know, this maid and warrior too. 


> MS.—" Silvan." 


Wedded as lovers wont to do." 


< The MS. haa not this conplet. 


M3 -- * That melts whene'er the hreezes blow, 


' " The Bridal of Triermain is written in the style of Itti 


Or beaniB ' clondless son." 


Wulter Scott ; and if in magnis ootuisse sit est, the aotJio 



40b 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



whatever may be the merits of his work, has earned the meed 
Rt which he aspires. To attempt a serious imitation of the 
most popolar living poet — and this imitation, not a short frag- 
ilient, in wliich all liis pecoHarities might, with comparatively 
little difficulty, be concentrated — but a long and complete 
woik, with plot, character, and machinery entirely new — and 
with no manner of resemblance, therefore, to a parody on any 
|ic</aiiction of the original author ; — this must be acknowledged 
an atttimpt of no timid daring." — Edinburgh Magazine, 1817. 



'* The fate of this work must depend on its own merits, for 
t is not borne up by any of the adventitious ci|cumslances that 
'requently contribute to literary success. It is ushered into the 
world in the most modest guise ; and the author, we believe, 
B entirely unknown. Siiould it fail altogether of a favorable 
fecej)tion, we shall be disposed to abate something of the in- 
dignation which we have occasionally expressed against the ex- 
travagant gaudiness of modern publications, and imagine that 
there are reaJeis whose suffrages are not to be obtained by a 
work without a name. 

"The merit of the Bridal of Triermain, in our estimation, 
consists in its perfect simplicity, and an interweaving the re- 
finement of modern times with the peculiarities of the ancient 
metrical romance, which are in no respect violated. In point 
of interest, the first and second cantos are superior to the third. 
One event naturally arises out of that which precedes it, and 
the eye is delighted and dazzled with a series of moving pic- 
tures, eacl) of them remarkable for its individual^plendor, and 
all contributing more or less directly to produce the ultimate 
result. The tliird canto is less profuse of incident, and some- 
what more monotonous in its effect. This, we conceive, will 
be the impression on the first perusal of the poem. When we 
have leisure to mark tlie merits of the composition, and to sep- 
arate them from the progress of the events, we are disposed to 
think lliat the extraordinary beauty of the description will near- 
ly com))ensate for the defect we have already noticed. 

" But it is not from the fable that an adequate notion of the 
merits of this singular work can be formed. We have already 
spoken of it as an imitation of Mr. Scott's style of composi- 
tion.; and if we are compelled to make the general approbation 
more precise and specific, we should say, that if it be inferior 
ill vigor to some of his productions, it equals, or surpasses them, 
in elegance and beauty ; that it is more uniformly tender, and 
'ar less infei^d with the unnatural prodigies and coarsenesses of 
the earlier romancers. In estimating its merits, iiowever, we 
should forget that it is offered as an imitaticn, The diction 
undoubtedly remind^ us of a rhythm and cadence we have 
heard before ; but th ■ sentiments, descriptions, and characters, 
have loalilies that ar ■ native and unborrowed. 

" In his sentiment? the author has avoidec the slight de- 
ficiency we ventured to ascribe to his prototype. The pictures 
of pure description are perpetually illuminated with reflectioiia 
Uiat bring out their coloring, and increase their moral effect ; 
tbese reflections are suggested by the scene, produced without 
ifibrt, and expressed with unaffected simplicity. The descriii- 
tioDE a-e spirited and striking, possessing an airiness suited to 
the mythologv and manners of the times, thougli restrained by 
correct taste. Among the characters, many of which are such 
IS we espect to find in this department of poetry, it is impossi- 
ble not to distinguish that of Arthur, in which, identifying 
himself with his original, the author has contrived to unite the 
Valor of the hero, the courtesy and dignity of the monarch, and 
ihe amiable weaknesses of any ordinary mortal, and thus to 
fwesent to us the express lineaments of the flower of chivalry." 
—Quarterly Review. 1813. 



* With regard lo this poem, we have often heard, from what 
may be deen ed good authority, a vtry curious anecdote, which 



we shall give merely as such, without vouching for the tmrh 
of it. When the article entitled, ' The Inferno of A.tisidora, 
appeared in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809, it will 
be remembered that the last fragment contained in that singu- 
lar production, is the begmning of the romance of Triermain 
Report says, that the fragment was not meant to be an imita- 
tion of Scott, but of Coleridge ; and that, for this purpose ^ 
the author borrowed both the name of the hero and the scene 
from the then unpublished poem of Christabelle ; and further 
that so few had ever seen the manuscript of that poem, that 
amongst these few the author of Triermain conld not be mis- 
taken. Be that as it may, it is well known, that on the ap- 
pearance of this fragment in the Annual Register, it was nni- 
versally taken for an imitation of Walter'Scott, and never once 
of Coleridge. The author perceiving this, and that the poem 
was well received, instantly set about drawing it out into a reg- 
ular and finished work ; for shortly after it was annouhced in 
the papers, and continued to be so for three long years; the 
author, as may be supposed, having, during that period, his 
hands occasionally occupied with heavier metal. In 1813, the 
poem was at last produced, avowedly and manifestly as an im- 
itation of Mr. Scott ; and it may easily be observed, that from 
the 27th page onward, it becomes much more decidedly hka 
tlie manner of that poet, than it is in the preceding part whicn 
was published in tlie Register, and which, undoubtedly, doei 
bear some similarity to Coleridge in the poetry, and more e» 
pecially in the rhythm, as, e. g, — 

' Harpers most loll him to his rest. 
With the slow tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill.' 

* It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 

The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 
That, like a silvery crape, was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant bead * 

' What time, or where 

Did she pass, that maid with the heavenly brow 
With her look so sweet, and her eyes so fair, 
And her graceful step, and her angel air. 
And the eagle-plume on her dark-brown hair. 
That pass'd from my bower e'en now V 

* Although it fell as faint and shy 

As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 
When she thinks her lover near.' 

' And light tliey fell, as when earth receivet. 
In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves, 
That drop when no winds blow.' 

' Or if 'twas but an airy thing, 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring. 
Framed from the rainbow's varying i^yes. 
Or fading tints of western skies.' 

" These, it will be seen, are not exactly Coleridj??, i>H\ tlie* 
are precisely such an imitation of Coleridge as, we conceiv*' 
another poet of our acquaintance would write : on '.hat ground, 
we are inclined to give some credit to the anecdote here re* 
lated, and from it we leave our readers to guess, as we havt 
done, who is the author of the poem." — Blackwood's Jila^ 
azine. April, 1817. 



The quarto of Rokeby was followed, within two months, By 
the small volume which had been designed for a twin-birth; 
— tlie MS. had been, transcribed by one of the BallantynM 
themselves, in order to guard against any indiscretion of th» 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



4U'J 



fKwpeopIe ; and the mystification, aided and abetted by Ers- 
kin", in no small decree heightened the interest of its recejUion. 
Scott i^ays, in the Introduction to the Lord oT the Isles, *' As 
Mr. Erskine was more than suspected of a taste lor poetry, and 
as I took c^re, in several places, to mix sometliing that might 
restinible (as lot as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were 
lold." Among the passages to which he here alludes, are no 
doabt those in which the character of the minstrel Arthur is 
thaded with the colorings of an almost cfTeminute gentleness. 
Yel, in the midst of them, the "mighty minstrel" himself, 
from time to time, escapes ; as, for instance, where tlie lover 
bids Lucy, in that exquisite picture of crossing a mountain 
etieaiD, trust to his " stalwart arm," — 

" Which could yon oak's prooe trunk uprear." 

Nor can 1 pass the compliment to Scott's own fair patroness, 
where Lucy's admirer is made to confess, with some momen* 
lary lapse of gallantry, that he 

" Ne'er won — best meed to minstrel true — 
One t'avoring smile from fair Buccleuch ;" 



I t*ie burst of genuine Borderism, — 

' Bewcastle now must keep the hold, 

Speir- Adam's steeds most bide in stall -. 
Of Hartley-burn the bow-men bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur, 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Tarraa and Ewes keep nightly stir, 
And EUtdale foray Camberla .-1 "— 
52 



t 



But, above ail, the choice of the scenery, both of the li troiluo 
tions and of the story itself, reveals the early and treasured pre 
dileclions of the poet. 

As a whole, the Bridal of Triermain appears to me as char- 
acteristic of Scott as any of his larger poems. His genius per- 
vades and animates it beneath a tliln and playful veil, which 
perhaps adds as much of grace as it takes away of splendor 
As Wordsworth says of the eclipse on the lake of Lugano 

" 'Tis sunlight sheathed and gently charm'd ;'* 

and I think there is at once a lightness and a polish m ^a- 
fication beyond what he has elsewhere attained. If it be a 
miniature, it is sudi a one as a Cooper might have hung fb ' 
lessly beside the masterpieces of Vandyke. 

The Introductions contain some of the most exqnisite ,.d5>- 
sages he ever produced ; hut their general effect has always 
struck me as unfortunate. No art can reconcile us to con- 
temptuous satire of the merest frivolities of modern life — sonrj 
of them already, in twenty years, grown obsolete — inter^Jd 
between such bright visions of the old world of romance, wlaen 

" Strength was gigantic, valor high, 
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky. 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dreaop " 

The fall is grievous, from the hoary minstrel of Newark , aihj 
his feverish tears on Killeorankie, to a pathetic swain, wbm 
can stoop to denounce as objects of his jealousy — 

" The landaulet and four blood-bay* - 
The Hensian boot and pantaloon." 



410 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
Like Collins, thread the maze of Fairy-land.—'P . 383. 
Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging some pecu- 
liar habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those 
Bights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to 
tvhicli the mind is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence 
in popular traditions. He Icved fairies, genii, giants, and mon- 
sters ; he deliglited to rove through the meanders of enchant- 
ment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose 
by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens." 



Note B. 
The Baron of Tricrmain.—V. 383. 

Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Gilsland, in Cumber- 
land : it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of tlie 
Conquest, but. " after the death of Gilniore, Lord of Tryer- 
maine and Torcrossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and 
Torerossock to his second son, Ranulpli Vaux ; which Ra- 
nulph afterwards became heir to Iiis elder brotlier Robert, the 
founder of Lanercost, wlio died without issue. Ranulph, be- 
ing Lord of all GlislaniJ, gave Gilmore's lands to his younger 
•nn, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest 
avn Robert, son of Ranulph. Roland bad issue Alexander, 
and lie Ranul])h, after whom succeeded Robert, and tliey were 
named Ro'aiids successively, that were lords thereof, until the 
mign of Edward the Fourth. That house gave for arms. Vert, 
a bend dexter, chequy, or and gules." — HvRy^s ^ntiguitics 
9f WestmoTcland and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 482. 

Tins branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now 
represented by the family of Braddyl of Conlshead Priory, in 
the county palatine of Lancaster; for it appears that about 
the tin:e above mentioned, tlie house of Triermain was united 
to its kiQdi;ed family Vaux of Caterlen, and, by marriage with 
the heiress of Delamore and Leybourne, became the represen- 
tative of those ancient and noble families. The male line 
filling in John De Vaux, aboat the year 1665, his daughter and 
heiress, Mabel, married Christopher Richmond, Esq., of High- 
head Castle, in the county of Cumberland, descended from 
an ancient family of that name, Lords of Corby Castle, in the 
same county, soon after the Conquest, and which they alien- 
ated about the 15th of Edward the Second, to Andrea de 
Harcla, Earl of Carlisle. Of this family was Sir Thomas Je 
Raigemonl (miles anratus), in the reign of King Edward the 
First, who appears to have greatly distinguished himself at the 
liege of Kaerlaveroc, with William, Baron of Leybourne. In 
an ancient heraldic poem, now extant, and preserved in the 
British Museum, describing that siege, » his arms are stated to 
be, Or, 2 Bars Gemelles Gules, and a chief Or, the same borne 
by'his descendants at the present day. The Riehmonds re- 
moved to their castle of Highhead in the reign of Henry the 
Eighth, wheu the then representative of the family married 
Margaret, daughter of Sir Hugh Lowther, by the Lady Doro- 
thy de Cliflx)rd, only child by a second marriage of Henry Lord 
CUfford, great-grandson of John Lord Clifford, by Elizabeth 
Percy, daughter of Henry (surnamed Hotspur), by Elizabeth 

1 Tliia 7o«m has been recently edited by Sir Nicolas Harris NichouiB, 
iaj3 



Mortimer, which satd Elizabeth was daagnter of Edn nl Mo^ 

timer, third Earl of Marche, by Philippa, sole daughter and 
heiress of Lionel, Duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from the above-mentioned John Rich- 
mond, became the representative of the families of Vaui, of 
Triermain, Caterlen, and Torcrossock, by his marriage with 
Mabel de Vaux, the heiress of thera. His grandson, Henry 
Richmond, died without issue, leaving five sisters co-heiresses, 
four of whom married ; but Margaret, who married William 
Gale, Esq., of Whitehaven, was the only one who had male 
issue surviving. She had a son, and a daughter married to Hen 
ry Curwen of Workington, Esq., who represented the county 
of Cumberland for many years in Parliament, and by her had 
a daughter married to John Christian, Esq. (now Curwen). 
John, son and heir of William Gale, married Parah, daughtei 
and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bardsea Hall, in the 
county of Lancaster, by Margaret, aunt and co-heiress of Thom- 
as Braddyl, Esii-. of Braddyl, and Conishead Priory in tbo 
same county, and had issue four sons and two daughters. Ist, 
William Wilson, died an infant ; 2d, Wilson, who, upon the 
death of his cousin, Tliomas Braddyl, without issue, succeeded 
to his estates, and took the name of Braddyl, in pursuance of 
his will, by the King's sign-manual ; 3d, William, died young; 
and, 4tii, Henry Richmond, a lieutenant-general of the army, 
married Sarah, daughter of the Rev. R. Baldwin ; Margaret 
manied Richard Greaves Townley, Esq., of Fulbourue, it the 
county 'Of Cambridge, and of BellCeld, in the count/ of Lan- 
caster; Sarah married to George Bigland of Bigland H all, in 
the same county. Wilson Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, 
and grandson of Margaret Richmond, married Jane, daughter 
and heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq., of Catgill Hall, in the 
county of Cumberland, by Jane, daughter and heiress of the 
Rev. S. Bennet, D. D. ; and, as the eldest surviving male 
branch of t'le families above mentioned, he quarters, in addi- 
tion to his own, their paternal coats in the following order, as 
appears by the records in the College of Arms. 1st, Argent, 
a fess azure, between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with an 
anchor between 2 lions' heads erased, or, — Gale. ?'', Or, il 
bars gemelles gules, and a chief or, — Richmond. .Id, Or, a 
fess chequey, or and gules between 9 gerbes gules, — Vaux of 
Caterlen. 4tli, Gules, a fess chequey, or and gules between 
6 gerbes or, — Vaux of Torcrossock. 5th, Argent (not vert, aj 
stated by Born), a bend chequey, or and gules, for Vaux of 
Triermain. 6th, Gules, a cross patonce, or, — Delamore. 7th, 
Gules, 6 lions rampant argent, 3, 2, and 1, — Leybourne. — This 
more detailed genealogy of the family of Triermain was obli- 
gingly sent to the author by Major Braddyll of Cunisheac 
Priory. 



Note C. 



He pass'd red PenriUi's Table Round.— F. 385. 

A circular iutrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, is 
thus popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is abool 
one hundred and sixty pacer in circumference, with openingH 
or approaches, directly opposite to each other. As the ditch 
is on the inner side, it could not b« wtendeJ for the purpose o( 
defence, and it has reasonably been («»njectur«d, that the ef 
closure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of cbi' 



(IPPENDIX TO THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



411 



th-*, a:>d the embankment around for the convenience of the 
•MCtators. 



Note D. 



J^ayhurgh's mound. — V. 385. 

Iligliei nji the river Eamont tlian Artliur's Round Table, is 
ft IiMilig;ioa9 enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a coliec- 
(ion of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called May- 
borgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an 
anhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses 
ire said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. 
The whole appears to be a monument of Draidical times. 



Note E. 



The monarch, breatVcss and amazed^ 

Back on the fatal ens tie gazed ■ 

JVor toiocr nor do:ijon could he spy. 
Darkening against the morning sky. — P. 390. 

— — •' We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a 
fery narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, ihroogh which a 
•mall brook makes many meanderings, washing little enclo* 
lores of grass-ground, which stretch up the rising of the hiUg. 
Id the widest part of the dale ynxx are struck with the appear- 
Mce of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon 
the summit of a little mount, the inonntaius around forming 
•u amphitheatre. This massive bulwark shows a front of va- 
rious towers, and makes an awful, rude, and Gothic appear- 
ance, with ils lofty turrets and ragged battlements; we traced 
the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest 
intiquity stands characterized in its architecture ; the inhabit- 
aatu near it a-o^ert it as an antediluvian structure. 

" Tlie traveller cariosity is roused, and he prepares to 
make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the 
rack, by his being assured, that, if he advances, certain genii 
who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art and 
aecromancy, will strip it of all its beauties, and, by enchant- 
ment, transforni the magic walls. The vale seems adaj)ted 
for the habitation of such beings ; its gloomy recesses and re- 
tirements look like haunts of evil spirits. There waa no de- 
lusion in the report ; we were soon convinced of its truth ; for 
this piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as 
we drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a 
ihaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this 
httle vale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, and have 
10 mocb the real form and resemblance of a castle, that they 
bear the name of the Castle Rocks of St. John."— Hdtchin- 
■on't! Excursion to the Lakes, p. 12L 



Note F. 



Thefiower of Chivalry, 
There Qalaad sate with manly grace. 
Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 



There Morolt of the iron viace, 
^nd love-torn Tri s tr em there. - 



-P. 391. 



The characters named in the stanza are all of them more o 
less distingnislied in the romances which treat of King Arthui 
and his Round Table, and their names are stiung togethei 
according to the established custom of minstrels upon such 
occasions ; for example, in the ballad of the MaiiiOge of Sii 
Gawaine : — 

*' Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 
They rode with them that daye, 
And, foremost of the companye, 
There rode the stewarile Kaye. 

** Soe did Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 
And, eke Sir Garratte keen, 
Sir Tristrem too, that gentle knight, 
To tlie forest fresh and greeoe " 



Note G. 



Lancelot, that ever more 

Look'd stolen-wise on the Queen. — P. 391. 

Upon this delicMe subject hear Richard Robinson, cltiEec 
of London, in his Assertion of King Arthur : — " But as it is a 
thing sufficiently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of King 
Arthur) was beautiful, so it is a thing doubted whether she 
was chaste, yea or no. Truly, so far as I can with honeetie, I 
would spare the impayred honour and fame of noble women 
But yet the truth of the historie pluckes me by the eare, and 
willeth not onely, but commandeth me to declare what thr 
ancients have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with so 
great authoritie were indeede unto mei a controversie, and 
that greate." — Assertion of King Arthure, Imprinted fey 
John Wolfe, London, 15S2. , 



Note H. 



There were two who loved their neighbor** wive» 
And one who loved his own. — P. 392. 

*' In our forefathers' tyme, when Papistrie, as a standyr^ 
poole, covered and overflowed all England, fewe books were 
read in our tongue, savying certaine bookes of chevalrie, aa 
they said, for pastime and pleasure ; which, as some say, weie 
made in the monasteries, by idle monks or wanton chanons. 
As one, for example, La Jllorte d'Arthure ; the whole pleas- 
ure of which book standeth in two speciall poynts, in open 
manslaughter and bold bawdrye ; in wiiich booke they be 
counted the noblest knightes that do kill most men withoul 
any quarrell, and commit fowlest adoulleries by sutlest shiftes ; 
as Sir Laun.-elot, with the wife of King Arthur, his master- 
Sir Tristram, with the w'fe of King Marke, his uncle; Sii 
Lamerocke with the wife of King Lole, that was his own 
aunt. This is good stuffe for wise men to laugh at , or hottest 
men to take pleasure at : yet I know when God'n Bible wai 
banished the Court, and La Morte d'Arthure receivea .nto tV 
Prince's chamber." — AacHAw'a Schoolmaster. 



^l)c Cor^ of tl)c JJsUs; 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

The composition of " The Lord of the Isles," as 
we now have it in the Author's MS., seems to have 
open begun at Abbotsford, in the autumn of 1814, 
and it ended at Ediubiu-gh the 16th of December. 
Some part of Canto I. had probably been com- 
mitted to writing in a rougher form earlier in the 
year. The original quarto appeared on the 2d of 
January, 1816.' 

It may be mentioned, that those parts of this 
Poem which were written at AUbotsford, were 
composed almost all in the presence of Sir Walter 
Scott's family, and many in that of casual visitors 
fijso : the original cottage which he then occupied 
not affording liim any means of retirement. Nei- 
ther conversation nor music seemed to disturb him. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1833. 

1 cooLD hardly have cnosen a subject more pop- 
•ilar in Scotland, than any thing connected with 
the Bruce's history, unless I had attempted that 
of Wallace But I am decidedly of opinion, that a 
jif.pular, or ■'^hat is called a taking title, though 
well qualiiieQ io ensure the publishers against loss, 
and clear their shelves of the original impression, 
is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the 
reputation of the author. He who attempts a sub- 
ject 5? distinguished popularity, has not the privi- 
".Rge of awakening the enthusiasm of his audience; 
on the contrary, it is ah'eady awakened, and glows, 
it may be, more ardently than that of the author 
himself. In this case, the warmth of the author is 
inferior to that of the party whom he addresses, 
who has, therefore, little chance of being, m Bayes's 
phrase, " elevated and sin^rised" by what he has 
thought of with more enthusiasm than the writer. 
The sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness 

1 I'ublislied by Archibald ConsUble and Co., £2 2s. 

s Sir Walter Scott's Journal of this voyage, some fragments 
of which were printed in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 
1814, is now given entire in his Life by Lockharl, vol. iv. 
chap. 28-32. 

9 Harriet, Duchess of Buccleuch, died 24th August, 1814. 
%n Walter Scott received the mournful intelligence whi'<^ 



of striving against wind and tde, made the task of 
composing the proposed Poem somewhat heavy 
and hopeless; but, like the prize-fighter in "Ae 
Tou Like it," I was to wrestle for my reputation, 
and not neglect any advantage. In a most agree 
able pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to com- 
memorate in. the Introduction to the new edition 
of the " Pirate," I visited, in social and friendly 
company,^ the coasts and islands of Scotland, and 
made myself acquainted with the locaUties of which 
I meant to treat. But this voyage, which was it 
every other effect so deUghtful, was in its conclu- 
sion saddened by one of those strokes of fate which 
so often mingle themselves with our pleasure! 
The accomplished and excellent person who haA 
recommended to me the subject for " llie Lay of 
the Last Minstrel," and to whom I proposed to fij- 
scribe what I already suspected might be the close 
of my poetical labors, was unexpectedly removed 
firom the world, which she seemed only to have 
visited for pm-poses of kindness and benevolence. 
It is needless to say how the author's feehngs, o( 
the composition of liis trifling work, were affected 
by a circimistance which occasioned so many teaie 
and so much sorrow.^ True it is, that " The Lord 
of the Isles" was concluded, unwillingly and in 
haste, under the painful feeUng of one who has f 
■task which must be finished, rather than with the 
ai'dor of one who endeavors to perform that task 
well. Although the Poem cannot be said to ha^c 
made a favorable impression on the public, the sale 
of iifteeu thousand copies enabled the author to 
retreat from the field with the honors of war.' 

In the mean time, what was necessarily to be 
con.sidered as a failure, was much reconciled to my 
feelings by the success attendmg my attempt in 
another species of composition. " Waverley" had, 
under strict incognito, taken its flight from tlie 
press, just before I set out upon the voyage already 
mentioned ; it had now made its way to popularity 
and the success of that work and the volun.es < 

visiting the Giant's Causeway, and immediately returned 
home. 

< " As Scott passed tliroogh Edinburgh on his return from hi» 
voyage, the negotiation as to the Lord of the Isles, which had 
been protracted through several months, was completed— 
Constable agreeing to gi\ e flfteen hundred guineas for one-half 
of the copyright, while tli; other -uoiety was retained by tin 
author."- -Life, vol. iv. i). 394 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



419 



which followed, was sufficient to have satisfied a 
greater appetite for applause than I have at any 
time possessed.' 

I may as well add in this place, that, being 
much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily 
no more, William Erskine (a Scottish judge, by 
the title of Lord Kinedder), I agreed to write the 
little romantic tale called the " Bridal of Trier- 
main ;" but it was on the condition, that he should 
make no serious effort to disown the composition, 
if repo/t should lay it at his door. As he was 
more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as 
I toot care, ia several places, to mix something 
which might resemble (as far as was in my power) 
my friend's feeling and manner, the train easily 
caught, and two large editions were sold. A third 
being called for. Lord Kinedder became unwilling 
to aid .any longer a deception wliich was going far- 
ther than he expected or desired, and the real au- 
thor's name was given. Upon another occasion, I 
6cnt up another of these trifles, which, like school- 
boys' kites, served to show how the wind of popu- 
lar taste was setting. The manner was supposed 

1 The first edition of Waverley appeared id Joly, 1814. 
I *" Harold the Daantless" was first published in a small 
I t9mo volume, Januajy, 1817. 



to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in opposi- 
tion to the " Bridal of Triermain," which was do- 
signed to belong rather to the ItaUan school. This 
new fugitive piece was called " Harold the Datmt- 
less ■"' and I am still astonished at my having 
committed the gross error of selecting the very 
name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It 
encountered r.ather an odd fate. My ingenious 
friend, Mr. James Hogg, had pubhshed about tht 
same titne, a work called the " Poetic Mirror," con- 
taining imitations of the principal living poets.' 
There was in it a very good .'mitation of my own 
etyle, which bore such a resemblance to " Harold 
the Dauntless," that there was no discovering the 
original from the imitation; and I beUeve that 
many who took the trouble of thinking upon the 
subject, were rather of opinion that my uigenious 
iiiend was the true, and not the fictitious Simon 
Pure. Since this period, which was in the year 
1817, the Author has not been an intruder on the 
public by any poetical work of importance. 

W. S. 
Abbotsfoed, Aprilf 1830. 

• Mr. Hogg's " Po^R Mirror" appeared in OctoL^er, ^8 d 



-il-1 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®li£ Corb of tlic Mts. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



77i€ scene of (his Poem lies, at firsts in the Castle of Artornishy on the coast of Argyleskire ; <\nd, 
aftej-wards, in the Islands of Skyc and Arran, and npon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally^ it is laid 
near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of 
Scotland by the English, and the Barons xvho inhered to that foreign interest, returned from the Island 
of Rachrin, on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Mariy of the per* 
sonages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are chief y those oj 
the vcjierahle Lord Hailcs, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the re 
storer of Scottish monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History 
of Robert Bnice^ will soon, I trust, appear, -under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamtesoiu 

Abbotsford, 10;/i Deceinber, 1814.'' 



J The work alluded to appeared in 1820, under tlie title of 
" The Bruce and Wallace." 2 vols, 4to. 

3 "Here is anotlier genuine lay of tlie great Minstrel, with 
feJl his characteristic faults, beauties, and irregolarities. The 
fiarie glow of coloring — the same energy of narration — the 
eame anijilitude of description, are conspicuous here, which 
distinguish all his other productions : with the same still more 
characteristic disdain of puny graces and small originalities — 
the true poetical hardihood, in the strength of which he urges 
on his Pegasus fearlessly through dense and rare, and aiming 
gallantly at the great ends of truth and effect, stoops but rarely 
to study the means by which they are to be attained — avails 
tiimself, without scruple, of common sentiments and common 
jnages wiierever they seem fitted for his purposes — and is origi- 
nal by the very boldness of his borrowing, 5nd impressive by 
nis disregard of epigram and emphasis. 

" Tiiough bearing all these marks of the master's hand, Lhe 
upork before us does not come up, in interest, to The Lady of 
the Lake, or even to Marmion. There is less connected story ; 
ind, what there is, is less skilfully complicated and disen- 
.angled, and less diversified with change of scene, or variety of 
cliaractT. In the scantiness of the narrative, and the broken 
and discontinuous order of the events, as well as the inartificial 
insertion of detached descriptions and morsels of ethical reflec- 
tion, it bears more resemblance to the earliest of the author's 
greater productions; and suggests a comparison, perhaps not 
altogether to his advantage, with the structure and execution 
of the Lay of the Last Minstrel : — for though there is probably 
more force and substance in the latter parts of the present work, 
it is certainly inferior to that enchanting performance in de!i- 
lacy and sweetness, and even — is it to be wondered at, after 
wur such publications ? — in originality. « 

' The title of ' The Lord of *.he Isles' has been adopted, we 



presume, to match that of ' The Lady of the Lake ;' but theit 
is no analogy in the stories — nor does the title, on this occasion, 
correspond very exactly with the contents. It is no unusuai 
misfortune, indeed, for the author of a modem Epic to have 
his hero turn out but a secondary personage, in the gradna' 
unfolding of the storj', while some unruly imderlin^ runs ofl 
with the whole glory and interest of the poem Rut here the 
author, we coi.ceive, must have been aware of the misnompr 
from the beginning ; the true, and indeed the ostensible hero 
being, from the very first, no less a person than King Robert 
Bruce." — Edinburgh Review, No. xlviii. 1815. 

" If it be possible for a poet to bestow upon his writings 6 
supcrlluous degree of care and correction, it may aUo be poe* 
sible, we should suppose, to bestow too little. Whi-lhcr tlus 
be the case in the poem before us, is a point npon which Mr. 
Scott can possibly form a much more competent judgment thsn 
oorselvee ; we can only say, that without possessing greatei 
beaotiee than its predecessors, it lias certain violations of pn* 
priety, both in the language and in the composition of the story, 
of which the former efforts of his muse aftorded neither M 
many nor such sinking examples. 

" We have not now any quarrel with Mr. Scott on aocoon' 
of the measure which he has chosen ; still less on acconnt ot ' 
his subjects, we believe that they are both of them not onl) 
pleasing in themselves, but well adapted to each other, am? 
to the bent of his peculiar genius. On the contrary, it is be- 
cause we admire his genius, and are partia' lo the sobjecti 
which he delights in. that we so much regret he shoutil leave 
room for any difference of opinion respecting them, merely 
from not bestowing upon his publications that common degre* 
of labor &nd meditation which we cannot help saying it u 
scarcely decorous to withhold." — Qaar(cr/y Reoitic, N* 
ix\i. July. ISKS. 



CA»TO 1. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



41 f 



Sl)c £ori) of tlje Jslcs. 



CANTO FIKST. 



Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold 
Rests on tlie groves of noble Somerville,' 
Buneath a sliroud of russet dropp'd with gold 
Tweed and liis tributaiies mingle still ; 
IToarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill, 
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell. 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill ; 
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell. 
When the broad sun sinks d#wn on Ettrick's wes- 
tern fea • 

Autumn departs — from Gala's'' fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it 

o'er, 
No morp the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last bUthe shout liath died upon our ear, 
And harvest-home hi^th hush'd the clanging 

wain. 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear, 
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
dome age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scat- 

ter'd grain. 

Deem'st thou these siidden'd scenes liave pleas- 
ure still, 
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to 

.str.ay, 
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the IiiU, 
To listen to the wood's expiring lay, 
• To note the red leaf sliivering on the spray, 
I . To mark the last bright tints the moimtain stain. 
On the waste tields to trace tlie gleaner's way, 
And morahze on mortal joy and pain ? — ■ 
01 ! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the min- 
strel strain. 

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with tlie cushat's homely song can vie, 
^ Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 
Tliat gleam tlu-ough mist in Autumn's evening 

sky. 
And fev as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, 

1 John, fifteenth Ijonl Somerville, illnstrions for his patriotic 
levolion to the science of agriculture, residetl frequently in his 
Jeauliful villa calleii the Pavilion, situated on the Tweed over 
i^nst Melrose, and w.os an intimate friend and almost daily 
M.'upanion of the poet, from whose windows at Abhot^ford 
lis lordship's ploutations formed a promioeut object. Lord 9. 
tie.; In 1819. 

3 The river Oala, famous in song. flow,s into the Tweed a 
•w HDudred yards below Abbotsford : but probaiiy the word 



Wlien wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I,' 
Tlu-ougli fields time-wasted, on sad inquest 

bound. 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvcs* 

found. 

So shalt thou list, and haply not immoved, 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In dist:uit lands, by the rough West reproved, 
Still hve some reUcs of the ancient lay. 
For, when jn Coolin's liills the lights decay, 
With such the Seer of Skye' the eve beguiles ; 
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, 
In Harries known, and in lona's piles. 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of ths 
Isles. 



" Wake, Maid of Lorn !" the Minstrels sung. 

Thy rugged halls, Artornish ! rung,' 

And the dark seas, thy toWers that lave 

Heaved on the beach a softer wave, 

As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep 

The diapason of the Deep. 

LuU'd were the winds on Lininmore, 

And green Loch-AUine's woodland shore, 

As if wild woods and waves had pleasuro 

In listmg to the lovely measur„. 

And ne'er to symphony mora sweet 

Gave momitain echoes' answer meet, • 

Since, met from mainland and Irom isle, 

Ross, Arran, Ihiy, and Argyle, 

Each minstrel's tributary lay 

Paid hom;ige to the festal day. • 

Dull and dishonor'd were the bard, 

Worthless of guerdon tmd regiird. 

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, 

Wlio on that morn's resistless call 

Were silent in Artornish haU. 

II. 

" Wake, Maid of Lorn !" 'twas thtaa they sung, 
And yet more proud the descant rung, 
" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! liigh right is oiu's. • 

To charm dull .sleep' from Beauty's towers ; 
Earth, Ocean, Air, have naught so shy 

Qata here stands for the poet's neighbor and kinsman, nai 
much attached friend, John Scott. Esq., of G^]a. 

MS. '* an humble gleaner 1." * 

* MS. " the aged of Skye." 

s See Appendix, Note A. 

fi MS. — " Made mountain echoes,"&c. 

MS. "/or right is otUB 

To summon sleep." Sic. 



416 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caxto i 


But owns the power of minstrelsy. 


V. 


In Lettermore the timid deer 


Retired her maiden train among, 


Will pause, the harp's wild chime to 


Edith of Lorn received the song," 


hear ; 


But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 


Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark 


That had her cold demeanor seen ; 


Will long pursue the minstrers bark ;' 


For not upon her cheek awoke 


To Ust his notes, the eagle proud 


The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. 


Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud- 


Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 


Tlien let not Maiden's ear disdam 


One sigh responsive to the strmg. 


The summons of the minstrel train, 


As vainly liad her maidens vied 


But, while our harps wild music make, 


In skill to deck the prmcely bride. 


Edith of Lorn, awake, awake 1 


Her locks, in dark-brown length array'd, 




CatUeeu of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid ; 


III. 


Toung Eva with meet reverence drew 


"0 wake, wlule Dawn, with dewy shine, 


On the light foot the silken shoe, 


Wakes Nature's chai-ms to vie with thine 1 


While on the ankle^g slender round 


She bids the mottled tlu-ush rejoice 


Those strmgs of pejrl fair Bertha wound. 


To mate thy melody of voice ; 


That, bleach'd Lochryan's depths within, 


The dew that on the violet lies 


Seem'd dusky stiU on Edith's skin. 


Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes ; 


But Einion, of experience old. 


But, Edith, wake, and aU we see 


Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold 


Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee 1" — 


In many an ai'tful plait she tied. 


" She comes not yet," gray Ferrand cried ; 


To show the form it seem'd to hide, 


" Brethren, let softer spell be tried. 


Tin on the floor descending roll'd' 


Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme. 


Its waves of crimson blent with gold. 


Which best may mix with Beauty's dream. 




And whisper, with theu- silvery tone. 


VL 


The hope she loves, yet fears to own." 


1 hves there now so cold a maid, 


He spoke, and on the harp-strings died 


Who thus in beauty's pomp array'd, 


The strains of flattery and of pride ; 


In beauty's proudest pitch of power, 


More soft, more low, more tender feU 


And conquest won — the bridal hour — 


The lay of love he bade them tell. 


With every charm that wins the heart. 




By Nature given, eiJianced by Art, 


rv. 


Could yet the fair reflection view. 


Wake, Maid nf Lorn ! the moments fly. 


In the bright mirror pictured true. 


Whicli yet that maiden-name allow ; 


And not one dimple on her cheek 


Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is nigh, 


A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ? — 


When Love shall claim a plighted 


Lives still such maid ? — Fair damsels, say, 


vow. 


For further vouches not my lay, 


By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest. 


Save that such lived in Britain's isle, 


By hope, that soon shall fears remove. 


When Lorn's bright Edith scdrn'd to smile, 


We bid thee break the bonds of rest. 




And wake thee at the call of Love ! 


VII. 




But Morag, to whose fostering care 


" Wake, Edith, wake I in yonder bay 


Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair. 


Lies many a galley gayly mann'd, 


Morag, who saw a mother's aid* 


V e he.ar the merry pibrochs play. 


By aU a daughter's love repaid. 


, We see the streamers' sUken band. 


(Strict was that bond — most kind of all— 


What Chieftain's praise these pibroelis 


Inviolate in HiglJand hall) — 


swell. 


Gray Morag sate a space apart, 


Wliat crest is on these banners wove, 


In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 


Tlie harp, the minstrel, dare not tell — 


In vain the attendants' fond appeal 


The riddle must be read by Love." 


To Morag's skill, to Morag's zesJ ; 


' See Appendix, Note B, 


s Ma.—" The train npon the pavement ) go^.j.f: |M 




Then to the floor descending 1 H 


•MS — • Retired amid her menial train. 


< MS. — '* But Morag, who the maid had press'd, H 


Edith of Lorn received the strain.** 


An infant, to her fostering breast, . ) H 




And seen a mother's early aid," &c ' ^ 







THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



il'i 



She tuark'il her cliikl receive tlieir care, 


Yet, empress of this joyful day. 


Cold as tliu iinagn sculptured fair 


Edith is sad while all are gay." — 


(Form of some saluted patroness). 




Wliich cloisterd maids combine to dress ; 


IX. 


She mark'd — and know her nursling's heart 


Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, 


In the vain pomp took little pp,rt. 


Resentment check'd the struggling sigh. 


Wistful a while she gazed — then press'd 


Her hvuTving liand indignant dried 


Tba maiden to her anxious breast 


The bm-ning tears of injm-ed pride — 


In tiuish'd loveliness — juid le-1 


" Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 


To where a turret's airy head, 


To swell yon hu'eling harpers' lays ; 


Slender jmd steep, and battled round, 


Make to yon maids thy boast of power, 


O'erlook'd, dark MuU ! thy mighty Sound,' 


That they may waste a wondering hour. 


Where thwarting tides, with mingled 


TelUng of bamiers proudly borne, 


roar, 


Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, 


Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore. 


Or, theme more dear, f)f robes of price, 


» 


Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 


VIII. 


But thou, experienced as thou art. 


" Daughter," she said, " these seas behold. 


Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart 


Round twice a huntlred islands roll'd. 


That, bound in strong affection's chain, 


From Hilt, that hears their northern roar 


Looks for return, and looks in vain ? 


To the green Hay's fertile shore ;' 


No ! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 


Or mainland turn, where many a tower 


In these brief words — He loves her not 1 


Owns thy bold brother's feudal power,' 




Each on its own dark cape reclined. 


X. y 


And listmuig to its own wild wind. 


" Debate it not — too long I strove 


From where Mingarry, sternly placed, 


To call his cold observance love, 


O'erawes the woodland and the waste,* 


AU blinded by the league that styled 


To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging 


Edith of Lorn, — while yet a child. 


Of Connal with hif rocks engaging. 


She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side, — 


Think'st thou, amid tliis ample round. 


The brave Lord Ronald'.s destined bride. 


A single brow but thine has frown'd. 


Ere yet I saw him, while afar 


To sadden this auspicious morn. 


His broailsword blazed in Scotland's war 


That bids the drughter of liigh Lorn 


Train'd to beheve our fates the same. 


Tmpledge her or ousal faith to wed 


My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name 


The heir of -nighty Somerled !° 


Came gracing Fame's heroic tale. 


Ronald, frori many a hero sprung. 


Like perfume on the summer gale. 


The fair, the vaUant, and the young. 


What pilgrim sought our hixlls, nor told 


Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name' 


Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ; 


A thousand bards have given to fame. 


■Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise. 


The mate of mwnarchs, and allied 


But his achievements swell'd the lays ? 


On equal terms with England's pride. — 


Even Morag — not a tale of fame 


From chieftiiin's tower to bondsman's cot 


Was hers but closed with Ronald's name-. 


WTio hears the tale,' and triumphs not i 


He came ! and all that liad been told 


The damsel dons her best attire, 


Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold, 


The shepherd lights his beltane fire, 


Tame, lifeless, void of energy. 


Joy, joy ! each warder's horn hath sung, 


Unjust to Ronald and to me 1 


Joy, joy ! each matm bell hath rung 




The holy priest says grateful mass. 


XL 


Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, 


" Since then, what thought had Eclith's heart 


No mountain den holds outcast boor, 


And gave not plighted love its part 1 — 


Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 


And what requital ?' cold delay — 


But he hath flung his task aside. 


Excuse that shmm'd the spousal day. — 


And claim'd tliis morn for holy-tide ; 


It dawns, and Ronald is not here !— 


• See Appendix, Note C. 2 Fbid. Note D 


' MS.—" Tlie news." 


» MS. " father's feudal po».er." 


e MS.—" When, from that hour, had Edith's heut 


< See Appeniiut, Nolo E. » Ibid. Note F 


A tiioupht. and Ronahl iack'd Iiis pan ■ 


• Ibid. Note G 

53 


And wliat her guerdon 1 ' 



418 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1. 



Htict3 he Eeutalla's nimble deer,' 

Or loiters he in secret dell 

To bid some lighter love far' well, 

Aiid swear, that though hr may not scorn 

A daughter of the House of Lorn,^ 

Yet, when these form;J rites are o'er. 

Again they meet, to part no more !" 

XII. 
-" Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, 
More nobly tliink of Ronald's love. 
' Look, where beneath the castle gray 
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
See'st not each galley's topmast bend, 
As on the yards the siiils ascend ? 
Hiding the dai-k-blue land, they rise 
Like the white clouds on Aprd skies ; 
The shouting vassals man the oars, 
Beliind them sink Mull's mountain shores. 
Onward then: merry course they keep, 
Through whistling breeze and foaming 

deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward cast. 
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast. 
As if she veU'd its bamier'd pride. 
To greet afar her prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and while m speed 
His galley mates the flying steed. 
He cliides her sloth !"— Fair Edith sigh'd, 
Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied :— 

XIIL 
"Sweet thought, but vain!— No, Morag 

mark. 
Type of his course, yon lonely bark. 
That oft hath shifted helm and sail. 
To win its way agauist the gale. 
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 
Have view'd by fits the course she tries ;' 
Now, though the darkening scud comes on 
And dawn's fair promises be gone. 
And though the weary crew may see 
Our sheltering haven on their lee, 
Still closer to the rising wind 
Tliey strive her sliivering sail to bind, 
StUl nearer to the shelves' dread verge* 
A', every tack her course they urge. 
As if they fear'd Artornish more 
Thau adverse winds and breakers' roar." 

xrv. 

Sooth spoke the maid. — Amid the tide 
The sldff she mark'd lay tossing sore, 

. MS. " And on its dawn tlie bridegroom lags ; — 

HnnU lie Bentalla's mmble stags 7" 
• Bee Appendix. Note H. 
t aig. — Since dawn of morn, witli vacant eyei 



And shifted )ft her stoopmg side. 
In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no morp 

She gain'd. of forward way, 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed wliich peasants share. 

Who toU the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pUot brave.s. 

That oft, before she wore, 
Her boltspi it kiss'd the broken waves, 
Where in wliite foam the ocean ravos 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true 
Undaunted toil'd her hardy crew, 

Nor look'd where shelter lay, . 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew. 

Nor steer'd for Aros bay. 

XV. 
Thus while they strove with wind and 

seas, 
Borne onward by the willuig breeze, 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with goW 
Mann'd with the noble and the bold 

Of Island cltivalry. 
Around their- prows the ocean roars, 
And chafes beneath then- thous.ind oars, 

Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes' the war-horse iu his might. 
That fieldward bears some valiant knight, 
• Champs, till both bit and boss are white, 

But, foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold . 
Lances of steel and crests of gold. 
And hauberks with their burnisli'd fohl. 

That sliimrue/'d fair and free ; 
Aud each proud galley, as she pass'd, 
To the wild cadence of the '-.last 

Gave RiUer minstrehy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
SiAine and Scallastle bade float 

Their misty shores aroimd ; 
And Moi fen's echoes answer'd well, 
And Duart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome Sound 

XVL 
So bore they on with mirth and pride, 
And if that laboring bark they spied, 

'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor, 
Wlien, toiling in his task obscure. 



«MS.- 
sMS.- 
'M£.- 



Yonng Eva view'd the course slie tries ' 
— " tile brealiers' verge." 



' So fames," &e. 

' Tiiat bears to fiaht some jallnnt Knixtll 



?MiTO 1. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4U 



They jiass iiini careless by.' 
Let thorn sweep on with lieedless eyes ! 
But, hiid they known what mighty prize ' 

lu that frail vessel lay, 
ITie faniish'il wolf, that prowls the wold. 
Had scatheless pass'd the ungiuirded fold, 
fre, tb-iftiiii; by tho.se galleys bold, 

Uuchalleuged were her way !' 
And thou. Lord Ronakl, sweep thou on, 
With uiu'th, and pride, and minstrel tone 1 
But hadst thou kuowu who s.aird so nigh, 
Far other glance were in tliine eye ! 
Far other flush were on thy brow. 
That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
Assumes but ill the bhthesome cheer 
Of bridegroom when the bride is near ! 

XVIL 

Yes, sweep they on ! — We will not leave. 
For them that triumph, those who grieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout. 
And b.irds to cheer the wassail rout 

With tale, romance, and lay ;' 
And of wild mirth each clamorous art. 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 
May stupefy and stun its smart. 

For one loud busy day. 
Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that skiff 

Abides the minstrel tale. 
Where there was dread of surge and chif. 
Labor that str.iin'd each sinew stiff, 

And one sad Maiden's waiL 

xvia 

AU day with fruitless strife they toil'd. 
With eve the ebbing cun'ents boil'd 

More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midway through the channel met 
Conilictiiig tides that foam and fret, 
And high their mingled billows jet, 
4 s spears, that, in the battle set. 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then, too, the hghts of eve were past,* 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and straind the mast 
And many a leak was gaping fast, 
And the pale steersman stood aghast, 

And gave the conflict o'er. 

■XIX. 

Twas then that One, whose lofty look 
Nor labor dull'd nor terror shook, 

MS. — " Ag the gay nobles give the boor, 
Wiien. toiling in his task obscore. 
Their fatness paises by." 
MS.— " She held « ichallenged way." 



Thus to the Leader spoke : — 
" Brother, liow hopest thou to abide 
The fvny of this wilder'd tide. 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side. 

Until the day has broke ? 
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel. 
With quivering planks, and groaning keeL 

At the last billow's shock ! 
Yet how of better counsel tell, 
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear ; 
For look on sea, or look on land. 
Or yon dark sky — on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve, — on me 
Danger sits light, by Land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt ; 
Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower. 
Or rush amid their naval power,' 
With war-cry wake their wassuJl-hotir 

And die with hand on hilt." — 

XX. 
Tliat elder Leader's calm reply 

In steady voice was given, 
" In rami's most dark extremity 

Oft .succor dawns from Heaven. 
Edward, trim thou the shatter'd sail, 
The helm be muie, and down the gaU- 

Let our free course be driven ; 
So sliall we 'scape the western bay. 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
So safely hold our vessel's way 

Beneath the Castle wall ; 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'Tis on the sacred name of giiest, 
Wlio seeks for shelter, storm-distress'd, 

Witliin a chieftain's hall. 
If not — it best beseems our worth, 
Otu' name, our right, our lofty birth. 

By noble hands to fall." 

XXL 

The helm, to his strong arm eondgn'd, 
Gave the reef 'd sail to meet the wind. 

And on her alter'd way. 
Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship 
Like greyhound starting from the slip 

To seize liis flying prey. 
Awaked before the rusliing prow, 
The mimic fires of ocean glow, 

Tliose lightnings of the wave ;' 
Wild sp.arkles crest the broken tides, 

3 MS.—" With mirth, song, talc, and lay." 

* MS.—" Then. too. the cloads were sinking fast. 

5 "the hostile power." 

See Appendix, Note I 



i20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And, flasliing round, the Tes3er3 sides 

With eWt>h histre feve,' 
Wliile, far beliind, then- livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendor gave. 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the lucid^ flakes 

In envious pageantry, 
To match the meteor-light that streaks 

(irim Hecla's miduight sky. 

XXII. 
Nor lack'd they steadier hght to keep 
Their course upon the darken'd deep ; — 
Artornish, on her frowning steep 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung, 
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 
And landward far, and far to sea, 

Her festal radiance flung.' 
By that blithe beacon-hght they steer'd, 

Wliose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appear'd, 
As the cold moon her head uprear'd 

Above the eastern fell. 

XXIII. 
Thus guided, on their course they bore. 
Until they near'd the mainland shore, 
Whea frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of meiTimeut were cast, 
And wind and wave and sea-bird's cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie,' 
Like funeral slu-ieks with revelry, 

Or hke the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from cliffs on high. 
When Triumph, Rage, .and Agony, 

Madden the fight and route. 
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm 
Dimly arose the Castle's form. 

And deepen' d° shadow made, 
Far leugthen'd on the main below, 
Where, dancing in reflected glow, 

A hundred torches play'd, 
Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain. 

That dazzle as they fade.' 

il8 - * And. bursting round the vessel's sides, 
A livid lustre gave." 

• .M.S — " Livid." 

* ' Tlie di^scription of tlie vessel's approach to the Castle 
Jirongh the tempestuous and s|)arkling waters, and the con- 
IraBt of the gloomy aspect of the hiUows with the glittering 

plendor of Artornish, 

• 'Twixt cloud and ocean hung,' 
lending her radiance abroad tlirough the terrors of the night, 
ind mingling at intervals the shouU of her revelry with the 
wilder cadence of the blast, is one of the happiest instances of 
Mr. Scott's felicity in awful and magnificent scenery."— Critj- 
"^ Review 



XXIV. 
Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee. 
They staid their com-se in quiet sea. 
Hewn m the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair. 

So straight, so liigh, so steep. 
With peasant's staff one valiant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have mann'd, 
'Gamst hundreds arm'd with spear and brand, 

And plunged them in the deep.' 
His bugle then the helmsman wound ; 
Loud answer'd every echo round. 

From tm'ret, rock, and bay. 
The postern's hinges crash and groan. 
And soon the warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of shppery stone, 

To hght the upward way. 
" Tlu'ice welcome, holy She !" he said ; 
" Full long the spousal train have staid, 

And, vex'd at thy delay, 
Fear'd lest, amidst these wildering seas. 
The darksome night and freshening breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray." — 

XXV. 
" Warder," the younger stranger' said, 
" Thine errhig guess some mhth had made 
In mirthful hour ; but nights like these. 
When the rough winds wake western seas, 
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid 
And needful shelter for this maid 

Until the break of day ; 
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That's breathed upon by May, 
And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek. 
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streaK 

Agam to bear away." — 
Answered the Warder, — " In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim ? 

Whence come, or whither bound ? 
Hath Erhi seen your parting sails ? 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile vales, 

Or Scotland's moimtain ground S" — 

4 MS.—" The wind, tlie wave, the sea-birds' cry. 
In melancholy concert vie." 

s MS. — "Darksome." 

s " Mr. Fcott, we observed in the newspapers, was engaged 
during last summer in a maritime expedition ; and, according- 
ly, the most striking novelty in the present poem is the extent 
and variety of the sea pieces with which it abounds. One 01 
the first we meet with is the picture of the distresses of tin 
King's little bark, and her darkling run to the shelter of Af 
tornish Castle." — Edinburgh Jlcv.'ew, 1815 

' See Appendix, Note K. 

s MS.— "That young leader." 



I 



CANTO I. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



421 



XXVI. 
"• Wiirriors — fur other title none 
For some brief .space we list to own, 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we ; 
In strife by land, and storm by sea, 

We have been known to fame ; 
And these brief words have import dear, 
When soiuided in a noble ear, 
To harbor safe, and friendly cheer, 

. That gives ns rightful claim. 
Grant us the trivial boon we seek, 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy ; 
Deny — and be your niggard Hold 
Scorn'd by the noble and the bold, 
Shunn'd by the pilgrun on the wold, 

And wanderer on the lea I" — 

XXVII. 

" Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim like thine 

No bolt revolves by hand of mine,' 

Though urged in tone that more espress'd 

A monarch tlian a supphant guest. 

Be what ye will, Artornisli Hall 

On this glad eve is free to all. 

Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 

'Gainst om- ally, great England's Lord, 

Or mail upon your shoulders borne, 

To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 

Or, outlaw'd, dwelt by greenwood tree 

With the fierce Ivnight of EUerslie," 

Or aided even the murderous strife. 

When Comyn fell beneath the knife 

Of that fell homicide Tlie Bruce,' 

This night had been a term of truce. — 

Ho, vassals ! give these guests your care. 

And show the narrow postern stair." 

XXVIIL 

To land these two bold brethren leapt 
(The weju'y crew their ve.ssel kept), 
And, lighted by tlie torches' flare. 
That seaward flung their smoky glare, 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half hfeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoulder lean'd her head 
And down her long dark tresses shed. 
As the wild vme in tendrils spread, 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him foUow'd close that elder Lord, 
And in his hand a sheathed sword, 

MS. " 'gainst claim like yonre, 

No bolt ere closed our castle doore." 

Sir WUliam Wallace. 

See Appendix. Note L. 

MS. — '* Well could it cleave the gilded casque, 
And rend the Irostiest shield '* 

MS. — " The enirauce vaulted low." 



Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he boun'd him to such task. 
Well could it cleave the strongest casque, 

And rend the surest sliield.' 

XXIX 

The raised portcullis' aich they pasS) 
The wicket with' its bars of brass, 

The entrance long and hiw," 
Flank'd at each turn by loop-holes strait, 
Wliere bowmen might in ambush wait 
(If force or fraud should burst the gate). 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of ward 
Was now defenceless and unbarr'd. 

And all the pas.sage free 
To one low-brow'd and vaulted room. 
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom. 

Plied their loud revelry. 

XXX. 

And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade, 
" Till to our Lord your siut is said. — 
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, 
And on these men who ask our aid. 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tired of midnight bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding st.ark.' 

And bearing martial mien." 
But not for Eacliin's reproof 
Would page or vassal stand aloof. 

But crowded on to stare. 
As men of courtesy untaught. 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught. 

From one' the foremost there,'' 
His checker'd plaid, and in its shroud. 
To liide her from the vulgar crowd. 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent. 

Made brief and stern excuse ; — 
" Vassal, were tliine the cloak of pall 
That decks thy Lord in bridal hall, 

'Twere honor'd by her use.' 

XXXI 
Proud was his tone, but calm ; nis eye 
Had that compelUng dignity. 
His mien that bearing haught and high 

Which common spirits fear !* 
Needed nor word nor signal more, 

* MS. — " Or warlike nrien of moulding etark." 
' MS.—" Till that hot Edward fiercely caught 

From one, the boldest there." 
8 " Stil\ sways their souls with that commanding aif 

That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. 

What is that spell, that thus nis lawless train 

Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ^ 



422 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Nod, -wink, and laughter, all were o'er ; 
Upon each other back they bore, 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appear'd the Seneschal, 
Coniinission'd by his lord to call 
The strangers to the Baron's hall. 

Where fe.asted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide. 
With Edith there his lovely bride, 
And her bold brother by her side, 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 

Of Western land and sea.' 

Hero pause we, gentles, for a space ; 
And, if our tale hath won your grace, 
Grant us brief patience, and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain.' 



(S:i)£ Cori) of tl)£ Islca. 



OANTO SECOND. 



Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board 1 
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair 1 
Through the loud hall in joyous concert pour'd, 
Let mirth and music .sound the dirge of Care 1 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there. 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe. 
Or if the brow the heart's true hvery wear ; 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know, 
tfo scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.' 

II 
With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 
With all that olden time deem'd gay, 
The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now, 
Emotions such as draw their birth 



Whal should it be, tliat thns their faith can bind 1 
The power of Thought — the magic of the Mind I 
Linli'd with success, assumed and kept witli skill. 
That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
Wields with lier bands, but, still to tl'.ese unknown, 
Makef) even their mightiest deed= appear liiscwn. 
Sach hath it been — shall be — beneath the sui: 
The many still must labor for the one I 
Tis Nature's doom." 

Bvron's Corsair. 
> MS. — " Of mountain chivalry." 

' " The firet Canto is full of liusiness and description, and 
.ne scenes are such as Mr. Scott's muse generally excels in. 
The scene between Edith md her nurse is spirited, and con- 



From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
And jester's tale went roimd in" vain. 
Or fell but on his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,* 

And call for pledge and lay. 
And, for brief space, of aU the crowd, 
As he was loudest of the loud, 

Seem gayest of the gay.' 

in. 

Yet naught amiss the bridal throng 
M.irk'd in brief mirth, or musing long ; 
The vacant brow, the vmlistening ear. 
They gave to thoughts of raptures near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
Seem'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,* 
And jealous of his honor'd hne, 
And that keen knight, De Argentine' 
(From England sent on errand high, 
The western league more firm to tie),' 
Both deem'd in Ronald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye. 
Pierced deeper through the mystery. 
And watch'd, with agony and fear, 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. 

> IV. 

She watch'd — yet fear'd to meet his glance^ 
And he shuun'd hers, till when by chance 
They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang ! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed — then sternly mann'd his heart 
To play his hard but destined part, 

And from the table sprang. 
*' Fill me the mighty cup I" he said, 
" Erst own'd by royal Somerled :* 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 



tains many very pleasing tfnes. The description of LorS Koi 

nald's fleet, ami of the bark endeavoring to make her 'way 
against the wind, more particularly of the lust, is execotei 
with extraordinary beauty and fidelity." — Quarterly Revievt 

3 " Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; and the end Qi 
that mirth is heaviness." — Proverbs, siv. 13. 

< MS. " and give hirth 

To jest, to wassail, and to mirth '* 

6 MS. — ** W^uld seem the londest of the loud, 
And gayest of the gay." 

MS.—" Since Lorn, the proudest of the proai" 

' MS. — " And since the keen De Argentiae." 

^ See Appendix, Note L. 

& Ibid. Note M * 



i 



CANTO II. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



42!" 



And every gem of varicil shine 
Glow doubly briglit in rosy wine I 

To you, brave lord, :vnd brother mine, 

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 
The union of Our House with thine, 
Ey this fair bridal-link !" — 



" Let it pass round !" quoth He of Lorn, 
' And in good tune — that winded horn 

Must of the Abbot tell ; 
The Inggai'd monk is come at last." 
Lord Ronald he;ird the bugle-blast, 
And on the floor at random cast. 

The untasted goblet fell. 
But when the warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his bUther cheer 

Returns Uke sun of May, 
When through a thunder-cloud it beams ! — 
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 

As glad of brief delay. 
As some poor criminal might feel. 
When, from the gibbet or the wheel. 

Respited for a day. 

VL 
JtJrother of Lorn," with hurried voice 
He said, " and you, fair lords, rejoice ! 

Here, to augment our glee, 
Come wandering knights from travel far 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war, 

And tempest on the sea. — 
Ho ! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace,' 

And bid them welcome free !" 
With solemn step, and silver wand. 
The Seneschal the presence scann'd 
Of these sti-ange guests f and well he 

knew 
How to assign their rank its due ;' 

For thtiugh the costly furs 
That erst had deck'd theu' caps were torn. 
And their gay robes were over-worn, 
^ And soil'd their gilded spurs, 
T:t such a high conmiandiug grace 
Was in their mien and in their face, 
As suited best the princely dais,' 

And royal canopy ; 
ind there he marshallM them their place, 

Fust of that company. 

- MS.- -' As may iiie-.r presence fittest grace." 
' MS. — '* Witli solemn pace, and silver rotl, 
The Seneschal the entrance show'd 
To these strange guests." 

• Bee Appendix, Note N. 

* Dais — the great hall table — elevated a step or two above 
te rest of the room. 

M3 — " A side then lords and ladies spake, 



VII. 
Then lords and ladies spake aside. 
And angry looks the error chide,* 
That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, 
A place so near their prince's throne , 

But Owen Erraught said, 
" For forty years a seneschal, 
To marshal guests in bower aid hall 

Has been my honor'd trade. 
Worship and birth to me are known. 
By look, by bearing, and by tone. 
Not by furr'd robe or broider'd zone ; 

And 'gainst an oaken bough 
m gage my silver wand of state, 
That these thi-ee strangers oft have sate 

In higher place than now."— ° 

VIIL 

" I, too," the aged Ferrand said, 
" Am qualified by minstrel trade'' 

Of rank and place to tell ', — 
Mark'd ye the younger stranger's eye. 
My mates, how quick, how keen, how high, 

How fierce its flaslies fell. 
Glancing among the noble rout' 
As if to seek the noblest out, 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look ! 

And yet it moves me more. 
That steady, calm, majestic brow, 
With which the elder chief even now 

Scami'd the gay presence o'er, 
Like being of superior kind. 
In whose Iiigh-toned unpartial mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 
The lady too — though closely tietl 

The mantle veil both face and eye. 
Her motions' grace it could not hide, 

Nor could" her form's fair 'iymmetry.' 

IX. 
Suspiciotis doubt and lordly sc rn 
Lour'd on the haughty front o! Lorn. 
From underneath his brows of pride. 
The stranger guests he sternly eyed, 
And whisper'd closely what the ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear ; 

Then question'd, high and brief, 
If, in then- voyage, aught they knew 

And nshere censored the mistake.* 
A " The first entry of the illustrious strangers into the lasut 
of the Celtic chief, is in the accustomed and pecnliar e.yletf 
thepoet ofchjvatnj.^' — Jeffrey. 
' MS. — " ' I, too.' old Ferrand said, and laugh'd, 
' Am qaalifieil by minstrel f aft. " 

s MS. " the festal rout." 

' MS.— •• Nor hide." fco. 



t24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of tlie rebellious Scottish crew, 


Did the fauy of the fountain. 


Wlio to Rath-Erin's shelter dre-w. 


Or the mermaid of the wave. 


With Carrick's outlaw'd chief?' 


Frame thee in some coral cave ? 


And if, their winter's exile o'er, 


Did, in Iceland's darksome mine. 


They harbor'd stiU by Ulster's shore. 


Dwarf's swart hands thy metal twine ? 


Or laiinch'd theii- galleys on the main, 


Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here, 


To vex then- native land again ? 


From England's love, or France's fearf 


X; 


XIL 


That younger stranger, fierce and high, 


Sonfl continurt. 


At once confronts the Chieftain's eye^ 


" No ! — thy splendors nothing tell 


With look of equal scorn ; — 


Foreign art or faery spell. 


" Of rebels have we naught to show ; 


Moulded thou for monarch's use. 


But if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know. 


By the overweening Bruce, 


I warn thee he has sworn,^ 


When the royal robe he tied 


Ere thrice tlu^ee days shall come and go, 


O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 


His banner Scottish winds shall blow, 


Thence in triumph wert thou torn. 


Despite each mean or mighty foe. 


By the victor hand of Lorn ! 


From England's every bill and bow, 




To AUaster of Lorn." 


" When the gem was won and lost, 


Kindled the mountain Chieftain's he. 


Widely was the war-cry toss'd I 


But Ronald quench'd the rising fire ; 


Rung aloud Bendom-ish feU, 


" Brother, it better suits the time 


Answer'd Douchart's soimding deU, 


To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme, 


Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 


Than wake, 'niidst mirth and wine, the jars 


When the homicide, o'ercome. 


That flow from these unhappy wars." — * 


Hardly 'scaped, with scathe and scorn. 


' Content," said Lorn ; and spoke apart 


Left the pledge with conquermg Lorn 1 


With Ferrand, master of his art. 




Then wliisper'd Argentine, — 


XIII 


" The lay I named will cai-ry smart 


Song contluDe'D. 


To these bold strangers' haughty heart. 


" Vain was then the Douglas brand,' 


If right this guess of mine." 


Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 


He ceased, and it was silence aU, 


Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dhk, 


Until the minstrel waked the hall.* 


Making sure of miu-der's work ;" 




Barendo-wn fled fast away. 


XI. 


Fled the fiery De la Haye,'° 


EJc 33vooclj of Jlorn.* 


When this brooch, triumphant borne, 


" Whence the brooch of burning gold, 


Beam\d upon the breast of Lorn. 


That clasps tlir Chieftain's mantle-fold. 




-Wrought and . based with rare device, 


"Farthest fled its former Lord, 


Studded fair \ th gems of price,' 


Left his men to brand and cord," 


On the varied :artans beaming. 


Bloody brand of Highland steel. 


As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming. 


Enghsh gibbet, axe, and wheel A 


Fainter now, now seen afar. 


Let him fly from coast to coast, " 


Fitful sliines the northern star ? 


Dogg'd by Comyn's vengeful ghost, 




While his spoils, in triumph worn. 


"Gem! ne'er wrought on Highland mountain, 


Long shall grace victorious Lorn !" 


' See Appendix, Note O. 


chief over Robert Bruce, in one of their rencontres. Bruce 


i MS. — " That younger stranger, nanght out-dared. 


in truth, had been set on by some of that clan, and had extri- 


Was prompt the haughty Chief to beard." 


cated himself from a fearful overmatch by stependoos e.^ertiona. 


^ MS. — " Men say that he has sworn." 


In the struggle, however, the brooch which fastened hia royal 


* "The description of the bridal feast, in the second Canto, 


mantle had been torn off by the assailants ; and it is on th« 


las several animated lines ; but the r^'al power and poetry of 


subject of this trophy that the Celtic poet pours forth this wild 


Ibe author do not appear to us to be eaUed out until the occa- 


rapid, and spirited strain." — Jeffrey. 


Bon of the Highland quarrel which follows the feast." — 


c See Appendix, Note P. ' Ibid. Note Q, 


H-nMy Review, Marcli, 1815. 


f See Appendix, Note R. 


i- ' In a very different style of excellence (from that of the 


3 See Appendix. Note S. 


first t'lree stanzas) is the triumphant and insulting song of the 


wSee Appendix. NoteT. 


hard of Lorn, commemorating the pretended victory of his 


1' MS. — " Left his followers to the sw'jtd.' 



«)4NT0 II. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



42£ 



XIV. 


XVI. 


AB glares the tiger on his foes, 


Then up sprang many a mainland Lord, 


Henuu'd iu by hunters, spears, and bows. 


Obedient to their Chieftain's word. 


And, ere lie bounds upon the ring, 


Barcaldine's arm is high m air, 


Selects the object of his spring, — 


And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare. 


Now on the bard, now on his Lord, 


Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath, 


So Edw:u-tl glared and gi-asp'd his sword — 


And clench'd is Dermid's hand of death. 


But stem his brother spoke, — " Be still. 


Then- mutter'd tlu-eats of vengeance swell 


WTiat ! iu-t thou yet so wild of will. 


Into a wild and warlike yell ; 


After high deeds and sufferings long. 


Onward they press with weapons Iiigh, 


To chafe thee for a menial's song ?-^ 


The affrighted females slu-iek and fly, 


Well hast thou framed, Old Man, thy strains. 


And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 


To praise the hand that pays thy p;uns !' 


Had darken'd ere its noon of day,— 


Yet sometliing might thy song have told 


But every chief of bu-th and fame, 


Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold. 


That from the Isles of Ocean came, , 


Who rent their lord from Bruce's hold, 


At Ronald's side that hour withstor. ( 


As underneath his knee he laj'. 


Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for b! ood ' 


And died to save him in the fray. 




'Tve he;ird the Bruce's cloak and clasp 


XVIL 


Was clcnch'd within then- dying grasp. 


Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high. 


What tin.e a hundi-ed foemen more 


Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 


Rush'd ui, and back the victor bore,^ 


Mac-Niol, wild Bara's ancient thane. 


Long after Lorn had left the strife," 


Duart, of bold Clan-Gillian's strain, 


Full glai' to 'scape with limb and hfe.- - 


Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, 


Euongh of this — And, Minstrel, hold. 


Mac-Duifith, Lord of Colonsay, 


As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold. 


Soon as they saw the broadswords glance, 


For future lays a fair excuse. 


With ready weapons rose at once. 


To speak more nobly of the Bruce." — 


More prompt, that many an ancient feud. 


' 


Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd. 


XV. 


Glow'd 'twixt the chieftains of Argylc, 


* Now, by Columba's slirine, I swear, 


And many a lord of ocean's isle. 


And every saint tluit's buried there. 


Wild was the scene — each sword was barc^ 


'Tis he himself !"' Lorn sternly cries. 


Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hiiii 


"And for my kinsman's death he dies." 


In gloomy opposition set. 


As loudly Ronald calls, — " Forbear ! 


Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met ; 


Not in my sight wliile brand I wear. 


Blue gleaming o'er the social board, 


• O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 


Flash'd to the torches many a sword ; 


Or blood of stranger stain my hall 1 


And soon those bridal lights may shino 


This ancient fortress of my race 


On purple blood for rosy wine. 


Shall be misfortune's resting-place. 




Shelter and shield of the distress'd. 


XVIIL 


No slaughter-house for shipwreck'd guest." — 


While thus for blows and death prepared, 


" Talk not to me," fierce Lorn repUed, 


Each heart was up," each weapon bared. 


"Of odds, or match ! — when Comyn died. 


Each foot advanced, — a smdy pause 


Three daggers clash'd witliin his side 1 


Still reverenced ho.spitable laws. 


Tili not to me of sheltering hall. 


All menaced violence, but alike 


TLe Church of God saw Comjra fall ! 


Reluctant each the first to strike 


On God's own altar stream'd his blood. 


(For aye accursed in minstrel line 


While o' : ■ my prostrate kinsman stood 


Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine), 


The rutluess murderer — e'en as now — 


And, match'd in numbers and in migh' 


With armed hand :md scornful brow ! — 


Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight. 


Up, aU who love me ! blow on blow J 


Thus threat and murmur died away, 


^1 Asd lay the outlaw'd felons low 1" 


Till on the crowded-hall there hiy 


• See Appendix, -Note U. 


*' Bat stem the tsland Lord withstood 


• The M.?. liM nol this couplet. 


The vengeful Chiel'tain's thirst ol' blood." 


1 MS — ■' When breathless Lorn had left the rtrife." 


6 MS.—" While thas lor blood anil blows prejiared. 


For tbest four lines tJie A2S. has — 
54 


Raised was each hand " &o. 



<2e SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cantou 


Such silence, as the deadly still, 


Hath whisper'd of a lawful claim, 


Ere bursts the thunder on the hill 


That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord, 


With blade advanced, each Cliieftain bold 


Though dispossess'd by foreign sword. 


Show'd like the Sworder's form of old,' 


This craves reflection — but though right 


As -wantkig still the torch of life. 


And just the charge of ikigland's Knight, 


To wake the marble into strife.' 


Let England's crown her rebels seize 




Where she has power; — in towers like 


XIX. 


these. 


That awful pause the stranger maid, 


'Midst Scottish Chieftains summon'd here 


And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 


To bridal mirth and brid.al cheer, 


As to De Argentine she clung. 


Be siu-e, with no consent of mine. 


Away her veil the stranger flung. 


Shall either Lorn or Argentine 


ind, lovely 'mid her wild despair, 


With chains or violence, in our sight, 


Fast streamed her eyes, wide flow'd her hair. 


Oppress a brave and banish'd Knight." 


" thou, of knighthood once the flower, 




Sure refuge in distressful hour. 


XXL 


Thou, who in Judah well hast fought 


Then waked the wild debate again. 


For om- de;u- faitli, and oft hast sought 


With brawling thj-eat and clamor vain 


Renown in knightly exercise, 


Vassals and menials, tlu-onging in. 


When this jjoor hand has dealt the prize, 


Lent their brute rage to swell the din ; ] 


Say, can thy soul of honor brook 


Wlien, far and wide, a bugle-clang i j 


On the unequal strife to look. 


From the dark oce.an upward rang. ' 


When, butcher'd thus in peaceful hall. 


" The Abbot comes 1" they cry at once. 


Tliose once thy friends, my brethren, fall 1" 


" The holy man, whose favor'd glance 


To Argentme she turn'd her word. 


Hath sainted visions kno^vn ; 


But her eye sought the Island Lord.' 


Angels have met him on the way, JU 


A flush Uke evenuig's settmg fl.ame 


Beside the blessed martyrs' bay, . " \ 


Glow'd on his cheek ; his hardy frame, 


And by Columba's stone. 


As with a brief convulsion, shook : 


His monks have heard their hymnings high 


With hm-ried voice and eager look, — 


Soimd from the summit of Dun-Y, 


" Fear not," he said, " my Isabel ! 


To cheer his penance lone. 


What said I— Edith !— all is well- 


Wlien at each cross, on gb'th and wold* 


Nay, fear not — I wUl well provide 


(Their number thrice a hundred fold). 


The safety of my lovely bride — 


His prayer he made, his beads he told. 


My bride ?" — but there the accents clung 


With Aves many a one — 


In tremor to his faltering tongue. 


. He comes our feuds to reconcile, 




A samted man from sainted isle ; 


XX. 


We will liis holy doom abide, 


Now rose De Argentine, to claim 


The Abbot shall our strife decide.'" 


The prisoners in his sovereign's name, 




To England's crown, who, vassals sworn. 


XXIL 


'Gainst their Uege lord had weapon borne — 


Scarcely this fair accord was o'er,' 


(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 


Wlien through the wide revolving door 


His care their safety to provide ; 


The black-stoled bretlu-en wind ; 


For knight more true in thought and deed 


Twelve sandaU'd monks, who rehca bore, 


Tlian Argentine ne'er spurr'd a steed) — 


With many a torch-bearer before, 


And Ronald, who his meaning guess'd. 


And many a cross behind.' j 


Seem'd half tc sanction the request. 


Then sunk each fierce upUfted hand, 1 


This purff^ae fiery Torquil broke : — 


And dagger bright and flashing brand ; 


"Somewl.at we've heard of England's yoke," 


Dropp'd swiftly at the sight ; 


, He said, '■' and, in our islands. Fame 


They vanish'd from the Chm-chman'a eye, 




e MS.—" We will his holy rede obey. 

The Abbot's voice shall end the fray." 


Like tliat famed Swordsman's etatae stood.'* 


MS.—" To waken him to deadly strife." 


« MS. — " Scalte was this peaceful paction o'er." ' 


The MS. adds :— 


1 MS. — " Did slow procession wind ; i 


" \Vitli such a frantic fond appeal, 


Twelve monks, who stole and mantle wow , 


As only lovers make and feel." 


And chalice, pyx, and relics bore, | 


• MS. — What time at every cross of old." 


With many," &c. 1 



CANTO 11. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 427 


& s shooting stars, that glance and di », 


XXV. 


Dart from tlie vault of night. 


Tlicn Ronald pled the stranger's cause. 




And knighthood's oath and honor's laws ;' 


xxni. 


And Isabel, on bended knee. 


The Abbot on the threshold stood. 


Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea- 


And in his hand the holy rood ; 


And Edith lent lier generous aid. 


Back on his shoulders flow'd his hood, 


And wept, and Lorn for mercy pray'd.* 


The torcli's glarmg ray 


" Hence," he exclaim'd, degenerate maid 


SI-.(.B d, m its red and fliishing light. 


Was't not enough to Roland's bower 


His wither'd cheek and amice white, 


I brought thee, Uke a paramour,' 


His blue eye glistening cold and bright, 


Or bond-maid at her master's gate. 


His tresses scant and gray. 


His careless cold approach to wait ? — 


" Fair Lords," he said, " Our Lady's love, 


But the bold Lord of Cumberl.and, 


And peace be with you from above, 


The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand ; 


And Benedicite ! — 


His it shall be— Nay, no reply ! 


— But what means this ? no peace is here ! — 


Hence 1 till those rebel eyes be dry." 


Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal clieer ? 


With grief the Abbot lieard and saw. 


Or are these naked brands 


Yet naught relax'd his brow of aw» ' 


A seemly show for Churchman's sight. 




When he comes sunmaon'd to unite 


XXVL 


Betrothed hearts and hands ?" 


Then Argentine, in England's name. 




So highly urged his sovereign's claim,' 


XXIV. 


He waked a spark, that long suppress'd, 


Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal, 


Had smoulder'd m Lord Ronald's breast ; 


Proud Lorn first answer'd the appeal ; — 


And now, as from the flint the fire. 


" Thou comest, holy Man, 


Flash'd forth at once his generous ire. 


True sons of blessed chm'cli to greet,' 


" Enough of noble blood," he said. 


Bui little deeming here to meet 


" By English Edward had been shed. 


A wi-etch, beneath the ban 


Since matchless Wallace first had been 


Of Pope and Church, for murder done 


In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green,'* 


Even on the sacred altar-stone ! — ' 


And done to death by felon hand. 


Well mayst thou wonder we should know 


For guarding well his father's land. 


Such miscreant here, nor lay him low,' 


Where's Nigel Bruce ? And De la Haye, 


Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, 


And valiant Seton — where are they ? 


With exconununicated Bruce ! 


Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 


Tet will I grant, to end debate. 


And Eraser, flower of chivalry ?" 


Thy sainted voice decide liis fate."* 


Have they not been on gibbet bound, 


' The MS. here adds :— 


Still to prevent nneqaal fight ; 


" Men bound in her comrannion sweet. 


And Isabel," &c. 


And dateoQs to the Papal seat." 


« MS. — " And wept alike and iinelt and pray'd" — The nini 




lines which intervene betwixt this and the concluding couple' 
of the stanza are not in the MS. 
' See Appendix, Note V. 
» The MS. adds— 

" He raised the sappliants from the floor, 
And bade their sorrowing be o'er, 1 


'n place of the cooplet which follows, the MS. has— 
" But promptly had my dagger's edge 
Avenged the guilt of sacrilege, 
Save for my new and kind ally, 


And Torquil, chief of stormy Skye 


(Tn whose wild land there rests the seed, 
Men say, of ancient heathen creed). 
Who would enforce me to a trace 
With excommunicated Bruce." 
< The MS. adds : 

" Secure such foul offenders find 
No favor in a holy mind." 


And bade them give their weeping o'er, i 
But in a tone that well explain'd 
How little grace their prayers had gain'd ; 
For tliough he purposed true and weJ, 
Still stubborn and inflexible 
In what he deem'd his duty high. 
Was Abbot Ademar of Y." 
9 MS. — " For Bruee's custody made claim."— In placa «i 


• Th« MS. has : 


the two coupteta which follow, the MS has — 


" Alleged the hesl of honor's laws, 


" And Torquil, stout Dunvegan's Knight, 


The saccor ) ^I'J^'Jj ^^ \ storm^taid gae.t, 


As well defended Scotland's right. 
Enough of," &c. 


The refnge dae to the distress'd, 


10 See Appendix. Note W. 


Tie oat> that binds each generons knighl 


" See Appendii, Note X. 



128 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto u 


Their quarters flung to bawk and hound, 


Arms every hand against thy Hfe, 


And hold we here a cold debate, 


Bans all who aid thee in the strife, 


To yield more victims to then- fate ? 


Nay, each whose succor, cold and scant,' 


What ! can the English Leopard's mood 


With meanest alms reheves thy want ; 


Never be gorged with northern blood ? 


Haunts thee while living, — and, when dead. 


Was not the hfe of Athole shed. 


Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 


To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed ?' 


Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy hearse. 


And must his word, till dying day, 


Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse. 


Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay ! — ' 


And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd groimd 


Thou frown'st, Do Argentine, — My gage 


Flung like vile carrion to the hound ; 


Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." — 


Such is the dire and desperate doom 




For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 


XXVII. 


And such the well-deserved meed 


" Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight,' 


Of tliine unhallow'd, ruthless deed." 


" That thou shalt brave alone the fight ! 




By saints of isle and mainland both, 


XXIX. 


By Woden wild (my grandsire's oath),' 


" Abbot !" the Bruce replied, " thy charge 


Let Rome and England do their worst. 


It boots not to dispute at large. 


Howe'er attainted or accursed. 


This much, howe'er, I bid thee know. 


If Bruce shall e'er find friends again. 


No selfish vengeance dealt the blow. 


Once more to brave a battle-plain. 


For Comyn died liis country's foe. 


If Douglas couch again liis lance. 


Nor blame I friends whose iU-timed speed 


Or Randolph dare another chance, 


FulfiU'd my soon-repented deed. 


Old Torquil will not be to lack 


Nor censure those from whose stern tongv e 


With twice a thousand at Iiis back. — 


The du-e anathema has rung. 


Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold. 


I only blame mine owti wild ire, 


Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of old, . 


By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 


Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 


Heaven knows my purpose to atone. 


Smack of the wild Noi-wegian still ; 


Far as I may, the evil done. 


Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 


And hears a penitent's appeal 


For England's wealth, or Rome's applause." 


From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 




My first and dearest task achieved, 


XXVIIL 


Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 


Tlie Abbot seem'd with eye severe 


Shidl many a priest in cope and stole 


The hardy Cliieftain's speech to hear ; 


Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul. 


Then on Kmg Robert turn'd the Monk,' 


Willie I the blessed cross advance. 


But twice his courage came and etink, 


And expiate tliis unhappy chance 


Confi-onted with the hero's look ; 


In Palestine, with sword and lance.'' 


Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 


But, while content the Church should know 


At length, resolved in tone and brow, 


My conscience owns the debt I owe,' 


Sternly he question'd him — " And thou. 


Unto De Argentine and Lorn 


Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead. 


The name of traitor I return, 


Why I denounce not on thy deed 


Bid them defiance stern and high,' 


That awful doom which canons tell 


And give them in then- tlu-oats the hn 


Slmts paradise, and opens hell ; 


These brief words spoke, I speak no more. 


Anathema of power so dread, • 


Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is o'er." 


It blends the living with the dead. 




Bids each good angel soar away. 


XXX. 


And every ill one claim liis prey ; 


Like man by prodigy amazed. 


Expels thee from the church's care. 


Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 


And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 


Then o'er his paUid features glance. 


1 See Appendil, Note Y. 


or imperfect converts to Ciinstianity. The family names ■ 


J See Appendi.'s, Note Z. 


Torqnil, Thormod, &c. are all Norwegian. 


• In the MS. tliia conplet is wanting, and, without breaking 


- MS.— "Then turn'd him onthe Bruce theMotk.' 


jjie stanza. Lord Roland continues, 


s MS. — " Nay, cuises each whose succor scant." 


" By saints of isle," &c. 


' Pee Appendix. Note 2 A. 


* The MacLeods, and most other distinguished Hebridean 


s The MS. adds i— " For this ill-timed and luckless bl»w 


^milies, were of Scandinavian extraction, and some were late 


'■ MS. •• bnl,) and high." 



I7A1TT0 n. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



42* 



Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His brcatliiu^' came more tliick and fast, 
And from Ms pale blue eyes were cast 
Strange ray,s"of wild and wandering light; 
Uprise bis locks of silver white, 
Flusli'd is his brow, tlu'ougb every vein 
In azure tide the currents strain, 
And uc'Jrstinguisb'd accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke.' 

XXXI. 

• De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread 
To speak my curse upon thy head,' 
And give thee as an outcast o'er 

To him who bums to shed thy gore ; — 

But, hke the Midianite of old. 

Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controll'd,' 

I feel within mine aged breast 

A power that will not be repress'd.' 

It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, 

It burns, it maddens, it constrains ! — 

De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 

Hath at God's altar slain thy foe : 

O'ermaster'd yet by high behest, 

I bless thee, and thou shall be bless'd !" 

He spoke, and o'er the astonish'd throng 

Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 
Again that light has fired his eye, 
Again his form swells bold and high. 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
Tis vigorous manliood's lofty tone : — 

' MS. — " Swell on his wilher'd brow the veins, 
Each ill its azure current strains, 
Antl interrupted tcare expres-s'd 
The tumult of Iiis laboring breast." 

• See Appenili.T, Note 2 B. 

> See the Book of Numbers, chap, xxiii. and xxiv. 

• See Appendix, Note 2 C. 
.• Ibid. Note 2 D. 

• " On this transcendent passage we shall only remark, that 
»f the gloomy part of the prophecy we hear nothing more 
11iroQ«h the whole of the poem, and though the Abbot informs 
3he King that he .shall be 'On foreign shores a man exiled,' 

. Jie poet never speaks of him but as resident in Scotland, op 
lOthe period of the battle of Bannockbnrn." — Critical Re- 

tifir. 

' Tiie MS. has not this couplet. 

■ The conception and execution of these stanzas constitute 
Mcplietice which it would be difficult to match from any other 
part of the poem. Tlie surprise is grand and perfect. The 
monk, struck with the heroism of Robert, foregoes the intended 
anathema, and breaks out into a prophetic annunciation of his 
anal triumph over all his enemies, and the veneration in which 
his name will be held by posterity. These stanzas, which con- 
clude the second Canto, derive their chief title to encomium 
from tlie emphatic felicity of their harden, 

' I bless thee, and. thou shall be bless'd ;' 

^ which few and simple words, following, as they do, a series 



" Tlirice vanquish'd on the battle-plain, 
Thy followers slaughter'tl, fled, or ta'eu, 
A hunted wanderer o!i the wild, 
On foreign shores a man exiled, ° 
Disown'd, deserted, and distress'd,' 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd I 
Bless'd in the hall and in the field. 
Under tlie mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy country's shame. 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Bless'd in thy sceptre and thy sword, 
De Bruce, fuu- Scotland's rightful Lord. 
Bless'd in thy deeds and iii thy fame. 
What lengthen'd honors wait thy name I 
In distant ages, sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, 
And teach his infants, in the use 
Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 
Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 
The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 
Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd ! 
Enough — my short-Uved strength decays. 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke. 
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ;' 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er, 
Oiu" task discharged. — Unmoor, unmoor !' ~ 
His priests received the exhausted Monk, 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Pimctual his orders to obey. 
The train refused all longer stay, 
Embark'd, r.-.ised sail, and bore away.' 



of predicated ills, there is an energy that instantaneonsly a, 
peals to the iieart, and surpasses, all to nothing, the results o. 
passages less happy in their application, though more labored 
and tortuous in their construction." — Critical Review, 

" The slory of tlie second Canto exhibits fewer of Mr. Scott's 
characteristical beauties than of his characteristical faults. 
The scene itself is not of a very edifying description; nor ig 
the want of agreeableness in the subject compensated by any 
detached merit in the details. Of the language and versifica 
tion in many parts, it is hardly possible to speak favorably. 
The same must be said of the speeches which the different 
characters address to each other. The rude vehemence which 
they disjday seems to con: ist much more in the loudness aud 
gesticulation with which the speakers expiess theinselvec (has 
in the force anil energy of their sentiments, wnicn, for lh€ lauLi 
part, are such as the barbarous chiefs, to whom tney nro &\ 
tributed, might, without any great premeduatioc, either lu it 
the thought or language, have actually uttered. Tofrd ej:- 
guage and sentiments proportioned to characters of snf h ex- 
traordinary dimensions as the agents in the poem: c£ Himst 
and Milton, is indeed an admirable effort of gert ; but If; 
make such as we meet with in the epic poetry of e present 
day. persons often below the middle size, and never very much 
above it, merely speak in character, is not likely to occasion 
either much difficulty to the poet, or much pleasure to the 
reader. As an example, we might adduce the speech of stout 
Dunvegan's knight, stanza xxvii., which is not the less wanting 
in taste, because it is natural and characteristic." — Oiartfr 
Revicv). 



t30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n> 



(Sljc fiorb of tl)t IslcH. 


We nor ally nor brother know,' 
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." 


OANTO THIED. 


IV. 




But who the Chieftain's rage can tell. 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 




I. 


To highest tower the castle round. 


IIast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled 


No Lady Edith was there found 1 ^ 


head 


He shouted, " Falsehood ! — treachery ! — 


Sudden and deep the tliunder-peal has roll'd, 


Revenge and blood 1 — a lordly meed 


How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 


To him that will avenge the deed ! 


Sunk on tlip wood, the meadow, and the wold ? 


A Baron's lands !" — His frantic mood 


The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold, 


Was scarcely by the news withstood. 


Tlie rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,' 


That Morag shared his sister's flight, 


The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold. 


And that, in hiury of the night. 


TlU, murmuring distant first, then near and 


'Scaped noteless, and without remark, 


shrill, ' [groaning hill 


Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark. — 


Tie savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the 


" Man every galley 1- — fly — pursue 1 




The priest his treachery sh.all rue 1 


II. 


Ay, and the time shall quickly come, 


Artornish ! such a silence sunk 


When we shMl hear the thanks that Rome 


Upon thy halls, when that gray Monk 


Will pay his feigned prophecy !" 


His prophet-speech had spoke ; 


Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry 1* 


And his obedient brethren's sail 


And Cormac DoU in haste obey'd, 


Was strctch'd to meet the southern gale 


Hoisted liis sail, his anchor weigh'd 


Before a wliisper woke. 


(For, glad of each pretext for spoil. 


Then mm-muring sounds of doubt and fear, 


A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil).' 


Close pour'd in many an anxious ear, 


But others, lingering, spoke apart, — 


Tlie solemn stillness broke ; 


" The Maid has given her maiden heart 


And still they gazed with eager guess. 


To Ronald of the Isles, 


flThere, in an oriel's deep recess. 


And, fearful lest her brother's word 


The Island Pruice seem'd bent to press 


Bestow her on that English Lord, 


What Lorn, by his impatient cheer. 


She seeks lona's piles. 


And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear. 


And wisely deems it best to dwell 




A votaress in the holy cell. 


III. 


Until these feuds so fierce and fell 


Starting at length, with frowning look, 


The Abbot reconciles.'" 


His hand he clench'd, his head he shook. 




And sternly flung .apart ; — 


V. 


" Acd deeni'st thou mo so mean of mood. 


As, impotent of ire, the hall 


As to forget the mortal feud. 


Echo'd to Lorn's impatient call. 


And clasp the hand witli blood imbrued^ 


" My horse, my mantle, and my train ! 


From my dear Kinsman's heart ? 


Let none who lionors Lorn remain !"- 


ts this thy rede ? — a due return 


Com'teous, but stern, a bold request 


For ancient league and friendship sworn ! 


To Bruce De Argentine express'd. 


3ut well our mountain proverb shows 


" Lord Earl," he said, — " I cannot chuse 


Tlio faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. 


But yield such title to the Bruce, 


Be -t even so — beheve, ere l«ng. 


Though name and earldom both are gone, 


rie that now bears shall wreak the wrong, — 


Since he braced rebel's armor on — 


CaU Edith~caU tlie Maid of Lorn I 


But, Earl or Serf — rude plu-ase was thine 


My sister, slaves ! — for further scorn. 


Of late, and launch'd at Argentine 


Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 


Such .as compels me to dem.and 


Away, De Ai-gentine, away 1 — 


Redress of honor at thy hand. 


1 MS.—" Tlie rostling aspen bids his leaf be still." 


See a note on a line in the Lay of the Last Minjtrel, mU 


> MS. — " And c.nsp the bloody hand imbrued." 


p.2L 


9 M^. — " Nor brother we, nor ally know." 


6 See Appendi.x, Note 2 E. 


The MS. has,— 


MS.—" While friends shall labor fair and weU 


*' Such was fierce Lorn s cry."— 


These feuds to reconcile." 



JASIV III. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



431 



We ueed not to each other tell, 
Tliat biith c:m wield their weapons well ; 
Ther Jj me but the soldier grace, 
This glove upon thy helm to place 
Where we may meet in tight ; 
And I will say, as still I've said, 
Though by ambition far misled, 
Tliou lit a noble knight." — 

VI. 
■•And I," the prmcely Bruce repUed, 
"Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; 

But, for your brave request. 
Be sure the honor'd pledge you gave 
In every battle-tield shall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest ; 
Beheve, that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done tliine honor causeless wrong. 

It shall be well redress'd. 
Not dearer to my soul was glove, 
Bestow'd in youth by lady's love. 

Than this which thou hast given ! 
Thus, then, my noble foe I greet ; 
Health and high fortune tUl we meet, 

And then — wliat pleases Heaven." 

VI L 
Thus paited they — for now, with sound 
Tjike waves roll'd back from rocky ground, 

The friends of Lorn retire ; 
Each mainland chieftain, with liis train. 
Draws to his mountain ttjwers again. 
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain 

And mortal hopes expire. 
But through the castle double guard, 
By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward, 
Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd, 

By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests, in courteous sort, 
He pray'd excuse for mirth broke .short. 
And bade them in Ai'toruish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now '<jrch and menial tendance led 
Chicft:un and knight to bower and bed, 
.ii . Deads were told, and Aves said. 

And soon they sunk away 
lute such sleep, as wont to shed 
Obhvion on the weary head. 

After a t3l»ome day. 



I 



VIII. 



Bat soon uproused, the Monarch cried 
To Edward slumbering by his side, 
" Awake, or sleep for aye 1 

> Bee Appvndii, Note 2F. 



Even now tliere jarr'd a secret door — 
A taper-hglit gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward, up, I say ! 
Some one glides in hke midnight ghost — 
Nay, strike not ! 'tis our noble Host." 
Advimcing then kis taper's flame, 
Ronald stept forth, and with him came 
Dunvegan's chief— each bent the kuen 
To Bruce in sign of fealty. 

And proft'er'd him his sword, 
And haU'd him, in a monarch's style. 
As king of mainland and of isle. 
And Scotland's rightful lord. 
" And O," said Ronald, " Owu'd of Heaven' 
Say, is my errmg youth. forgiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven. 

Who rebel falchion drew. 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame. 
Even while I strove against thy claim. 

Paid homage just and true ?" — 
" Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
Answer'd the Bruce, "must bear the crirae, 

Since, guiltier fai' than you. 
Even I" — he jjaused ; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose.' 
The Chieftain to his breast he press'd. 
And in a sigh conceal'd the rest. 

IX. 

They profl"er'd aid, by arras ana might, 
To repossess him in his right ; 
But well theh comisels must be weigh' d, 
Ere banners raised and musters made. 
For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues 
In answer, Bruce his purpose bold 
To Ms new vassals^ frankly told. 
" The winter worn in exUe o'er, 
I long'd for Carrick's kindred shore. 
I thought upou my native Ayr, 
And long'd to see the burly fare 
That GUfford makes, whose lordly call 
Now echoes through my father's hr^ll 
But first my course to AiTan led. 
Where valiant Lennox gathers head, 
And on the sea, by tempest toss'd. 
Our barks dispersed, our purpose cross'd. 
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun. 
Far from her destined course had run, 
When that wise will, which masters oura, 
Compell'd us to your friendly towers." 

X. 

Then Torquil spoke : — " The time craves 

We must not Unger in our deed. 

But instant pray our Sovereign Liege, 

a MB.— " Allies " 



432 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 


To shun the perils of a siege. 


Where Coohn stoops him to the west. 


The vengeful Lorn, with aU his powers, 


Tliey saw upon his shiver'd crest 


Lies but too near Artoruish towers. 


The sun's arising gleam ; 


And Eng'-and's light-arm'd vessels ride, 


But such the labor and delay. 


Not distant fai-, the waves of Clyde, 


Ere they were moor'd in Scavigh bay 


Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 


(For calmer heaven compell'd to stay),* 


And sweep each strait, and guard each shore. 


He shot a western beam. 


Then, till this fresh alarm pass by. 


Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye. 


Secret and safe my Liege must lie 


These are the savage wilds that Ue 


In tlje far bounds of friendly Skye, 


North of StrathnardUl and Dunskye ;" 


Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." — 


No human foot comes here. 


' Not so, bravo Chieftain," Eonald cried ; 


And, since these adverse breezes blow 


" Myself will on my Sovereign wait," 


If my good Liege love hunter's bow. 


And raise in aims the men of Sleate, 


Wliat hinders that on loud we go, 


Whilst thou, renowu'd where cliiefs debate. 


And strike a mountain-deer ? 


Shalt' sway their souls by council sage. 


Allan, my page, sh.all with us wend ; 


And awe them by thy locks of age." 


A bow full deftly can he bend, 


— " And if my words in weight shaU fail,' 


And, if we meet a herd, may send 


This ponderous sword shall turn the scale." 


A shaft shaU mend our cheer." 




Then each took bow and bolts in hand, 


XL 


Their row-boat launch'd and leapt to land, M 


" The scheme," said Bruce, " contents me 


And left their skiff and train, I 


well; 


■Wliere a wild stream, with headlong shock 1 


Meantime, 'twere best that Isabel, 


Came br.awling down its bed of rock, fl 


For safety, with my bark and crew. 


To mhigle with the main. ^' 


Again to friendly Erin drew. 




There Edward, too, shall with her wend. 


xin. ji 


In need to cheer her and defend. 


A while their route they silent made. ■ 


And muster up each scatter'd friend."—' 


As men who stalk for mountain-deer, 1 


Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear 


Tin the good Bruce to Ronald said, M 


Would other counsel gladUer hear; 


" St. Mary ! what a scene is here ! fl 


But, all acliieved as soon as plann'd. 


I've traversed many a mountain-strand, fl 


Both barks, in secret arm'd and mann'd, 


Abroad and in my native lanu, H 


Fi-om out the haven bore ; 


And it has been my lot to tread H 


On different voyage forth they ply. 


Wliere safety more than pleasure led ; 1 


Thii for the coast of wmged Skye, 


Thus, many a waste I've wander'd o'er :fl 


And that for Erin's shore. 


Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a riorw M 




But, by my halidome, fl 


XIL 


A scene so rude, so wild as this, 


With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. 


Yet so sublime in barrenness. 


To favoring winds they gave the sail. 


Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press. 


Till Mull's daik headlands scarce tliey knew. 


Where'er I happ'd to roam." 


And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue.^ 




But then the squalls blew close and hard. 


XIV. 


And, fam to strilve the galley's yard. 


No marvel thus the Monai-ch spake ; 


And take them to the oar. 


For rarely human eye has known 


With these rude seas, in weary plight, 


A scene so stern as that dread lake. 


Tliey strove the livelong day and night. 


With its dark ledge'' of barren stone. 


Nor till the dawning had a sight 


Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 


Of Skye's romantic shore. 


Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way 


MS. — " * Myself thy pilot and thy gnide.' 


'The MS. adds: 


' Not so, kind Torqui),' Ronald cried ; 


*' Our bark's departore, too, will blind 


* 'Tis I will on ray sovereign wait.' ** 


To onr intent the foeman's mind.'* 


The MS. has, 


* MS. — " Till Mull's dark isle no more they itoew 


" ' Aye,' said the Chief, ' or if they fail, 


Nor Ardnamurchan's mountains bine.' i 


This hroadsword's weight shall turn the scale.' " 


* MS. — " For favoring gales compell'd to stay.* 


Tn a'twing Uiis passage, the poet appears to have lost a link. 


' See Appendii, Note 2 G. 


Gd. 


' MS.—" Dark banks." 



DAN re in. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



438 



Tlirough the rude bosom of the hill, 


And when return the sun's glad bi ams. 


And that each naked precipice, 


Whiteu'd with foam a thousand streams 


Sable ravine, and dark abyss. 


Leap from the mountain's crown." 


Tells of the outrage still. 




'llie wildest glen, but tliis, can show 


XVI. 


Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; 


" This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers 


Un liigh Benmore green mosses grow, 


drear 


And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe,' 


Are precipices sharp and sheer. 


And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 


Yielding no track for goat or deer. 


But here, — above, around, below, 


Save the black shelves we tread. 


On mountain or in glen. 


How term you its dark waves ? and how 


Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, 


Yon northern mountain's pathless brow, 


Nor aught of vegetative power. 


And yonder peak of dread, 


The weary eye may ken. 


That to the evening sun uplifts 


For all is rocks at random thrown. 


The grisly gulfs and slaty rifts. 


Black 'waves, bare crags, and banks of atone, 


Which seam its shiver'd head ?" — 


As if were here denied 


" Coriskin call the dark lake's name. 


The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew. 


Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim. 


That clothe with many a varied huo 


From old CuchuUin, cliief of fame. 


The bleakest" mountain-side.' 


But bards, famihar in our isles 




Rather with Nature's frowns than smile* 


XV. 


Full oft their careless humors please 


And wilder, forward, as they wound. 


By sportive names from scenes 'ike hei>'" 


Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 


I would old Torquil were to .show 


Huge terraces of granite black' 


His maidens with their breasts of .snow 


Afforded rude and cumber'd track ; 


Or that my noble Liege were nigh 


For from the mountain hoar,' 


To hear liia Nurse sing lullaby 1 


Hmd'd headlong in some night of fear. 


(The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers whitu 


When yell'd the wolf and fled the deer, 


The Nm-se — a torrent's roaring mightV 


Loose crags had to])pled o'er •," 


Or that your eye could see the mood 


ind some, chance-poised and balanced, lay. 


Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 


So that a striphng arm might sway 


When dons the Hag her whiten'd hood- 


A mass no host could raise, 


'Tis thus om- islesmen's fancy frames. 


In Nature's rage at random thrown, 


For scenes so stern, fantastic names " 


Yet trembling Uke the Druid's stoue 




On its precarious base. 


xvn. 


The evening mi.sts, with ceaseless change. 


Answer'd the Bruce, " Ami musing mind 


Now clothed the mountains' lofty range. 


Might here a graver moral find. 


Now left their foreheads bare. 


These mighty cliffs, that heave on high 


And round the skirts their mantle furl'd, 


Tlieir naked brows to middle sky. 


Or on the sable waters curl'd, 


Indifferent to the sun or snow, 


Or on the eddying breezes whirl'd. 


Where naught can fade, and naught can blc\ 


Dispersed in middle air. 


May they not mark a Monarch's fate, — 


And oft, condensed, at once they lower,' 


Raised high mid storms of strife and state, 


When, brief and tierce, the moimtain shower 


Beyond hfe's lowUer pleasures placed. 


Pours like a torrent down,* 


His soul a rock, his heart a waste V 


■ MS.-- And ! Jeer, have bua, I .^ ^ Glencoe." 
1 healhei-befls S 


i MS. — '* And wilder, at each step they take. 

Turn the proud cliffs and yawning lake ; 


• MS.-"iW"''«M" 


Huge naked sheets of granite black," bo 


' Rarest. S 


6 MS. — " For from the moontain's crown." 


'The Uuarteriy Reviewer says, " This pictnre of barren 


6 .MS. — " Huge crags had toppled down." 


lesolation is admirably toached ;" and if the opinion of Mr. 


^ MS. — " Oft closing too, at once they lower." 


rnmer be worth any thing, •' No wnrds conld have given a 


8 MS. — '* Pour'd like a torrent dread.' 


troer pictnre of this, one of the wildest of Nature's land- 


9 MS. — " Leap from the mountain's heaG.'' 


icapes." Mr. Turner adils, however, that he dissents in one 


'0 " He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 


oarticolar ; bnt for one or two tufts of ^ass he must have 


The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow 


*)roken his neck, having slipped when trying to attain the best 


He who surpa-sses or subdues mankind. 


Position for tlVing the view which embellishes volume tenth. 


Must look down on the hate of those below. 


*'.ion 1833. 

55 


Though high above the suu of glory glow, 



434 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m. 


O'er hope acd lore and fear aloft 


XX. 


High rears his crowned head — But soft ! 


Onward, still mute, they kept the track;— 


Look, vinderneath yon jutting crag 


" Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 


Are hunters and a slaughter'd stag. 


Said Bruce : " in deserts when they meet. 


WTio may ihey be ? But late you said 


Men pass not as in peaceful street." 


No steps these desert regions tread ?"— 


Still, at his stern command, they stood, 




And proffer'd greeting brief and rude. 


XVIII. 


But acted com-tesy so iU, 


' So aaid 1 — and believed in sooth," 


As seem'd of fear, and not of will. 


Hcuald replieJ, I spoke the truth. 


" Wanderers we are, as you may be , 


Yet now I spy, by yonder stone. 


Men hither driven by wind and sea. 


Five men — they maik us, and come on ; 


■Who, if you Ust to taste our cheer. 


And by their badge on bonnet borne. 


W^iU share with you this fallow deer." — 


I guess them of the land of Lorn, 


" If from the sea, where hes your bar!.- ?" — 


Foes to my Liege." — " So let it be ; 


" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 


Tve faced worse odds than Jive to three — 


Wreck'd yesternight : but we are men, ' 


— But the poor page can little aid ; 


Who Uttle sense of perU ken. 


Then be om- battle thus array 'd. 


The shades come down — the day is shut — 


If our free passage they contest ; 


Will you go with us to om' hut ?" — 


Cope thou with two, I'll match the rest." — 


" Our vessel waits us in the bay ;' 


" Not so, my Liege — for by my life. 


Thanks for your proffer — have good-day." — 


This eword shall meet the treble strife ; 


" Was that your galley, then, which rode 


My strength, my skill in ai-ms, more small. 


Not far from shore when evening glow'd ?" — ' 


And less the loss should Rouald fall. 


" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain. 


But islesmen soon to soldiers grow. 


There will .site now be sought ii\ vain. 


Allan has sword as well as bo-sv. 


We saw her from the mountain head. 


And were my Monarch's order given. 


When, with St. George's blazon red. 


Two shafts should make om- nrmber even." — 


A southern vessel bore in sight. 


" No ! not to save my life !" he said ; 


And yoins rjiised sail, aud took to flight"- - 


" Enough of blood rests on my head. 




Too rashly spdl'd — we soon shall know. 


XXL 


'Whether they come as friend or foe." 


"Now, by the rood, unwelcome news !" 




Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ; 


XIX. 


" Nor rests there light enough to show 


Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ; — 


If tliis their tale be true or no. 


Still less they pleased the Monarch's eye 


The men seem bred of churlish kind, 


Men were tliey all of evil mien. 


Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 


Down-look'd, un^\TlUng to be seen ;' • 


We will go with them — food and fire' 


They moved with half-resolved pace, 


And sheltering roof our wants requu-e. 


ind bent on earth each gloomy face. 


Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep, 


The foremost two were fair array'd. 


And watch by tm-ns our comrades' sleep.— 


With brogue and bounet, trews and plaid, 


Good fellows, thanks ; yom- guests we'U be, 


And bore the arms of mountaineers, 


And weU will pay the courtesy. 


Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 


Come, lead us where your lodging lies, — 


The three that Ip.gg'd small space behind. 


— Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 


Seem'd serfs of more degraded kind ; 


Show us the path o'er crag and stone,* 


Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast. 


And we will follow you ; — ^lead on." 


Made a rude lience against the blast ; 




Tlieir arms aud feet and heads were bai'e. 


XXIL 


Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ; 


They reach'd the dreary cabin, made 


For arnij, the caitiffs bore in hand. 


Of sails against a rock display'd. 


A duo, an axe, a rusty brand. 


And there, on entering," found 


And far beneath the earth and ocean spread. 


2 MS. — " Oor boat and vessel cannot stay.'* 


Round nim are icy rocks, and loudly blow 


3 MS. — " Deeji in the bar when evening glow'd." 


Contending tempests on his naked head, 


* MS. — " Yet rugged brows have bosoms kind ; 


And thus reward the toils which to those saramits led. * 


Wend we with them — tor food and 6re." 


CJiilde Harold, Canto iii. 


6 MS. — " Wend you the first o'er stock and stone.' 


' See Appendix. Note 3 H. 


MS.— " Entrance." 



C- NTO in. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



ISo 



A slender boy, whose fortn and mieu 
111 suited with such saviige scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet green. 

Low seated on the groimd. 
_ His garb was such as minstrels wear. 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
IL' yoiitlifid dieek was niarr'd by care, 

His eyes m sorrow, drown'd. 
" Wlience this poor boy i" — As Ronald spoke, 
ITii) Voice his trance of anguish broke; 
As if awaked from gliastly dream, 
He raised his head with start and scream. 

And wildl}- gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he turn'd, 
* nd Ills dark neck witli blushes burn'd. 

XXIII. 

" Whose is this boy ?" again he said. 

" By chance of war our captive made ; 

He may be yours, if you should liold 

That music has more charms than gold ; 

For, though from earliest childhood mute, 

The lail can deftly touch the lute. 
And on the rote and viol play. 
And well can drive the time away 
For those who love such glee ; 
For me, the favoring breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's slu-oud. 
Makes bhtlier melody." — :■ 

" Hath he, then, sense of sppken sound ?" — 
" Aye ; so his mother bade us know, 

A crone in our late shipwreck drown'd. 
And hence the silly stripling's woe. 

More of the youth I cannot say. 

Our captive but since yesterday ; 

Wlien wind and weatlier wax'd so grim, 

We httle listed tliink of him. — 

But why waste tune in idle words ? 

Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swordi" 

Sudden the captive turn'd his head. 

And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 

It was a keen and warning look. 

And well the Chief the signal took. 

XXIV. 
"" Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire ; 
For know, tliat on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And, sworn to vigil and to fast, 
Long as this haUow'd task shall last. 



MS. — " Bot on the clairshoeli he can play, 
And help a wearv ni?ht awav. 

With those who love such ^»lee. 
To me, the favorinfj breeze, when loud 
It pipes throogh on my galley'sshroud, 

MaJtei better nelody." 



We never doff the plaid or sword. 

Or fetist us at a stranger's board ;'' 
And never share one common sleep, 
But one must still Iiis vigil keep. 
Thus, for om' separate use, good friend 
We'll hold tills lint's remoter end." — 
"A churli.*h vow," the eldest said, 
" And hard, methinks, to be obey'd. 
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return. 
We should refuse to share our meal V — 
" Then say we, that our swords are steel ! 
And our vow binds us not to fast, 
Wliere gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell, 
His teeth are clench'd, his features swell- 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire. 
Nor could his crtiven courage brook 
The Monarcli's calra and daimtless look. 
With laugh constrain'd, — " Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
Each to his separate quarters keep. 
And feed or fast, or wake or .sleep." 

XXV. 

Their fire at separate distance burns, 
By turns thej' eat, keep guard by turns ; 
For evil seem'd that old man's eye. 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avoided forward look. 
But slow and cu-cumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
By doubt and cunning mark'd at once. 
Which shot a mischief-boding ray,° 
From under eyebrows shagg'd and gray. 
The yoiuiger, too, who seem'd his son. 
Had that dark look the timid shun ; 
The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 
And scowl'd a glare 'twi.\-t. fear and hate- 
Till all, as darkness onward crept, 
Couch'd d(Avn, and seem'd to sleep, or s\ej 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 
Must trust his eyes to wail his wi'ong, 
A longer watch of sorrow made. 
But stretch'd his limbs to slumber Liid.' 

XXVL 

Not in his dangerous host confides 
Tlie King, but wary watch provides. 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, 

_,„ . . I \ sainted J 

' MS.— " And we have .vvom 'c ; , < t>awe> 

f holy 

While lasts this liallow'd task of oore. 

Never to doff* the plaid or sword, 

Nor feast ns at a stranger's hoard." 

9 MS. " an ill foreboding ray." 

* MS. — " But seems in senseless slumber laid." 



(36 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III 



Thi-'n wakes the King, young Allan last ; 

Thus rank'd, to give tlie youthful page, 

The rest required by tender age. 

What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought, 

To ehase tlie languor toil had brought ?- 

(For deem not that he deign'd to throw 

Much cai'e upon such coward foe,) — 

He thinks of lovely Isabel, ' 

When at her foeman's feet she fell, 

Nor less wiien, placed in princely eelle, 

She glanced on him with favoring eyes, 

At Woodstocke when he won the prize. 

Nor, fau' in joy, in sorrow fair, 

In pride of place as 'mid despair, 

Must she alone engross his care. 

His thoughts to his betrothed bride,' 

To Edith, turn — how decide, 

When here his love and heart are given. 

And there his faith stands plight to Heaven I 

No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep. 

For seldom lovers long for sleep. \ 

Till sung his midnight hymn the owl, 

Answer'd the dog-fox with Iiis howl. 

Then waked the King — at his request, 

Lord Ronald stretch'd liimself to rest. 

XXVII. 
What spell was good King Robert's, say, 
To drive the weary night away ? 
His was the patriot's burning thought. 
Of Freedom's battle bravely fought, 
Of castles storm'd, of cities freed. 
Of deep design and daring deed. 
Of England's roses reft and torn. 
And Scothmd's cross in triumph worn, 
Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 
As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 
No marvel, 'mid such musings lugh. 
Sleep shunn'd the Monarch's thoughtful eye 
Now over CooUn's eastern head 
The grayi-sh light' begins to spread. 
The otter to his cavern drew, 
And clamor'd shrill the wakening mew ; 
Then watch'd the page — to needful rest 
The King resign'd his anxious breast. 

XXVIII. 
To Allan's eyes was harder task, 
Tlie weaiy watch their safeties ask. 
He trimm'd the fire, and gave to shine 
With bickering light the splinter'd pine '^ 

t MS. — " Mast she alone his musings share. 

They turn to his betrothed bride." 
a MS.—" The cold blue light." 
3 See Appendix, Note 2 I. 
' MS, " with empty dream, 

Miriiiled the captive's real scream." 
' Voting Allan's turn (to watch) comes last, which gives 



Then gazed awhile, where silent laid 
Their hosts were snrouded by the plaid. 
But little fear waked in his mind. 
For he was bred of martial kind. 
And, if to manhood he arrive, 
May match the boldest knight alive. 
Then thought he of his motlter's tower, 
His little sisters' greenwood bower. 
How there the Easter-gambols pass. 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays prolong'd the blazes die — 
Again he roused him — on the lake 
Look'd forth, where now the twilight-flake 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd, 
The morning breeze the lake had curl'd. 
The short dark waves, heaved to the land. 
With ceaseless pla.sh kiss'd cliff or sand ; — 
It was a slumbrous sound — he tm'n'd 
To tales at which liis youth had burn'd, 
Of pilgrim's path by demon cross'd, 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot. 
And mormaiil's alabaster grot, 
Who bathes her limbs in sufiless well. 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.' 
Thither in fancy rapt he flies, 
And on liis sight the vaults arise ; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no more. 
His foot is on the marble floor. 
And o'er his head the dazzUng spars 
Gleam like a firm.ament of stars ! 
— Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
Her anger in that thrilling shriek ! — 
No ! all too late, with Allan's dream 
Mingled the captive's warning scream.' 
As from the groutid lie strives to start, 
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart ! 
Upwai'd he casts Ms dizzy eyes, . . . 
Murmurs liis master's name, . . . and dies I 

XXIX. 

Not so awoke the King ! his hand 
Snatch'd from the fl.ame a knotted brani, 
The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
With this lie cross'd the murderer's path. 

And venged young Allan well ! 
The spatter'd brain and bubbhng blood 
Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wood, 

Tlie miscreant gasp'd and fell !' 



the poet the opportunity of marking, in the most natural an4 ■ 
happy manner, that insensible transition from the reality o( 
waking thoughts, to the fanciful visions of slumber, and thai 
delusive powerofthe imagination which so blends the confines oi 
these separate states, as to deceive and sport with the efforts eve* 
of determined vigilance."— Britis* Crilic, February, 1815 
s MS. — " What time the miscreant fell." 



I 



J&MTO IT. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



431 



Nor rose in peace the Isljiud Lord ! 
Oue caitiif ilieil upon his sword, 
And one borieatli liis i3;ra.sp lies prone, 
lu mortiU ijrapple overthrown. 
Hut wliile Lord Ronald's daf,'ffer drank 
Tile Uie-blood from his panting flank. 
The Father-ruffian of the band 
Behir^ him rejus a coward liand I 

— for a moment's aid, 
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow ' 
Dash to the eartli another foe, 

Above his comrade laid ! — 
And it is gain'd — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm, and closely clung, 

And, ere he shook him loose. 
The master'd felon press'd tlie ground, 
And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound, 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 

XXX.' 

" Aliscreant ! while lasts thy flitting spark, 

Give me to know the purpose dark, 

Tliat ann'd thy hand with murderous knife, 

Against oftenceless stranger's life ?" — 

" No stranger thou I" with accent fell, 

Murmur'd the wretch ; " I know thee well ; 

And know thee for the foeman sworn 

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." — 

" Speak yet again, and speak the truth 

For thy soid's sake ! — from whence this youth? 

His country, birth, and name declare. 

And thus one evil deed repair." — 

— " Vex me no more ! . . . my blood runs cold . . . 

No more I know than I have told. 

We found him in a bark we sought 

With different purpose . . . and I thought" .... 

Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil, 

As lie had hved, died Cormac Doil. 

XXXL 
Then resting on liis blooily blade. 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, 
" Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 

Lifts his mute face to heaven," 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high. 

For strange dehverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid, 
Which our free tongues liave left unsaid 1" 
He raised the youth with kindly word. 
But mark'd him shudder at the sword : 

' " On witnessing the diaintennent of Bruce's remains at 
Dunfermline, in ISiS," says Sir Walter, " many people slied 
ears ; for there was the wasted skull, which once was the 
Aead that thought so wisely and boldly for his country's de- 
liverance , and there was the dry hone, which had once been 
Uie sturdy arm that killed Sir Henry de Bohuji, between the 
wo armies, at a single blow, on the evening before the battle 
* Bannockburn."— 7"(i(f.' o/n Orajidfalhcr. 



He cleansed it from its hue of deatii. 
And pluiiged the weapon in its sheath. 
" Alas, poor diild ! unfitting part 
Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart, 

And form so shght as tliinc. 
She made thee first a pirate's slave. 
Then, in his stead, a patron gave. 

Of wayward lot like mine ; 
A landless prince, wliose wimdering life 
Is but ((ne scene of blood and strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be. 
But he'll find resting-place for tliee.^ 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been wrokc ! 
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke 
Seek we our b;irk — I trust the tale 
Was false, that she had hoisted sail." 

xxxn. 

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell, 
The Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To AUan :— " Who shall tell this tale," 
He said, "in halls of Donagaile ! 
Oh, who his widow'd mother tell, 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell !— 
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my car.i 
For mass and knell and funeral pr.ayer ; 
While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie. 
The wolf shall snaid, the raven cry !" 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and pm-ple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak — 
(So earthly power at dist.ince shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides his woes). 
O'er sheets of granite, dark, and broad,' 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discom'se the warriors wind, 
And the mute captive moves behind.* 



S[l)c Corb of tl}E 3sl£a. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Stranger 1 if e'er thine ardent dtep hath tracec 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 

3 MS.—" Holds up his speechless face to heaven." 

3 MS. — '' Along the lake's rude margin slow, 

O'er terraces of granite black they go." 

* MS. — " And the mute page moves slow behind." 

" This canto is full of beauties ; the firs' part of it, contaii^ 
ing the conference of the chiefs in Briite's chamber, might 
perhaps have been abrid"ed because tht* discusnon of a jnt-n 



438 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



oAKTo rr. 



Wliere the proud Queen of Wilderness hath 

placed, 
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; 
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known. 
Gazing on pathless glen and mountains high, 
Listmg where from the clitfs the torrents thrown 
Muigle their echoes with the eagle's cry, [sky. 
ind with the sounding lake, and with the moaning 

Yes ! 'twas sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; 
And strange and awful fears began to press 
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. [nigh, 

Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage 
Something that show'd of hfe, though low and 

mean; 
Glad sight, its curling wi'eath of smoke to spy, 
Glad sound, its cock's bUthe carol would have 

been, . [green. 

Or children whooping wild beneath the willows 

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur 

wakes 
An awful thi-iU that softens into sighs ; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's 

lakes, 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies, 
Chides wUd Locli-Eribol liis caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread shore. 
That sees grim Coolhi rise, and hears Coriskin roar.' 

II. 

Through such wild scenes the champion pass'd, 
When bold liaUoo and bugle-blast 
Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
" There," said the Bruce, " rung Edward's horn ! 
What can have caused such brief return ? 
And see, brave Rnuald, — see him dart 
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart. 
Precipitate, as is the use. 



matter of business is unsuited for poetry ; but the remiiiiider 
of the canto is uimhjectionahle ; tlie scenery in which it is laid 
excites tlie imagination ; and the cave scene affords many op- 
portunities Cor tlie poet, of which Mr. Scott has very success- 
%illtf availed himself. The description of Allan's watch is 
pa^Jlcularty pleasing; mrieea, the manner m which he is made 
to fall asleep, minghng tlie scenes of which he was tliinliing. 
with the scene around hiin, and then minghng with his dreams 
the captive's sudden scream, is, we think, among the most 
happy passages of the wl.ole poem." — Quartrrly Review. 

*' We scarcely know whether we could have selected a pas- 
page from the poem that will more fairly illustrate its general 
inerits and pervading blemishes than the one which we have 
just quoted (stanzas .vxxi. and xxxii.) The same happy mix- 
»are of moral remark and vivid painting of dramatic situations, 
frequently occurs, and is as frequently debased by prosaic ex- 
oressiois and couplets, and by every variety of ungrammatical 
icense, or even barbarism Our readers, in short, will imine- 



In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
— He marks us, and his eager cry 
WUl tell his news ere he be nigh." 

III. 
Iioud Edward shouts, " What make ye faoe 
WaiTiug upon tlie mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her King ? 
A bark from Leimox cross'd om- track, 
With her in speed I hurried back, 

These joyful news to bring — 
The- Stuart stu-s in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
Thy stiirm-toss'd fleet hath won its way 
With httle loss to Brodick-Bay, 
And Lennox, with a gallant band. 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To "waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 
There are bhthe news ! — ^but mark the close 1 
Edward, the deadUest of our foes, 
As with his host he northward pasa'd, 
Hath on the Borders breathed his last." 

IV. 

Still stood tlie Bruce — his steady cheek 
Was little wont his joy to speak. 

But then his color rose : 
" Now, Scotland ! sliortly shalt thou see, 
With God's high will, thy children free. 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
Bear witness with me. Heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ;^ 
I took my knighthood at his hand. 
And lordship held of him, and laud. 

And well may vouch it here, 
That, blot the story from his page. 
Of Scotland ruin'd in his rage. 
You read a monarch brave and sage. 

And to his people dear." — 
" Let London's burghers momii her lord, 
And Croydon monks his praise record," 



diately here discover the powerful hand that has so often pr» 
sented them with descriptions calculateii at once to exalt and 
animate their thoughts, and to lower and deaden the language 
which is their vehicle ; but, as we have before observed again 
and again, we believe Mr. Scott is inaccessible even to the 
mildest and the most just reproof on this subject. We really 
believe that he cannot, write correct English , and we therefore 
dismiss him as an incurable, with unfeigned compassion for 
this one fault, and with the highest admiration of his many 
redeeming virtues." — Monthly Review. 

1 *'That Mr. Scott can occasionally c]othe the grandenr o( 
Ills thought in the majesty of expression, unobscured with thfl 
jargon of antiquated ballads, and unencumbered by the awk- 
wardness of rugged expression, or harsh involution, we can 
with pleasure acknowledge ; a finer specimen cannot perhapi 
be exhibited than in this passage." — British Critic. 

a See Appendix, Note 2 K 



y^NTO JV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



43? 



Tlie eager Edward said ; 
" Eternal as liis own, ray hate 
Surmount^! the bounds of mortal fate, 

And dies not with the deail ! 
riuch hate was his on Solway's strand, 
Wheti *■€' igeanc e cleneli'd his palsied hand. 
Thai poiute ' _, et to Scotland's land,' 

As his 1 1st accents pray'd 
Disgrace and curse upon liis heir. 
If he one Scottish head should spare, 
Til] stretch'd upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid I 
Such hate was his, when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death, 
And bade liis bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host. 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjoy her misery ! 
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long ; 
Mine, — as endm-ing, deep, and strong 1" — 



"Let women, Edward, war "with worda, 

With curses monks, but men with sworda : 

Nor doubt of living foes, to sate 

Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.' 

Now, to the sea ! behold the' be.ach. 

And see the galleys' pendants stretch 

Their fluttering length down favoring gale I 

Aboard, aboai'd ! and hoist the s.oil. 

Hold we our 'way for Arran first, 

Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ; 

Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, 

And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 

I long the hardy band to head, 

And see once more my standard spread. — 

Does noble Ronald share our course. 

Or stay to raise his isLind force ?" — 

" Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side," 

RepUed the Chief, " will Ronald bide. 

And since two galleys yonder ride, 

Be mine, so please my liege, dismisa'd 

To wake to arms the claas of Uist, 

And all who hear the Minche's roar. 

On the Long Island's lonely shore. 

The nearer Isles, with sUght delay. 

Ourselves may summon in our way ; 

And soon on Arraa'a shore shall meet. 



' See Appendix, Note 2 L, 

' '* T^e Bruce w,is, unr|uesuonably, of a temper never sDr^ 
passed lor its humanity, munilicence, and nobleness; yet to 
Bpresent him sorrowing over the death of tlie first Plantage- 
net, after the repeated and tremendous ills inflicted by that 
man on Scotland — tlie patriot Wallace murdered by his order, 
IS we)l as the royal race of Wales, and the very brothers of 
The Bruce, slaaghtered by his command — to represent the 
■QSt and generous Robert, we repeat, feeling an instant's com- 
rtisit'on for the sudden fate of a miscreant like lliis, is, we are 



With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet, 
If aught avails their Chieftain's heat 
Among the isleemeu of the west." 

VI. 

Tims was their venturous cotmcil saii 
But, ere their sails the galleys spread. 
Coriskin dark and Coohn high 
Echoed the du-ge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake pass'd slow, — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe, — 
The sorrowing islesmeu, as they bore 
The murder'd Allan to the sliore. 
At every pause, with dismal shout. 
Their coronach of grief rung out, 
And ever, when they moved again. 
The pipes resumed their clamorous stratix 
And, with the pibroch's shi-iUing wail, 
Mourn'd the yoimg heu' of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from cUtf and cave. 
His answer stern old Coolin gave, 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languish'd the mournful notes, and dind 
For never somids, by mortal made, 
Attain'd his high and haggard head, 
That echoes but the temjjest's moan. 
Or the deep thimder'a rendiijg groan. 

VIL 

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark. 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darcb 

Is joyous m her sail ! 
With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse, 

The cords and canvas strain. 
The w.iTes, divided by her force. 
In rippling eddies chased her course. 

As if they laugh'd again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely flew, 
Skimming the wave, the hght sea-mew. 

Than the giiy galley bore 
Her coiu-se upon thtit favoring wind. 
And Coohn's crest has sunk belund. 

And Slapin's cavern'd shcii e.^ 
'Twas then that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head. 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread , 



compelled to say it. so monstrous, and in a Scottisfi poet, 
unnatural a violation of truth and decency, not to say patriot- 
ism, that we are really astonished that the author could havfl 
conceived the idea, much more that he could sufler his pen U» 
record it. This wretched abasement on the part of Tiw 
Bruce, is farther heightened by the King's half-repreheusion ol 
Prince Edward's noble and stern expression of undying hatred 
against his country's spoiler, and bis family's assassin --Criti- 
cal Review 
3 MS. " rooijofaJn-BhoiB '* 



440 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



CANTO n 



A summons these of war and wrath 
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, 

And, ready at the sight, 
Each warrior to his weapons sprung, 
And targe upon his shoulder flung. 

Impatient for the fight. 
Mac-Kmnon*s chief, in warfare gray, 
Had charge to muster their array, 
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay. 

VIIL 
Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land, 
From Cauna's tower, that, steep and gray 
Like falcon-uest o'erhangs the bay.' 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb. 
To view the turret scathed by time ; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 
But rest thee on the silver beach. 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cm''s wild clamor he shall chide, 
And for thy seat by ocean's side. 

His varied plaid display ; 
Then tell, how with their Chieftain came, 
In ancient times, a foreign dame 
To yonder" turret gray.' 
Stem was her Lord's suspicious mind. 
Who in so rude a jail confined 
So soft and fair a thi'aU ! 
And oft, when moon on ocean slept. 
That lovely lady sate and wept 

Upon the castle-wall. 
And turn'd her eye to southern climes. 
And thought percliance of happier times, 
And touch'd her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue, 
jind still, when on the chff and bay 
Placid and pal-,^ the moonbeams play. 

And ever . breeze is mute, 
Upon the lont- Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasiu'e mtx'd with fear. 
While from that cliff he seems to hear 

The murmm- of a lute. 
And soutdi is of a captive lone; 

Si* Appendi.\ Nole 2 M. 

> M3.— " To Canna 6 turret gray." 

3 " Tae stanzas which follow are, we think, toocliingly 
•eauiiful, and breathe a sweet and melancholy tenderness, 
jerfectly suitable to the sad tale which they record." — Criti- 
Mi Rcttitm. 

< MS. — " That crag with crest of rains gray." 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 N. s Ibid. Note 2 O. 

' MS.—" Till in their smoke," &c. 

" " And 80 also ' merrily, merrily, goes the bark,' in a sac- 
cession of merriment, which, like Dogberry's tediousness, he 
!ind^ it in his heart to bestow wholly and entirely on ns, 
'irongh page after page, or wave after wave of his voyage. 



Tliat mourns her woes in tongue tmknown.- 
Strange is the tale — but all too long 
Already hath it staid the song — 

Yet who may pass them by. 
That crag and tower in ruins gr.ay,* 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh ! 

IX. 

Merrily, merrily botmds the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven, 
Her path by Renin's mountains dark 

The steersman's liand hath given. 
And Renin's moimtains dark have sent 

Their himters to the shore,' 
And each his ashen bow unbent. 

And gave his p*stime o'er. 
And at the Island Lord's command. 
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreigg next a warning hght 
Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; 
A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,' 
When all in vain the ocean-cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The Chief, relentless in his wrath. 
With blazing heath blockades the path ; 
In dense and stifling volimies roU'd, 
The vapor fill'd the cavern'd hold ! 
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain, 
Tlie mother's screams, were heard in vain ; 
The vengeful Chief maintains liis fires. 
Till in the vaulf a tribe expires ! 
The bones wliich strew that cavern's gloom, 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 

X. 

Merrily, merrily goes the bark* 

On a breeze from the northward free, 

So shoots through the morning sky the lark, 
Or the sw.an through the summer sea. 

The shores of Mull on the eastward lay. 

And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 

And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staffa round.' 

Tlien all unknown its colunms rose. 

We could almost be tempted to believe that he was on his f» 
turn from Skye when he wrote this portion of his poem : — fnm 
8kye. the depository of the ' mighty cup of royal Somerled,' 
as well as of ' Rorie More's' comparatively modern ' horn* — 
and that, as he says himself of a minstrel who celebrated thi 
hospitahties of Dunvegan-castle in that island. ' it is pretty 
plain, that when this tribute of poetical praise was bestowed, 
the horn of Rorie More nad not been inactive.' " — Monthly 
Review. See Appendi.v, Note M. 

9 •' Of the prominent beauties which aboand in the poem, 
the most magnificent we consider to be the description of the 
celebrated Cave of Fingal, which is conceived in a mighty 
mind, and is expressed in a strain of pielry, clear, simpla 
and sublime." — British Critic, 



BAITTO IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



441 



WTiere dark and undisturbed repose' 

The eormiirant had found, 
And the shy 8e.il had quiet home, 
And welter 'd in tliat wondrous dome, 
Where, as to shame the temples deck'd 
By skill of earthly architect, 
Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise 
A Minster to her Makers praise !* 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns, or her arches bend ; 
Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
Tiiat mighty surge that ebbs and swells. 
And still, between each awful pause. 
From the high vault an answer draws, 
In varied tone prolong'd and high. 
That mocks the organ's melody. 
Nor doth its entrance front in vain 
To old lona's holy fane, 
Tliat Nature's voice might seem to say, 
" Well hast thou done, frail Cliild of clay 1 
Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
Task'd liigh and hard — but witness mine 1'" 

XI. 

tferrily, merrily goes the bark. 

Before the gale she bounds; 
So daits the dolphin from the shark, 

Or the deer before the hounds, 
'fhey left Loch-Tua on their lee. 
And thev waken'd the men of the wild Tiree, 

And the Chief of the sandy Coll ; 
They paused not at Columba's isle. 
Though peal'd the bells from the holy pile 

With long and measur'd toll ;* 
No time for matin or for mass. 
And the somids of the holy summons pass 

Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord 
Their signal saw, and grasp'd his sword, 
And verdant Ilay call'd her host, 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey, 
. And Scarba's isle, whose tortureil shore 
Still rmgs to Corrievreken's roar, 

And lonely Colonsay ; 
■Scenes sung by him who sings no more !' 

* MS.— '• Where niched, his andistnrb'd repoae." 

' See Appendix. Note 2 P. 

' Tnc MS. adds, 

" Which, when the ruins of thy pile 
Camber the desolated i^le, 
Firm and inimotable shall stand, 
'Gainst winds, and waves, and spoiler's hand." 

4 " We were now treading that illostrioos island, which was 
i^ >nce the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage 

Claris and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, 
1 ind the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind frt)m all 

Ipcal emotion voold be impossible if it wer« endeavored, and 



His bright and brief career is o'er. 
And mute his tuneful strains ; 

Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, 

That loved the hght of song to pour ■. 

A distant .and a deadly shore 
Has Letden's cold remains I 

XIL 
Ever the breeze blows merrily, 
But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 
Lest, rounding wUd Cantyre, they meet 
The southern fooman's watchful fleet, 

They held unwonted way ; — 
Up Tarbafs western lake they bore. 
Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er ' 
As far as ICilmaconnel's shore, _ 

Uptm the ea.stern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free. 
High raised above the greenwood tree. 
As on dry land the galley moves, 
By cliff and copse and alder groves. 
Deep import from that selcouth sigii 
Did many a mountain Seer divine, ' 
For ancient legends told the Gael, 
That when a royal bark should sail 

O'er Kilmacoimel moss, 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail. 
And every foe should fixint and quail 

Before her silver Cross. 

XIIL 

Now latmch'd ouce more, the inland se«i 
They fmrow with fair augury. 

And steer for Arran's isle ; 
The sun, ere yet he simk behind 
Ben-Ghod, " the Mountain of the Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind. 

And bade Loch Ranza smile." 
Thither their destined coiu'se they drew, 
It seem'd the isle her monarch knew. 
So brilliant was the landward view. 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds roU'd 
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 

With azure strove and green. 



would be foolish, if it wer« possible. Whatever withdratn a 
from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the 
distant, or the future predominate over the present advancet 
us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from 
my friends be SQch frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indif 
ferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified 
by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be en- 
vied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain o, 
Marathon, or whose piety wcuid not grow warmer among tbi 
rains of lona." — Johnson. 

6 ?ee Appendix. Note 2 (i 

8 MS.—" His short but bright, &c. 
'See Appendix, Note 2 R. « Ibid. Nolo i 3 



442 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CA5T0 n 



The liill, the vale, the tree, the tower, 
Glow'd with the tints of eveniug's hour. 

The beach was silver sheen, 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh. 
And, oft reuew'd, seem'd oft to die, 

"With breathless pause between. 
who, with speech of war and woes, 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene ! 

XIV. 

Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks ? , 
Tlie blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 
Tlie timid look and downcast eye, 
And faltering voice the theme deny. 

And good King Robert's brow express'd, 
He ponder'd o'er some high request, 

As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in liis eye and lip the wliile, 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile, 
Which manhood's graver mood beguile, 
Wlien lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
— " And for my bride betrothed," lie said, 
" My liege has heard the rumor spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no right' 
To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 
But she hath fled the bridal-knot. 
And Lorn recall'd his promised plight, 
In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
Wlien, to fulfil our fathers' band, 
I protfer'd all I could — my hand — 

I was repulsed with scorn ; 
Mine honor I should ill assert, 
And worse the feelings of my heart, 
If I should play a suitor's part 
Again, to pleasure Lorn." — 

XV. 
" Young Lord," the Royal Bruce' replied. 
" That question must the Chm-ch decide : 
Yet seems it hard, since rumors state 
Editli takes Chfford for her mate. 
The very tie, which she hath broke, 
To thee should stUl be binding yoke. 
But, for my sister Isabel — 
The mood of woman who can tell 1 
I guess the Champion of the Rock, 
Victorious in the tourney shock, 
That knight uuknoimi, to whom the prize 
She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate. 



iMS.- 



' no tongue 13 mine 



To blame her," &c. 
* MS. — " The princely Brnce." 



Our ruin'd house and hapless state, 
From worldly joy and hope estranged, 
Much is the hapless mourner changed. 
Perchance," here smiled the noble King, 
" This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide 
The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stay, 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day •• 
And thither wUl I bear thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute." 

XVL 

As thus they talk'd in earnest mood, 
That speeclil^ss boy beside them stood 
He stoop'd his head against the mast. 
And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 
A grief that would not be repress'd. 
But seem'd to burst his youthful b-east. • 
His hands, against liis forehead heU, 
As if by force liis tears repeU'd, 
But through his fingers, long and'slight, 
Fast trill'd the drops of crystal bright. 
Edward, who walk'd the deck apart. 
First spied this conflict of the heart. 
Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness hind 
. He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind ; 
By force the slender hand he drew 
From tliose poor eyes that stream'd with de^ 
As in his hold the stripling strove, — 
("Twas a rougli grasp, though meant in love), 
Away his tears the warrior swept. 
And bade shame on him that he wept.* 
" I woidd to heaven, thy lielpless tongue 
Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong 
For, were he of our crew the best. 
The insult went<not unredress'd. 
Come, cheer thee ; tliou .art now of age 
To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfi'ey fair 
O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear. 
To hold my bow in himtmg grove. 
Or speed on errand to my love 
For well I wot thou wilt not tell 
The temple where my wishes dwelL" 

XVIL 
Bruce interposed, — " Gay Edwai'd, no. 
This is no youth to hold thy bow. 
To fiU thy goblet, or to bear 
Thy message light to lighter fair. 
Thou art a patron all too wild 
And thoughtless, for tliis orplian child. 
See'st thou not bow apart he steals, 

9 MB. — " Thither, by Edward sent, she stavfl 

Till fate shall lend more prosperoos day* 

* MS. — •' A-nd as away the tears he swept. 

He hade shame on him that he wept 



CANTO IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. > 



44t 



* Keeps loue. y coucli, and lonely meals ! ' 


Tlie heavy sword or bossy shield. 


Fitter by fai' in yon caUu cell 


Men too were there, that bore the scars 


To tend our sister Isabel, 


Impress'd in Albyn's woeful wars, 


With father Augustiu to share 


At Falliu-k's fierce and fatal fight. 


The peaceful clian>;e of convent prayer, 


Teyndrum's dread rout, aud Methven'» 


Thau wander wikl adventures thi'ough, 


flight ; 


With such a reckless guide, as you." — 


The might of Douglas there was seen, 


Tliaiiks, brother !"' Edward answer'd gay 


There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 


' For the liigh laud thy words convey 1 


Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight ; 


But we may learn some future day. 


The Lmdsay, fiery, fierce, and light ; 


If thou or I can this poor boy 


The Heu- of murder'd De la Haye, 


Protect the best, or best employ. 


And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. 


Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ; 


Around theu- Kmg regain'd they press'd, 


Launch we the boat, and seek the land." 


Wept, shouted, clasp'd him to their breast. 




And young and old, aud serf aud lord, 


XVIII. 


And he who ne'er unsheatlied a sword. 


To land King Robert lightly spmng. 


And he in many a peril tried. 


And tlu-ice aloud liis bugle rung 


Alike resolved the brunt to bide. 


With note prolong'd .and varied strain. 


And live or die by Bruce's side 1 


Till bold Ben-Ghoil rephed agam. 




Good Douglas then, aud De la Haye, 


XX. 


Had in a glen a hai-t at bay. 


Oh, War ! thou hast thy fierce delight. 


And Lennox cheer'd the laggard hounds, 


Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright I 


When waked that horn the greenwood 


Such gleams, as from thy polish'd shield 


bounds. 


Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field 1 


" It is the foe !" cried Boyd, who came 


Such transports wake, severe and high. 


In breathless haste with eye of flame, — 


Amid the pealing conquest cry ; 


" It is the foe ! — Each vahaut lord "* 


Scarce less, when, after battle lost, 


Fling by his bow, and grasp liis sword !" — 


Muster the remnants of a host, 


" >fot so," replied the good Lord James, 


And as each comi'ade's name they teU 


" That blast no Enghsh bugle claims. 


Who in the well-fought conflict fell. 


Oft have I heard it fire the fight. 


Knitting stern brow o'er flashmg eye, 


Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 


Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 


Dead were my he.irt, aud deaf mine ear. 


Warriors ! — and where are warriors found 


If Bruce should call, nor Douglas heai- 1 


If not on martial Britain's ground i' 


Each to Loch Rauza's margin spring ; 


And who, when waked with note of tire. 


That blast was winded by the King!'" 


Love more than they the British Ijtc ? 




Know ye not, — hearts to honor dear ! 


XIX. 


That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe, 


Fast to their mates the tidings spread, 


At which the heart-strings vibrate high. 


And fast to shore the warriors sped. 


And wake the fountains of the eye ?* 


Bursting from glen and greenwood tree, 


And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace 


High waked their loyal jubilee ! 


Of tcai" is on his manly face. 


Around the royal Bruce they crowd. 


When, scanty relics of the train ' 


Anil clasp'd his hands, and wept aloud. 


That haU'd at Scone his early reign. 


Veterans of early fields were there. 


This patriot band around him hung, 


Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair. 


And to his knees and bosom clung ? — 


Whose swords and axes bore a stain 


Blame ye the Bruce ? — his brother blamed, 


Prom hfe-blood of the red-hair'd Dane ;' 


But sliared the weakness, while ashamed. 


And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to 


With haughty laugh his he td he tum'd. 


wield 


And dash'd away the tear no sc;.Tn'd 


' See Appendix, Note 2 T. 


In the red cop that crowns our memory ; 


1 MS,—" Impresa'd by life-blood of the Dine." 
' MS. — '*Tf not on Britain's warlike gronnd." 


And the brief epitapil in danger's dar. 

When those wiio win at length divide the prey. 

And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow. 


' " Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, 


How had the brave who fell exulted now /" 


IflTben Ocean shroads aud sepulchres our dead. 


Byron's Cortah 


For us. even banquets fond regret supply 


<■ See Appendix, Note 2 U. 



44t SOOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canfo n 


XXI. 


Bestow'd thy high designs to aid. 


Tis morniug, aud the Convent bell 


How long, Heaven 1 liow long delay'd 1— 


Long time had ceased its matin knell, 


Haste, Mona, liaste, to introduce 


Within thy walls, Saint Bride ' 


My darling brother, royal Bruce !" 


An aged Sister sought the cell 




Aflsign'd to Lady Isabel, 


xxm. 


And hm-riecUy she cried. 


Tliey met like fi-iends who part m pain. 


" Haste, gentle Lady, haste — there waitt 


And meet m doubtful hope again. 


A noble stranger at the gates ; 


But, when subdued' that fitful swell. 


Saiit Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 


Tlie Bruce survey'd the humble cell ; — 


A Knight of sucli a princely mien ; 


" And this is thine, poor Isabel ! — 


iLz errand, as he bade me tell. 


That paUet-coueh, and naked wall. 


Is with the Lady Isabel." 


For room of state, and bed of pall ; 


The princess rose,— for on her knee 


]^ costly robes and jewels rare, 


Low bent she told her rosary, — ' 


A string of beads and zone of hair ; 


" Let him by th^e his purpose teach : 


And for the trumpet's sprightly call 


I may not give a stranger speech." — 


To sport or banquet, gi^ove or ball. 


" Saint Bride forefend, thou royal Maid !" 


Tlie bell's grim voice divides thy care, 


The portress cross'd herself, and said, — 


'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer ! — 


" Not to be prioress might I 


iU for thee, my royal claim 


Debate liis will, his suit deny." — 


From the Fu-st David's samted name 1 


* Has earthly show then, simple fool, 


woe for thee, that while he sought 


Power o'er a sister of thy rule. 


His right, thy brother feebly fought !"— 


And art thou, like the worldly train. 




Subdued by splendors light and vain !" — 


XXIV. 




■' Now lay these viiin regrets aside. 


XXII. 


And be the un.shakeu Bruce !" she cried i 


" No, Lady ! in old eyes Uke mine. 


" For more I glory to have shared 


Gauds have no ghtter, gems no shine ; 


Tlie woes thy venturous spirit dared, 


Nor grace his rank attendants vain. 


When raising fii-st thy vahant band 


One youthful page is all his train. 


In rescue of tliy native land. 


It is the form, the eye, the word, ' 


Than had fair Fortune set me down 


The bearing of that stranger Lord ; 


Tlie partner of an empire's crown. ^ 


His stature manly, bold, and tall. 


And grieve not that on Pleasm-e'a stre *in '* 


Bmlt like a castle's battled wall. 


No more I diive in giddy dream. 


Vet moulded in such just degrees, 


For Heaven the erring pilot knew, , 
And from the gulf the vessel drew, ^* 


His giant strength seems lightsome ease. 


Close as the tendrils of the vine 


Tried me with judgments stern and great, 


His locks upou liis forehead twme. 


My house's ruin, tliy defeat. 


Jet-black, save where some touch of gray 


Poor Nigel's death, tUl, tamed, I own. 


Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 


My hopes are fix'd on Heaven alone ; 


Weather and war their rougher trace 


Nor e'er shall eai-thly prospects win 


Have left on that majestic face ; — 


My heart to tliis vain world of sin." — 


But 'tis liis dignity of eye ! 




There, if a suppliant, would I fly. 


XXV. ; 


Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief, 


" Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice. 


Ol sympathy, redress, relief — 


First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice ; 


That glance, if guilty, would I dread 


Then ponder if m convent scene ' | 
No softer thoughts iniglit intervene — 


More than the doom that spoke me dead." — 


" Enough, enough," the princess cried. 


Say they were of tliat unluiown Knight, 


"'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride ! 


Victor in Woodstock's toui-ney-tight — ' 


To meaner front was ne'er assign'd 


Nay, if his name such blush you owe, 


Such mastery o'er the common mind — ■ 


Victorious o'er a fairer foe !"• 


' " Mr*. Scott, we have said, contradicts himself. How will 


we discover the princess counting her beads and reading horn 


lie explain tile following facts to his reader's satisfaction ? 


Hes in the cloister of St. Bride, in the Island of Arran ! W« 


The third canto inlbrois ns that Isabel accompanies Edward 


humbly beseech the ' Mighty Minstrel' to clear u > this ml* 


Ireland, there to remain till till termination of tlie war; 


ter." — Critical Review. 


wA Id the fourth canto, the second day after her departure. 


3 MS. — " But when subsides," &c 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



44S 



Truly his penetrating eye 

Hath caught that blush's passing dye, — 

Like ths last beam of evening thrown 

On a white cloud, — just seen and gone." 

Soon with calm chcSek and steady eye, 

The princess made composed reply : — 

" I guess my brother's meaning well ; 

For not so silent is the cell, 

But we have heard the islesmen all 

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call. 

And mine eye proves that Knight unknown' 

And the brave Island Lord are one. — 

Had then his suit been earher made, 

In his own name, with thee to aid 

(But that his plighted faith forbade),' 

I know not But thy page so near ? — 

This is no tale for menial's ear." 

XXVL 
Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford ; 
With dizzy eye and bursting heart. 

He leant liis weight on Brace's sword, 
The monarch's mantle too he bore,* 
And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
" Fear not for him — in murderous strife," 
Said Bruce, " his warning saved my life ;' 
Full seldom parts he from my side, 
And in iiis silence I confide, 
Since he can tell no tale again. 
He is a boy of gentle strain. 
And I have purposed he shall dwell 
In August in the chaplain's cell, 
And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 
Mind not his tears ■, I've seen them flow, 
As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 
Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 
Unfit against the tide to pull. 
And those that witli the Brace would sail. 
Must learn to strive with stream and gale. — 
But forward, gentle Isabel — 
My answer for Lord Ronald tell." — 

XXVII. 
' This answer be to Ronald given — 
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven." 

' " We would bow with veneration to the powerful and 

Igged genius of Scott. We would style him above all othere, 

onier and Shak8i)eare excepted, the Pxjet of Nature — of 

alure in all her varied beauties, in all her wildest haunts. 

o appearance, however minute, in the scenes around him, 

capes hb penetrating eye ; they are all marked with the 

oe«t discrimination ; are introduced with the happiest effect. 

eoce, in his similes, both the genius and the judgment of 

e poet are peculiarly conspicuous ; his accurate observation 

' the appearances of nature, which others have neglected, 

parts an originality to those allusions, of which the reader 

■mediately recognizes the aptness and propriety; and only 

)nders that what must have been so often witnessed should 

ve been so uniformly passed unregarded by. Such is the 



My love was like a stmimer flower. 

That wither'd in the wmtry hour, 

Born but of vjmity and pride. 

And with these suimy visions died. 

If further press liis suit — then say, 

He should his plighted troth obey, 

Troth pUghted both with ring and wcrtJ. 

And sworn on crucifix and sword. — 

Oh, shame thee, Robert I I have seen 

Thou hast <i woman s guardian been ! 

Even in extremity's dreatl hour, 

When press'd on thee the Southern power, 

And safety, to all human sight, 

Was only found in rapid flight. 

Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 

In agony of travail-pain. 

And thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant turn and stand. 

And dare the worst the foe might do 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

Leave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress.' 

And wilt thou now deny thine aid 

To an oppress'd and injured maid, 

Even plead for Ronald's perfidy, 

And press his fickle faith on me ? - ■ 

So witness Heaven, as true I vow, 

Had I those earthly feelings now, ' 

Which could my former bosom move 

Ere taught to set its hopes above, 

Fd spurn each proffer he could bring, 

TUl at my feet he laid the ring. 

The ring and spousal contract both. 

And fair acquittal of his oath. 

By her who brooks Ms perjm'ed scorn. 

The iU-requited Maid of Lorn 1" 

XXVIIL 

With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page, and on her neck he hung ; 
Then, recollected instantly. 
His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee, 
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel, . 
Arose, and sudden left the ceU. — 
The princess, liroseu'd from his hold, 
Blush'd angiv at his bearing bold ; 

simile applied to the transient blush observed by Sue* o 
the countenance of Isabel upon hLs menxior, of Ronala."— 
BriUsh Crilic. 

• MS. — '* And well I judge that Knight unknown.' 

3 MS.—" But that his \ '''"''" i plight forbade." 
I tormer ) 

* MS. — " The Monarch's brand and cloak he bore." 

* MS. — " Answer'd the Bruce, ' he saved my Ufe.' " 

• The MS. has,— 

•' Lsabel's thoughts are fix'd on heaven ;" 
and the two couplets which follow are interpolated OD rbi 
blank page. 
' See Appendix, Note 3 V. 



140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL W0KK8. 



Bat good King Robert cried, 
** Cliafe not — by signs be speaks bis mind, 
He heard tbe plan my cai'e design'd, 

Nor could liis transports bide. — 
But, sister, now betliink tbee well ; 
No easy eboice the convent cell ; 
Tri.st, I shall play no tyrant part, 
Either to force thy band or heart, 
Oi suiTer that Lord Ronald scorn, 
Or ^Trong for tbee, the Maid of Lorn. 
Sut think, — not long tbe time has been. 
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen. 
And wouldst tbe ditties best approve, 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
Now are thy wishes in thy power. 
And fiiou art bent on cloister bower !" 
O ! if our Edward knew the change. 
How would his busy sathe range, 
With many a sarcasm varied stiU 
On woman's wish, and woman's will !" — 

XXIX. 
" Brother, X well beUcve," she said, 
" Even 80 would Edward's part be play'd. 
Kindly in heart, in word severe, 
A foe to thought, and gi'ief, and fear, 
He holds liis humor imcoutroll'd ; 
But thou art of another mould. 
Say then to Ronald, as I sky, 
ITnless before my feet be lay 
Tbe ring which bound the faith ho swore, 
By Edith freely yielded o'er, 
He moves liis suit to me no more. 
Nor do I promise, even if now 
He stood absolved of spousal vow. 
That I would change my piu-pose made. 
To shelter me in holy shade. — 
Brother, for httle space, farewell 1 
To other duties warns the bell." — 

XXX. 

" Lost to the world," King Robert said, 
Wlien he bad left the royal maid, 
" Lost to the world by lot severe, 
O what a gem bes buried here, 
Nipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost, 
Tl-.e buds of fair affection lost ! — ' 



■ The MS. here adds :— 

*' She yields one siiade of empty hope ; 
But well I guess her wily scope 
Is to elude Lord Ronald's plea. 
And still my importunity." 
5 This and the tv"*v9» ^cceeding lines are interpolated on the 
l> ank page of the MS. 

3 " The fourlh canto cannot be very greatly praised. It 
tontains. indeeo, many pleasing passages ; but the merit which 
Jiey possess is too much detached from the general interest 
•f tbe poem. The only bosiness is Bruce's arrival at the isle 
f# Anan The voyage is certainly described with spunt ; but 



But what have I with love to do? 
Far sterner cares my lot piu'sue. 
— Pent in this isle. we may not lie," 
Nor would it long our wants supply. 
Right opposite, the mainland towers 
Of my own Turnbeiry court our powers — 
— Might not my father's beadsman boar, 
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore, 
Kindle a .sigual-fiame, to show 
The time propitious for the blow ? 
It shall be so — some friend shall bear 
Om' mandate with despatch and care ; 
— Edward shall find the messenger. 
That fortress om-s, the island fleet 
May on the coast of Carrick meet — 
Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line, 
To raise my victor-bead, and see 
Thy bills , thy dales, thy people free, — 
That glance of bbss is aU I crave. 
Betwixt my labors and my grave !" 
Then down the hill be slowly went, 
Oft pausing on tbe steep descent. 
And reach'd the spot where his bold train 
Held rustic camp upon tbe plain.' 



)e Corb of tl)e Isles. 



n 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 



On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd tbe early day, 
Tliin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd 
From the lone hamlet, which her mlaiul bay 
And circUng mountains sever from the world. 
And there the fisherman bis sail tmfurl'd. 
The goat-herd drove Ms kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd, 
Coiutmg the stmbeam as she pUed her toil,— 
For, wake where'er be may, Man wakes to erne 
and toil. 

But other duties call'd each convent maid. 
Roused by the simmions of the moss-grown bell . - 

the remainder of the canto is rather tedious, and might, with- 
out any considerable inconvenience, have been left a gooil 
deal to the reader's imagination. ^■^. Scott ought to reserve, 
as much as possible, Ihe interlocutory part of liLs narrative, 
for occasions which admit of high and animated sentiment, oi 
the display of powerful emotions, because tnis is almost lln 
onlj poetical bea=ty of 'rhicb speeche? are susceptible. Bn 
to fill up three-fourths of a canto with a lover's asking : 
brother in a quiet and friendly manner for permission to addrcs 
his sister in maniage. and a brother's asking his sister wheue 
she has any objections, is, we think, somewhat injudicioo! 
— (Quarterly Review. ■ 



I 



DANTO V. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



441 



Sung were the matins, and the mass was said, 
And every si:*ter sought her separate cell, 
Sucb was the rule, her rosary to fell. 
And Isabel has kuelt m lonely prayer 
Tlie lunboam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the .snowy neck and long dark hair, 
4» stoop'd her gentle liead in meek devotion there. 

II. 

Sbe raised her eyes, that duty done. 
When ghuired upon the pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring, 
Bound to a scroll with silken string,' 
With few brief words inscribed to tell, 
" This for the Lady Isabel." 
Witliin, the wi'iting fiu-ther bore, — ■ 
" 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart command. 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And ! for better fortuTie born. 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn !" 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced fixim Isabel's dark eyes, 
But vanish'd in the blush of shame. 
That, as its penance, instant came. 
" thought unwortliy of my race 1 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and b;ise, 
A moment's tlu-ob of joy to own,^ 
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown ! — 
rhou pledge of vows too well beUeved, 
( Of man ingrate and maid deceived, 
] Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
i Another heart to hope in vain ! 
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud. 
Where worldly thoughts are overawed. 
And worldly splendors sink debased." 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 

III. 
Next rose the thought, — its owner far. 
How came it here tlnough bolt and bar ?— 
Bu' the dim lattice is ajar. — 
She looks ab- dd, the morning dew 
A light short *tep had brush'd anew, 
And there were foot-prmts seen 
t(D the carved buttress rising still, 
llill or' *he mos? f window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
T'The ivy twigs were torn and fray'd. 
As if some chraber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger, 
WTiose venturous path these signs infer ? — 



MS.— - 



inn;^ of gold. 



\ scroll aroand tlie jewel roUM, 
Had few brief words." &c. 
W9.— •" A sicgle throb of joy to own." 



" Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, draw nigh 

— Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious eye — 

What strangers, gentle mother, say. 

Have sought these holv walls to-day i"— 

" None, Lady, none of note or name ; 

Only your brother's foot -page came, 

At peep of dawn — I pray'd him pass 

To chapel where they said the mass ; 

But like an arrow he shot by. 

And teais seem'd bursting from his eye." 

IV. 
The truth at once on Isabel, 
As darted by a sunbeam, fell. — 
"'Tis Edith's self!' — her speechless woe, 
Her form, her looks, the secret show ! 
— Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say, 
I do conjure him seek my cell. 
With that mute page he loves so weU."— 
" What ! know'st thou not his warlike host 
At break of day has left our coast ?* 
My old eyes siiw them from the tower. 
At eve they couch'd in greenwood bower, 
At dawn a bugle signal, made 
By tlieir bold Lord, their ranks arr.ay'd ; 
Up sprung the spears through bush and 

tree. 
No time for benedicite ! 
Like deer, that, rousing from their lair. 
Just shake the dew-drops from theh hair. 
And toss their .irmed crests aloft, 
Such matins theirs !" — " Good mother, soft— 
Where does my brother bend his way ?" — • 
" As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, 
Across the i.sle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er. 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." — 
" If such their purpose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel, " of speed ! 
Call Father Augustme, good dame." 
The nun obey'd, the Father came. 



" Kind Father, hie without delay. 

Across the hills to Brodick-Bay. 

Tliis message to the Bruce be given : 

I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven 

That, till he speak with me, he stay I 

Or, if his haste brook no delay, 

That he deUver, on my suit. 

Into thy ch,arge that stripling mute. 

Thus prays his sister Isabel, 

For causes more than she may tell — 

3 MS.—" 'Tis she herstlf." 

i M:?. — " Wh,it ! know'st thou not in sudaen haste 

The w.lrriors from our woods have pass'd f 
6 MS. — " Canst tell where ther have ben* 'heir waf t * 



tl8 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto t. 


^ Away, good fatlier ! and take-heed, 


But as, on Carrick-shore, 


That hfe and death are on thy speed." 


Dmi seen in outlme faintly blue, 


His cowl tlie good old priest did on. 


The shades of evening closer drew,* 


Took his piked staff and sandall'd shoon, 


It kindled more and more. 


And, hke a palmer bent by eld. 


The monk's slow steps now press the sands 


O'er moss and rooor his journey held.' 


And now amid a scene he stands, 




FuU strange to chtirchman's eye ; 


VI. 


Warriors, who, arming for the fight. 


Heavy and dull the foot of age, 


Rivet and clasp their harness hght. 


And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 


And twinkUng spears, and axes bright, 


But none was there beside, whose care 


And helmets flashing high. 


Might such important message bear. 


Oft, too, with uuaccustom'd ears. 


Through bucheu copse he wander'd slow, 


A language much unmeet he hears,' 


Stunted and sapless, fliin and low ; 


While, hastening all on board, 


By many a mountain stream he pass'd. 


As stormy as the swelling surge 


From the taU chffs m tumult east, 


That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge 


Dashing to foam their waters dun. 


Their followers to the ocean verge, 


And sparkling in the summer sun. 


With many a haughty word. 


Round his gray head the wild curlew 




In many a fearless cu-cle flew. 


VIII. 


O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures, wide 


Through that wUd throng the Father pass'd, 


Craved wary eye and ample stride ;' 


And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last. 


He cross'd Ms brow beside the stone 


He leant against a stranded boat. 


Where Druids erst heard victims groan,' 


That the approaching tide must float, ^ 


And at the cairns upon the wUd, 


And counted every rippling wave, |H 


O'er many a heathen hero piled,* 


As liigher yet her sides they lave, j^l 


He breathed a timid prayer for those 


And oft the distant fire he eyed, ^^M 


Who died ere Sluloh's sun arose. 


And closer yet his haubi'rk tied, ^B 


Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid. 


And loosen'd in its sheath his brand. , 


Tliere told his hours witliin the shade. 


Edward and Lennox were at hand. 


And at the stream Hs thirst allay'd. 


Doughxs and Ronald had the care 


Tlieuce onward journeying slowly still, 


The soldiers to the barks to share. — ' 


As evening closed he reach'd the hiU, 


The Monk approach'd and homage paid ; 


Where, rising through the woodland green, 


" And art thou come," King Robert said. 


Old Brodick's gotliic towers were seen. 


" So far to bless us ere we part !" — 


From Hastings, late their English lord. 


— " My Liege, and with a loyal heart ! — 


Douglas had won them by the sword.' 


But other charge I have to tell," — 


The sun that sunk beliind the isle, 


And spoke the hest of Isabel. 


Now tinged them with a parting smile. 


— " Now by Saint Giles," the monarch cried 




" Tliis moves me much I — this morning tide, 


VII. 


I sent the striphng to Saint Bride, 


But though the beams of light decay. 


With my commandment there to bide." — ' 


'Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay. 


— " Thither he came the portress show'd, 


The Bruce's followers crowd the shore. 


But there, my Liege, made brief abode." — 


And boats and barges some unmoor, 




Some raise the sail, some seize the oar • 


IX. 


Their eyes oft turn'd where ghmmer'd far 


" 'Twas I," said Edward, " found employ 


Wliat might have seem'd an early star 


Of nobler import for the boy. 


On heavens blue arch, save that its hght 


Deep pondering in my anxious mind. 


Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 


A fitting messenger to find. 


Far distant in the south, the ray 


To bear ray wi'itten mandate o'er 


Shone pale amid retu-ing day. 


To Cuthbert on the Carrick-shore, 


t MS. — '* And cross the island took his way. 


6 See Appendix. Note 2 Y. 


O'er hill ami holt, to Brodick-Bay." 


fl MS.—" The sha.fv-s of oven more closely drew 


■ See Appendix, Note 2 W. 


It brighten'd more and more. 


' MS. — " He cross'd him by the Druids' stone. 


Now print his sandall'd feet the sandi. 


That lieard of yor» the victim's groan." 


And now amid," &c. 


' See Anoendi.\, Note 2 X. 


^ See Appendix, Note 2 Z. IM 



.3ANT0 V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. , 449 


I chanced, at early dawu, to pass 


That when by Bruce's side I fight. 


Tlie chapot gate to snatch a mass. 


For Scotland's crown and Freedom's righl 


I found the stripUr' on a tomb 


The princess grace her knight to bear 


Low-seated, wcepijg for the doom 


Some token of her favormg care ; 


'riiat gave liis youth to convent gloom. 


It shall be shown where England's best 


I t<ilil my purpose, and his eyes 


May slirink to see it on my crest. 


Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise. 


And for the boy — since Weightier care 


He bounded to the skiff, the sail 


For royal Bruce the times prepare. 


Was spread before a prosperous gale. 


The helpless youth is Ronald's charge, 


And well my charge he hath obey'd ; 


His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." 


For, see ! the ruddy signal made, 


He ceased ; for many an eager hand 


That Chfford, with his merry-men all. 


Had urged the barges from the strand. 


' Guards carelessly om- father's hall."—' 


Their number was a score and ten. 




Tliey bore thrice tlu-eescore chosen men. 


X. 


With sucli .small force did Bruce at last 


" wild of thought, and hard of heart 1" 


The die for death or empire cast 1 


Answer'd the Monarch, " on a part 




Of such deep danger to employ 


xn. 


A mute, .in orphan, and a boy !" 


Now on the darkening main afloat, 


Unfit for Hight, unfit for strife. 


Ready and mann'd rocks every boat ; 


Without a tongue to plead for Ufe ! 


Beneath their oars the ocean's might 


Now. were my right restored by Heaven, 


Was dash'd to spavks of glimmcrmg light. 


Edward, my crown I would have given. 


Faint and more famt, as oft' they bore. 


Ere, tlu-ust on such adventure wild. 


Their armor glanced against the shore 


I peril'd thus the helpless child." — 


And, mingled with the dashmg tide. 


^Offended half, and half submiss. 


Tlieu- mm-muring voices distant died. — 


' Brother and Liege, of blame like this," 


" God speed them !" said the Priest, as dark 


Edward replied, " I Uttle dream'd. 


On distant billows glides each bark ; 


A stranger messenger, I deem'd, 


" Heaven ! when swords for freedom shine 


Might safest seek the beadsman's cell. 


And monarch's right, the cause is thine I 


Where all thy squires are known so welL 


Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 


Noteless his presence, sharp his sense, 


Beat down the banners of the foe 1 


His imperfection his defence. 


And be it to the nations knoWn, 


If seen, none can his en"and guess ; 


That Victory is from God alone !'"' 


If ta'en, his words no tale express — 


As up the hiU his path he drew. 


Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 


He turn'd his blessings to renew, 


Might expiate greater fault than mine." — 


Oft turn'd, till on the darken'd coast 


" Rash," said ICing Robert, " was the deed — 


All traces of their course were lost ; 


But it is done. — Embai-k with speed ! — 


Then slowly bent to Brodick tower, 


Good Father, say to Isabel 


To shelter for the evening hour. 


How this unliappy chance befell ; 




If well we thrive on yonder shore. 


XIIL 


Soon sliall my care her page restore. 


In night the fairy prospects smk. 


Our greeting to our sister bear. 


Where Cumray's isles with verdant link 


And think of us in mass and prayer." — 


Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 




The woods of Bute, no more descried. 


XL 


Are gone* — and on the placid sea 


" Aye !" said the Priest, " while this poor hand 


Tlie rowers ply theii- task with glee, 1 


Can chalice raise or cross conuuand. 


While hands that knighth .ances bore 


Whilo my old voice has accents' use, 


Impatient aid the laborbg oar. 


Can Augustine forget the Bruce !" 


The half-faced moon shone dim and pa'a, 


Then to his side Lord Ronald press'd. 


And gknced against the whiteu'd sail ; 


And whisper' d, " Bear thou this request, 


But on that ruddy beacon-Hght 


>TheMS. rea.ls:— 


Of BOcli deep peril, to employ 


" Keeps careless gnard in Tnmbeiry hall," 


A mnte, a stranger, and a bov ' '" 


See Appendix, Note 3 A. 


3 MS. ^"is thine alon^'" 


* MS. — " Said Robert, ' to assign a part 
7 


< MS— " Have sunk " 



t50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V 



Each steersman kept the helm 'aright, 
And oft, for such the King's command, 
That all at once might reach the strand. 
From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
Warn'd them to crowd or slacken saiL 
South and by west the ai-mada bore, 
And near at length the Carrick-shore. 
And less and less the distance grows. 
High and more high the beacon rose ; 
Tile light, that seem'd a twinkling star, 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 
Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd, 
Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd. 
Red rose the rocks on oceans brim. 
In blood-red light her islets swim ; 
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, 
Dropp'd from then- crags on plashing wave.' 
The deer to distant covert drew. 
The black-cock deem'd it day, and crew. 
Like some tall castle given to flame, 
O'er half the land the lustre came. ' 

" Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, 
What thuik ye of mine elfin page !" — 
" Row on !" the noble King repHed, 
" We'll leam the truth whate'er betide ; 
Yet Hire the beadsman and the child 
Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild.' 

XIV. 

With that the boats approach'd the land,^ 
But Edward's grounded on the sand ; 
The eager Knight leap'd in the sea 
Waist-deep, and first on shore was he, 
Though every barge's hardy band 
Contended which should gain the laud. 
When that strange light, which, seen afar, 
Seem'd steady as the polar star. 
Now, like a prophet's^ fiery chair, 
Seem'd travelling the realms of air. 
Wide o'er the sky the splendor glows 
As that portentous meteor rose ; 
Helm, *xe, and falchion gUtter'd bright. 
And in the red and dusky hght 
His comrade's face each warrior saw, 
Nor marveU'd it was pale with awe. 
Then liigh in air the beams were lost. 
And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 
Ronald to Heavec a prayer address'd 
And Douglas cross'd his dauntless breast , 
' Saint James protect us I" Lennox cried, 
FSut reckless Edward spoke aside, 
" Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame 
Ked Comyn's angry spirit came. 



I MS. — " And from their crags ilash'il in the wave.' 
■ M»^. — " With tliat the barges aear'd the land." 
I MS.—" A wizard's." 
MS — " ' Gallajvts be hnsh'd ; we 90on shall know,' 



Or would thy daimtless heart endure 

Once more to m.ake assiu'ance siu'e ?" — 

" Hush !" said the Bruce, " we soon shall know 

If this be sorcerer's empty show,* 

Or stratagem of southern foe. 

The moon shines out — upon the sand 

Let every leader rank his band." 

XV. 
Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
That ruddy Ught's unnatm'al dye ; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 
Beneath the rocVs King Robert drew 
His scatter'd file* to order due. 
Till shield compact and serried spear 
In the cool hght shone blue and clear. 
Then down a path that sought the tide. 
That speechless page was seen to glide ; 
He knelt him lowly' on the sand, 
And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 
" A torch," the Monarch cried, " What, ho I 
Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know." 
But evU news the letters bare. 
The Clifford's force was strong and ware, 
Augmented, too, that very morn. 
By movmtiiineers who came with Lorn. 
Long haiTow'd by oppressor's hand. 
Courage and faith had lied the land, 
And over Canick, dark and deep. 
Had simk dtjectiou's iron sleep. — 
Cuthberl had seen that beacon-flame. 
Unwitting from wh.at source it came. 
Doubtful of perilous event, . 

Edward's mute messenger he sent. 
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 
To warn him from the fatal shore. 

XVL i 

As rotmd the torch the leaders crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 
" What council, nobles, have we now ! — 
To ambush us m greenwood bough. 
And take the chance wliich fate may send 
To bring our enterprise to end, 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exiles, and embark agaui ?''— 
Answer'd fierce Edward, " Hap what may, 
In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay. 
I would not minstrels told the tale. 
Wildfire or meteor' made us quaU." — 
Answer'd the Douglas, " If my Liege 
May win yon walls by storm or siege. 



Said Bruce, 'if this be sorcere'-'s show. ' 

6 MS. " on the moisten'd sand." 

« MS. — " That Clifford's force in watch were waie.' 
' MS. — " A wildfire meteor." &c. 



OANTO V. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



45. 



Then were each brave and patriot heart 


" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm ! 


Kindled of new for loj-al part/' — ' 


Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ? 


Answer'd Lord Ronald, " Not for shame 


Hath not the wUd-buU's treble hide 


Would I that aged Torquil cime, 


Tills targe for thee and me supplied ? 


And found, for all our empty boast, 


Is not Clan-CoUa's sw<ird of steel ? 


Without a blow wo fled the coast. 


-And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 


I will not credit that this land, 


Cheer thee,, and still that throbbiii^r heart 


So famed for warlike heart and hand, 


From Ronald's guard thou shall not part." 


The nurse of "Wallace and of Bruce, 


— Q ! m.any a shaft at random sent. 


Will long with tyrants hold a truce." — 


Finds mark the archer little meant ! 


" Prove we our fate — the brunt we'll bide 1" 


And many a word, at r.ondom spoken. 


So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 


May sootjie or wound a heart that's broken 


So said, so vow'd, the le*lers all ; 


Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 


So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall 


Close drew the page to Ronald's aid/- 


Since the Bold Southern make their home, 


A wild delirious tluiU of joy 


The hour of payment soon shall come,* 


Was in that hour of agony. 


When with a rough and rugged host 


As up the steepy pass he strove. 


Clifford may reckon' to liis cost. 


Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love 1 


Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell. 




rU lead where we may shelter well." 


XIX. 




The barrier of that iron shore, - 


svn. 


The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er ; 


Now ask you whence that wondrous light, 


And from the castle's distant wall. 


Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight ? — 


From tower to tower the warders call : 


It ne'er was known* — yet gray-hau-'d eld 


The sound swmgs over land and sea,' 


A superstitious credence held, 


And marks a watchful enemy. — 


That never did a mortal hand 


They gain'd the Chase, a wide domam 


Wake its broad glare on Canick strand ; 


Left for the Castle's silvan reign' 


Nay, and that on the self-s.ime night 


(Seek not the scene — the axe, the plough. 


When Bruce cros.s'd o'er, still gleams the light. 


The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now), 


Nearly it gleams o'er mount and moor, 


But then, soft swept in velvet green 


And gUttering wave and crimson'd shore — 


The plain with many a glade between. 


But whether beam celestial, lent 


Whose tangled alleys fiir invade 


By Heaven to aid the King's descent, 


The depth of the brown forest shade. 


Or fire hell-kindled from beneath. 


Here the t.aU fern obscured the lawn. 


To lure him to defeat and death. 


Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 


Or were it but some meteor strange. 


There, tufted close with copsewood green. 


Of such as oft through midnight range. 


Was many a swelling hillock seen ; 


Starthng the traveller late and lone,' 


And all ai-ound was verdm-e meet 


I know not — and it ne'er was known. 


For pressure of the fairies' feet 




The glossy holly loved the park, 


XVIIL 


The yew-tree lent its shadow darl;,' 


Now up the rocky pass they drew, • 


And many an old oak, worn and bare. 


And, Ronald, to his promise true. 


With all its shiver'd boughs, was thert. 


Still made his arm the stripling's stay. 


Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 


To aid him on the rugged way. 


On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. 


'Now cheer thee, sunple Amadine ! 


The gallant Monarch sigh'd to see 


Why throbs that silly heart of thine ?"— 


These glades so loved in childhood free. 


— That name the pirates to their slave 


Bethinking that, as outlaw, now, 


(In Qaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave — 


He ranged beneath the forest bough.' 


* MS. *' to play their part." 


' See Appendix, Note 3 C. 


' MS. — ' s'ince Cliffonl needs will make his home, 


8 MS.—" The dark-green holly loved the down, 


The hoDr of reckoning soon shall come." 


The yew-tjee lent its shadow hrown." 


'MS.— "The Knight shall reckon," &c. 


» " Their moonlight mnster on the beach, after the sadden 


• See Appendix. Note 3 B. 


extinction of this portentous flame, and their miiinight march 


MS.—'* Such as throngh midnight ether range. 


through the paternal fields of their royal leader, also displaj 


Affrightening oil the traveller lone," 


much heaotifnl painting (stanzas 15 and 19). After the <a» 


tl MS.- -" Soonds sadly ovei land and sea." 


tie ia won, the same strain is pnrsaed."— Jeffrbv 



!. 



452 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO % 



XX. , 

Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped. 
Well knew the band that measured tread, 
When, in retreat or in advance, 
The serried warriors move at once ; 

_ And evil were the luck, if dawn 
Descried them on tlie open lawn. 
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross, 
Stniin up thf bank and o'er the moss. 
From the exhausted page's brow' 
Cold drops of toil are streaming now ; 
With eft'ort faint^ and lengthen'd pause, 
His weary step the stripling di-aws.' 
" Nay, droop not yet !"^ the wanior said ; 
" Come, let me give thee ease and aid I 
Strong are mine arms, and little care 
A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 
What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious boy I 
Tlien tliine own limbs arid strength employ. 
Pass but this night, and pass thy care, 

■ I'll place thee with a lady fair, 
Wliere thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 
How Ronald loves fair Isabel 1" 
Worn out, disheartcn'd, and dismay'd. 
Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 
His trembling limbs their aid refuse,* 
He sunk among the midnight dews 1' 

XXl 

What may be done ? — the night is gone — 

The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 

Eternal shame, if at the brmit 

Lord Ronald grace not b.attle's front ! — 

" See yonder oak, within whose trunk 

Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk ; 

Enter, and rest thee there a space. 

Wrap in my plaid thy Umbs, thy face.' 

I will not be, believe me, far ; 

But must not quit the ranks of war. 

Well wiU I mark the bosky bourne. 

And soon, to guard thee hence, return. — 

Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy ! 

But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." 

In silvan lodging close bestow'd,' 

He placed the page, and onward strode 

With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook, 

And soon the marcliing band o'ertook. 

1 M3 — " From Amadyne'B exhausted brow." 

« MS.—" And double toil," &c. 

B MS. — "Nay /ear not yet," &c. 

* MS. " his weiglit refuse." 

6 *' This canto is not distinguished by many passages of ex- 
aeordinary merit ; as it is, however, full of business, and com- 
fwrativeiy free from those long rliyming dialogues which are so 
frequent in the poem, it is, upon the whole, spirited and pleas- 
Jig. The scene in which Ronald is described sheltering Edith 
inder his plaid, for the love which he bears to Isabel, is, we 
Jiink, more poetically conceived than any other in the whole 



XXII. 

Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept 

The page,.tiU, wearied out, he slejit — 

A rough voice waked his dream — " Nay, Her^ 

Here by this tliicket, pass'd the deer — 

Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 

What have we here ? — a Scottish plaid, , 

And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 

Come forth ! thy name and business tell I — 

What, silent ? — then I guess thee well 

The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell. 

Wafted from Arran yester morn — 

Come, comrades, we wUl straight return. 

Om' Lord may choose the rack shoiJd teach 

To this young lurcher use of speech. 

Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast." — 

" Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ; 

Unbotmd we'll lead him, fear it not ; 

'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot." 

The hunters to the castle sped, 

And there the hapless captive led. 

xxin. 

stout Clifford in the castle-court , 
Prepared him for the morning sport ; 
And now with Lorn held deep discourse, 
Now gave command for hound and horse.' • 
War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground, 
And many a deer-dog howl'd around. 
To Amadme, Lorn's well-known word 
Replying to that Southern Lord, 
Mix'd with tliis clanging din, might seem 
The phantasm of a fever'd dream. 
The tone upon his ringing ears 
Came like the sounds wliich fancy hears, 
When in rude waves or roaruig winds 
Some words of woe the muser finds, 
Until more loudly and more near, 
Tlieir speech arrests the page's ear.' 

XXIV. 

" And was she thus," said Clifford, " lost? 
Tile priest should rue it to liis cost ! 
What says the monk !" — " The holy Siro 
Owns, that in masquer's quaint attire 
She sought Ills skiff, disguised, unknown 
■ To all except to him alone. 

poem, ami contains some touches of great pathos and t^ntf 
— Quarterly Review. 

8 MS. — " And mantle in my plaid thy face." 

' MS. — " In silvan castle warm bestow'd, 
He left the page." 

8 MS. — " And tow with Lorn he spoke aside, 
And now to squire and yeoman cried. 
War-horse and palfrey," &c. 

a MS. " or roaring wind, 

Some words of woe liis musings find, 
Till spoke more loudly and more near 
These words arrest the page's ew." 



C4NT0 T THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 451 


But, says the prinst, a bark from Lorn' 


His nerves hath strung — he will not yield 1 


Laid them aboard tliat very ntorn. 


Since that poor breath, that Utile word. 


And pirates seized her for tlieii- prey. 


May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — ' 


He profler'd ransom-gold to pay, 


Clan-Colla's cUrge is pealing wide, 


And tlicy agreed — but ere told o'er. 


The griesly headsman's by his .side • 


Tlie winds blow loud, the billows roar ; 


Along the greenwood Chase they bend. 


Tliey sever'd, and tliey met no more. 


And now their march has ghastly end 1 


He deems — such tempest vex'd the coast — 


That old and shatter'd oak beneath. 


Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 


They destine for the place of death.' 


So let it be, with the disgrace 


— What thoughts are his, wliile all in vaiu 


And .scandal of her lofty race !^ 


His eye for aid explores the plain ! 


Thrice better she had ne'er been born, 


What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear. 


Than brought her infamy on Lorn !" 


He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near 1 




And must he die such death accurst, 


XXV. 


Or will th.at bosom-secret burst ? 


Ijord Clifford now the captive spied ; — 


Cold on liis brow breaks terror's dew, 


" Whom, Herbert, hast thou there ?" he cried. 


His trembling lips are livid blue ; 


" A spy we seized within the Chase, 


The agony of piirtiug life 


A hollow oak his lurking place." — ' 


Has naught to match that moment's strife I 


" What tidinj^ can the youth afford ?" — 




"He plays the mute." — " Then noose a cord — 


XXVIL 


Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 


But other witnesses are nigh. 


For his plaid's sake." — " Clan-Colla's loom," 


■Who mock at fear, and death defy 1 


Saiil Lorn, whose careless glances trace 


Soon as the dire lament was play'd, 


Rather the vesture than the face. 


It waked the lurking ambuscade. 


" Clan-Colla's dames such tart.ans twine ; 


The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied 


Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 


The cause, and loud in fury cried," 


Give him, if my advice you crave. 


" By Heaven, they lead the page to die, 


His own scathed oak ;* and let him wave 


And mock nie in his agony ' 


In au-, unless, by terror wrung, 


They sh.all abye it !" — On liis arm 


A frank confession find his tongue. — ' 


Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall r.o*, hiia 


Nor shall he die without his rite ! 


A ringlet of the striphng's hair; 


— Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight. 


But, till I give the word, forbear. 


And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath. 


— Douglas, lead fifty of our force 


As they convey him to his death." — 


Up yonder hollow water-course. 


" brother ! cruel to the last !" 


And couch thee midway on the wold. 


Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd 


Between the flyers and their hold ; 


The thought, but, to his purpose true. 


A spear above the copse display'd, 


He said not, though he sigh'd, " Adieu 1" 


Be signal of the ambush m.ade. 




— Edward, with fort^ spearmen, straight 


XXVL 


Through yonder copse approach the gate. 


And will he keep liis purpose still. 


And, when thou hear'st the battle-din. 


In sight of that last closing ill," 


Rush forward, and the passage win, 


When oue poor breath, one single word. 


Secure the drawbridge — storm the port, 


May freedom, safety, life, afford ? 


And man and guard the castle-court. — 


Can he resist the instinctive caU, 


The rest move slowly forth with me, 


For life that bids us barter all ? 


In shelter of the forest-tree. 


Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd, 


Till Douglas at his post I see." 


MS.— •■ To all save to liimself alone. 


« MS.— " Yon scathed oak." 


Then, saya he, that a bark from Lora 


6 MS. " by terror wrung 


Laid him aboard," &c. 


To speech, confession finds his tongue." 


'In place of the couplet which follows, the MS. has ; — 


8 " last human ill." 


" For, stood she there, and should refuse 


I MS.— " Since that one word, that little breath. 


The clioice my beuer purpose views. 


May apeak Lord Ronald's doom of detUh. 


I'd spurn her like a bond-maid tame. 


8 MS. — " Beneath that shatter'd old oak-tree. 


Lost to ! «=^<'"'""="' ^"'^ ^° -^ { shame." 
I each sense of pride and ) 


Design'd the slaughter-place to oo 


» MS.— " Soon as the due lament was play'd 


MP. — " A spy, whom, guided by our hound, 


The Island Lord in fury said. 


Lukiog conceal'd this morn we found." 


' By Heaven they lead ' " &c. 



454 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ▼ 



XXVIII. 


And twice, that morn, surprise well near 


Like war-horse eager to rush on. 


Betray'd the secret kept by fear ; 


Compell'd to wait the signal blown,' 


Once, when, with hfe returning, camo 


Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough. 


To the boy's Up Lord Ronald's name, 


Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now, 


And hardly recollection' drown'd 


And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 


The accents in a murmurmg sound ; 


Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue.— 


And once, when scarce he could resist 


Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye. 


The Chieftain's care to loose the vest. 


Sees the dark^ death-traiii mofing by. 


Drawn tightly o'er his laboring breast. 


And, heedful, measures oft the space 


But then the Brace's bugle blew, 


The Douglas imd liis baud must trace, 


For martial work was yet to do. 


Ere they can reach their destined ground. 




Now smks the dirge's" wailing sound. 


XXXL 


Now cluster round the direful tree 


A harder task fierce Edward waits. 


That slow and solemn company, 


Ere signal given, the castle gates 


While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer 


His fury had assail'd ■' 


The victim for his fate prepare. — 


Such was his wonted reckless mood. 


What glances o'er the greenwood shade ? 


Yet desperate valor oft made good. 


The spear that marks the ambuscade 1 — 


Even by its daring, venture rude, 


" Now, noble Chief I I leave thee loose ; 


Where prudeuce might have fail'd. 


Upon them, Ronald 1" said the Bruce. 


Upon the bridge his strength he threw,' 




And struck the iron chain in two. 


XXIX. 


By which its planks arose ; 


■ The Bruce, the Bruce !" to well-known cry 


The warder next his axe's edge 


llis native rocks and woods reply. 


Struck down upon the tlu-eshold ledge, 


" The Bruce, the Bruce !" in that dread word 


'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge 1' 


The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 


The gate they may not close. 


The astonish'd Southern gazed at first, 


Well fought the Southern in the fray, 


Where the wUd tempest was to burst. 


Chflbrd and Lorn fought well that day. 


TLat waked in that presaging name. 


But stubborn Edward forc'd his way' 


tefrre, behii-.d, around it came 1 


Against a hundred foes. 


Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side 


Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, the Bruce I" 


Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died. 


No hope or in defence or truce. 


Deep in the rmg the Bruce engaged. 


Fresh combatants pour in ; 


.And fierce Clan-CoUa's broadsword raged 1 


Mad with success, and drtmk with gore, 


Full soon the few who fought were sped. 


They drive the struggUng foe before, 


No better was their lot who fled, 


And ward on ward they win. 


And met, 'mid terror's wild career. 


Unsparing was the vengeful sword. 


The Douglas's redoubted spear 1 


And limbs were lopp'd .-md hfe-blood pour'd, 


Two hundred yeon!en oif that morn 


The cry of death and conflict roar'd, 


The castle left, and none retvurn. 


And fearful was the din ! 




Tlie startling horses plunged and flung. 


XXX. 


Clamor'd the dogs till turrets rung, 


Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand. 


Nor sunk the fearful cry. 


A gentler duty claim'd his hand. 


TiU not a foemtm was there foimd 


He raised the p;ige, where on the plain 


Alive, save those who on the ground 


His fear had sunk him with the slain : 


Groan'd in their agony 1' 


MS. — " Yet waiting for the trumpet tone." 


I MS.— " Well fonght the English yeomen then. 


1 MS — " See the slow death-train." 


And Lorn and Clifford play'd the men. 


1 MS. — " And scarce his recoilection," &c. 


But Edward mann'd the pass he won' 


* MS. — " A harder task fierce Edward waits. 


Against," &o. 


Whose ire assail'd tlie castle galea.*' ■ 


B The concluding stanza of "The Siege of Corinth" coo 


> MS.— " Where sober thought had fail'd. 


tains an obvious, though, no doubt, an unconscious imitatioa 


' Upon the bridge himself he threw." 


of the preceding nine lines, magnificently expanded tbiDDgh U 


MS. — " His axe was steel of temper'd edge. 


extent of about thirty couplets :— 


That trnth the warder well might pledge. 


" All the living things that heard 


He sunk apon the threshold ledge I 


That deadly earth-shock disappear'd ; 


The gate," &c. 


The wild birds flew ; the wild dogs fled, 



MNio VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. ^ 46i 


XXXII. 


Tlie pledge, fau- Scotland's rights restored 1 


The valinnt Clifford is no more ;' 


And he whose Up shall touch the wine. 


On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gore. 


Without a vow as true as mine. 


But better hap had he of Lorn, 


To hold both lauds and life at naught, 


RTio, by the foemen backw;u-d borne, ■ 


Until her freedom shall be bought,. — 


Tet gain'd with slender train the port. 


Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 


Wliere lay liis bark beneath the fort, - 


And lastmg infamy liis lot !' 


And cut the cable loose." 


Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee 


Short were his shiift in that debate, 


Is brief, we'll spend it joyously I 


rhat hour of fury and of fate, 


Bhthest of all the sun's bright beams. 


If Lorn encounter'd Bruce !' 


When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 


Xhen long and loud the victor shout 


Well is our comitry's work begun. 


Prom tuiTct and from tower rung out, 


But more, far more, must yet be done. 


The rugged vaults re^ihed ; 


Speed messengers the country through 


And from the donjon tower on high. 


Arouse old friends, and gather new ;' 


The men of Carrick may descry 


Warn Lanark's knights to ghd their mail. 


Saint Andrew's cross, m blazonry 


Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 


Of silver, waving wide ! 


Let Ettrich's archers sharp their darts, 




The fairest forms, the truest hearts 1 


XXXIIL • 


Call all, call all ! from Reedswah-Path, 


The Bruce hath won his father's hall 1* 


To the wild confines of Cape- Wrath ; 


— " Welcome, brave friends and comrades all, 


Wide let the news through Scotland ring, 


Welcome to mirth and joy 1 


The Northern F.agle claps his wing 1" 


The first, the last, is welcome here. 




From lord and chieftain, prince and peer. 






To this poor speecliless boy. 




Great God ! once more my sire's abode 
Is mine — behold the floor I trode 


^Ijc Cori) of tl)£ Islea 


In tottering infimcy ! 






And there' the vaulted arch, whose sound 


CASTO SIXTH. 


Echoed ray joyous shout and bound 




In boyhood, and that rung around 


L 


To youth's untliiukiug glee ! 


WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget" 


first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 


The emotions of the spirit-rousing tune. 


Then to my friends, my thanks be given !" — 


When breathless in the mart the couriers mat. 


He paused a space, his brow he cross'd — 


Early and late, at evening and at prime , 


Then on the board his sword he toss'd. 


When the loud cannon and the merry chime 


Tet steaming hot ; with Southern gore 


HaU'd news on news, as field on field wai 


From hilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er. 


won,'° 


XXXIV. 


When Hope, long doubtful, 6.,ar'd at length 
sublime. 


" Bring here," he said, " the mazers four. 


And our glad eyes, awake as day begun. 


My noble fathers loved of yore.' 


Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, :o meet the ria 


Thrice let them circle round the board. 


ing sun !" 


And howling left the anbnrjed dead : 


» See Appendii, Note 3 F. 


The caraels from their keepers broke ; 


1 


The distant steer forsook the yoke — 


B MS. — " Hast thou forgot ? — No 1 who can e'er forget." 


The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain. 


10 " Who can avoid coujuring up the idea of men with '-rosw 


And burst his girth, and tore his rein," &c. 


sheets of foolscap scored with victories rolled round their hata 


• in point of fact, Cliflbrd fell at Bannockbum. 


and horns blowing loud deliance in each other's nioulh, from 


■ MS. — '* And swiftly hoisted sail." 


the top to the bottom of Pail-Mall, or the Hayniarket, when 


• • MS. — *' Short were his shrift, if in that hour 


he reads such a passage ? We actually hear the Park ant 


^ Of fate, of fury, and of power. 


Tower guns, and the clattering of ten thousand bells, as we 


He 'counter'd Edward Bruce I" 


read, and stop our ears from the close and sudden infusion o 


' See Appendi.x, Note 3 D. 


the clamors of some hot and hornfisied patriot, blowing oui* 


• MS.—" And see the vaulted arcb," &c. 


selves, as well as Bonaparte, to the devil 1 And what li.\s i 


' Sec Appendix, Note 3 E. 


this to do with Bannockbum ?" — jMonthty Review. 


' M?.— " Be lasting inl'amy his lot, 


n MS.—" Watch'd Joy's broad banne' rise, watoliM 


And brand of * disloyal Scot !" 


■ Triumph's Hashing gun." 







(56 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO Vt 



O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and 

fears 1 
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delaj^d, 
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the 

tears 
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years, 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears, 
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee, 
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and 

liberty ! 

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode. 
When 'gainst the invaders tum'd the battle's 

scale. 
When Bruce's banner had victorious floVd 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in XJry's vale ;' 
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale," 
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,' 
When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern 

gale,' 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was 

won, 
Inl Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of 

glory done. 

II. 
Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower. 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower. 
And waked the sohtary cell, . 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dweU. 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 

A Tot'rcss of the order now. 
Say did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulaire, 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair. 

That stern and rigid vow. 
Did it condemn the transport high. 
Which ghsteii 1 in thy watery eye, 
When ramstri ' or when palmer told 
Each fresh exM'.oit of Bruce the bold? — 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Thy anxious hope.s thy fears, thy prayers ? 
No sister she of convent shade ; 
So say these locks in lengthen'd braid. 
So say the blushes and the sighs. 
The tremors that unbidden rise. 
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame, 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came. 

IIL 
BeUeve, his father's castle won, 
And his bold enterprise begun. 



JSee Appendix, Ncte 3 G. 
■ Ibid. Note 3 I. 
»bid. Note 3 L. 



a Ibid. Note 3 H. 
i Ibid. Note 3 K. 
' Ibid. Note 3 M. 



That Bruce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore: 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes ; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regain'd. 
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd. 
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far 
Resoimded with the din of war ; 
And many a month, and many a day, 
In calm seclusion wore away. 

IV. 
These days, these months, to year^ had worn, 
When tidings of high weight were borne 

To that lone island's shore ; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 
By the Fu-st Edward's ruthless blade, 

His son retaui'd no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stu-ling's towers, 
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce,* 
If England's King should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 

To yield them to the Bruce. 
England was roused — on every side 
Courier and post and herald hied, 

To summon prince and peer, 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,' 
Prepared to raise fair StirUng's siege, 
' With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — thej mnster'd fast, 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 

Forth marshall'd for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble namc^ 
There England's hardy archers came. 
The land they trode seem'd all on flame, 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 
And not famed England's powers alone, 
Renown'd in arras, the summons own ; 

For Neustria's knights obey'd, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,' 
And Cambria, but of Late subdued, 
Sent forth her mountain-midtitude,' 
And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rud"! 

Dark Eth O'Couuor sway'd." 

V. 
Right to devoted Caledon 
The storm of war rolls slow'v on," 



' The MS. has not thi8 line. 

8 See Apijendix, Note 3 N. » Ibid. Note 3 O. 

1" MS -" The gathering etorm of war foils on.* 



.•ANTO TI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



457 



With menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds, with gathering power, 
Suspend awhile the tlu-eaten'd shower, 
Till every poivk and summit lower 
Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's stMtJed eye 
King Robert uiark'd the tempest nigh 1 

Resolved the brunt to bide, 
His royal summons warn'd the hmd. 
That all who own'd then- King's command 
Should instimt take the spear ;md brand,' 

To combat at his side. 
who may tell the sons of fame, 
That at King Robert's bidding came. 

To battle for the right ! 
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
' From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,' 
All bound them for the fight. 
Such news the royal com'ier tells, 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ; 
But farther tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel m secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk, next morn. 
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn. 

VI. 
' My Kdith, can I tell how dear 
6ur intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel ?— 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart. 
When I must say the words. We part 1 

The cheerless convent-cell 
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 
f!o thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray 'd. 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high Maid 
And his poor silent page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heai-t of man,' 
Earnest and anxious bath he look'd 
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd 
That gave him, with her last farewell. 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right. 
And keep the faith liis promise plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake, 
At first if vain repinmgs wake — ' 

Long smce that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims, 

* MS.—" Shoold instant belt tbem with the brand." 

• MS. — " From Sohvay's sands to wild Cape-Wrath, 

From Hay's Rinns to Colbrand's Path." 

• MS. — " And Ills mute page wore one. 

For, verdant in the heart of man." 

* MS. — "If brief atid vain repinin;;s walte." 
' MS. — " Her lover's alter'd mood to try." 

' MS.-—" Her aged sire liad own'd his reign." 
' The MS. here presents, erased — 

" But all was overruled — a band 
58 



And oft his breach of faith he blames- 
Forgive liim for thine own !" — 

VU. 
" No 1 never to Lord Ronald's bower 

Will I again as paramour" 

" Nay, hush thee, too mipatient maid, 

Until my final tale be said ! — 

The good King Robert would engage 

Edith once more his elfin page, 

By her own heart, and her own eye. 

Her lover's penitence to try — ' 

Safe in his royal chai-ge and free. 

Should such thy final pm'pose be, 

Again unknown to seek the cell. 

And live and die with Isabel." 

Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye 

Might have some glance of policy ; 

Dunstaffuage had the monarch ta'en, 

And Lorn had own'.d King Robert's reign t' 

Her brother had to England fled, 

And there in banishment was dead ; 

Ample, through exile, death, luul fhght, 

O'er tower and land was Edith's right ; 

This ample right o'er tower and land 

Were safe in Ronald's faithfid hand. 

VIIL 
Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek 
Pleasure and shame, and fear be-speak I 
Yet much the reasoning Edith made : 
" Her sister's faith, she must upbraid, 
'Who gave such secret, dark and dear, 
In council to another's ear. 
Wliy should she leave the peaceful cell ?— 
How should she part with Isabel ? — 
How wear that strange atthe agen ? 
How risk herself 'midst martial men ? — 
And how be guarded on the way ? — 
At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isabel, with secret smile. 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love.' 

LX. 

Ob, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake. 
The aspen's trembling leaves must shake ; 
When beams the smi through April'? shower, 
It needs must bloom, the violet flower ; 

From Arran's moantains left the land ; 
Their chief, MacLonis, had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 

To Bruce, with \ ^^'^^^ ' j as behooved 
' ( reverence \ 

To page the monarch dearly loved." 

With one verbal alt£ration these lines occur hereafter — tft» 

poet having [lOstponed them, in order to apologize more u 

length for Editii's acquiescence in an arrangement not, «•» 

tainly, at first sight, over delicate. 



458 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



4nd Love, howe'er the maiden strive, 
Must with reviving hope revive I 
A thousand soft excuses came,. 
To plead iiis cause 'gainst virgin shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth, 
He had her phghted faith and truth — 
Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command. 
And she, beneath his royal hand, 
A ward in person and in land : — 
And, last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space — one httle day — 
dose hidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's eyes — 
But once to see him more ! — nor blame 
Her wish — to hear liim name her name !— 
Then, to bear back to soUtude 
The thought he had his falsehood rued I 
But Isabel, who long had seen 
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien, 
And well herself the cause might know. 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe, 
Joy'd, generous, that revolving time 
Gave means to expiate the crime. 
High glow'd her bosom as she said, 
" Well shall her suffermgs be repaid 1" 
Now came the parting hour — a band 
From Arranis mountains left the land ; 
Their chief, Fitz-Louis,' had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 
To Bruce, with honor, as behooved 
To page the monarch dearly loved. 

X. 

The King had deem'd the maiden bright 
Should reach liim long before the fight, 
But storms and fate her course delay : 
It was on eve of battle-day, 
When o'er the Gilhe's-hill she rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glow'd, 
And far as e'er the eye was borne, 
The lances waved like autumn-cora 



' See Appendix, Note 3 P. 

* MS. — " Nearest and plainest to the eye." 
3 See Appendix, Note 3 d. 

* MS. — " One close beneatli the hill was laid." 
s See Appendix, Note 3 R. 

« ** As a reward for the loyalty and distinguished bravery of 
the men of Ayr on the occasion referred to in the text, King 
Robert the Bruce granted them npwards of 1300 Scots acres 
af land, part of the bailliery of Kyle Stewart, his patrimonial 
Inheritance, lying in the immediate vicinity of the town of 
Ayr, which grant King James VI. confirmed to their succes- 
KT3 by two charters ; one to the freemen of Newton-upon-Ayr, 
the other to the freemen of Prestwick, both boroughs of barony 
in the same parish; with all the pecoliarities of the original 
constitDtJon. 

" The former charter contains forty-eight freedoms or baro- 
nies — as these subdivisions are called — and the latter thirty- 
rix. The right of succession to these freeholds is limited. A 
■on succeeds his father, nor can his right of succession be any- 



In battles four beneath their eye,' 
The forces of King Robert lie' 
And one below the hUl was laid,* 
Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
And three, advanced, form'd vaward-line, 
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. 
Detaxih'd was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply. 
Beyond, the Southern host appears,^ 
A botmdless wilderness of spears, 
Wliose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam. 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ; 
And where the heaven join'd with the hill, 
Was distant armor flashing still. 
So wide, so far the boundless host 
Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. 

XL 
Down from the liill the maiden pass'd. 
At the wild show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host. 
Reserved for aid where needed most. 
The men of C.arrack and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark, too, were there," 

And all the western land; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains rank'd their files, 

In many a plaided band. 
There, in the centre, proudly raised, 
The Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wdd, yet pleasing contrast, made 
.Warriors in mail and plate array'd. 
With the plmned bonnet and the plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn ; 
But O ! imseen for three long years, 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 



wise affected by the amount of his father's debts. A widow 
having no son may enjoy her husband's freehold as long as ifaa 
lives, but at her death it reverts to the community, the female 
,ine being excluded from the right of succession. Nor can any 
freeman dispose of his freehold except to the community, whc 
roust, within a certain time, dispose of it to a neutral person, 
as no freeman or baron can possess more than one allotment, 
whereby the original number of freemen is always kept up. 

" Each freeholder has a vote in the election of the baillies 
who have a jurisdiction over the freemen for the recovery <>' 
smalt debts. But though they have the power of committing 
a freeman to prison, they cannot, in right of their office, loci 
the prison doors on him, but if he leaves the prison withon' 
the proper liberation of the baillies, he thereby forfeits hL 
baronship or freedom." — Inqiiisit. Special, pp. 72, 555. 782.— 
Sir ,John Sinclair's Statistical Jlcr.ount of Scotland, vol. " 
pp. 263, 264, fm.—Ckalmers' Caledenia, vol. iii. pp- 504 
SOS.— A~ate from Mr. Joseph Train (1840). 

' .See Appendix, Note 3 S. 



piirro VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



45S 



For one she lookVl — but he was far 

Busied amid the ranks of war — 

Tet with aifectiou's troubled eye 

She niark'd his banner boldly fly, 

Ga\ e on the countless foe a glance, 

And thought on battle's desperate chance. 

XII. 

To centre of the vaward-line 

Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.' 

Arm'd all on foot, that host appears 

A serried mass of glimmering spears. 

There stood the Marchers' warlike band. 

The warriors there of Lodon's land ; 

Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 

A band of archers fierce, though few ; 

The men of Nith and Annan's Yale, 

And the bold Spears of Teviotdale ; — 

The dauntless Douglas these obey 

And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 

Northeastward by Saint Ninian's shrine. 

Beneath tierce Randolph's ch.irge, combine 

The warriors whom the hardy North 

From Tay to Sutherland sent fortli. 

The rest of Scotland's war-array 

With Edward Bruce to westward lay, 

'Wbere Bannock, with his broken b;mk 

And deep ravine, protects their flnnk 

Behind them, screen'd by sheltering wood, 

The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood : 

His men-at-arms be.ar mace and lance. 

And plumes that wave, and helms that glance. 

Thus fair divided by the King, 

Centre, and right, and left-wai-d wing, 

.Composed his front ; nor distant far 

Was strong reserve to aid the war. 

And 'twas to front of this arriiy. 

Her guide and Edith made their way. 

S.I11. 
Here must they pause ; for, in advance 
As far as one might pitch a lance, 
The Monarch rode along the van,^ 
The foe's approachhig force to scan. 
His line to marshal and to range. 
And rarJcd to square, and fronts to change. 
Akce he rode — from head to heel 
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel ; 
Nor ou ited yet on war-horse wight, 
But, till more near the shock of fight. 
Reining a palfrey low and light. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above liis bright steel basinet. 
And clasp'd within its glittering tmna 

' MS. — *' Her gQard condocted Amadioe." 
> See Appendix. Note 3 T. 



Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 

Truncheon or leading staff he lacks, 

Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 

He ranged his soldiers for the fight. 

Accoutred thus, in open sight 

Of either host. — Three bow-shots far. 

Paused the deep front of England's war, 

And rested on their arms awhile, 

To close and rank their warlike file. 

And hold high council, if that night 

Should view the strife, or dawning hght. 

XIV. 

gay, yet fearful' to behold. 
Flashing with steel and rough with gold, 

And bristled o'er with bills and spears. 
With plumes and pennons w.iving fair. 
Was that bright battle-fi"ont ! for there 

Rode England's King and peers : 
And who, that saw that monarch ride. 
His kingdom battled by his side. 
Could then his direful doom foretell ! — 
Fair was liis seat in knightly seUe, 
And in liis sprightly eye was set 
Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
Tliough light and wandering was his glanc<> 
It flash'd at sight of sliield and lance. 
" Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine, 
Yon knight who marshals thus their line ?"— 
" The tokens on liis helmet tell 
The Bruce, my Liege : I know him well" — 
" And shall the audacious traitor brave 
The presence where our b.anners wave V' 
" So please my Liege," said Argentine, 
" Were he but horsed on steed like mine- 
To give him f;iir and knightly chance, 

1 would adventure forth my lance." — 
" In battle-day," the King replied. 

'* Nice tourney rules are set aside. 
— StiU must the rebel dare our wr.ath ! 
Set on him — sweep him from our piith f 
And, at King Edward's signal, soon 
Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune. 

XV.. 

Of Hereford's high blood' he came, 

A race renown'd for knightly fame. 

He bum'd before his Moniirch's eye 

To do some deed of chivalry. 

He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance. 

And darted on the Bruce at once. 

— As motionless as rocks, that bide 

The wrath of the advancing tide. 

The Bruce stood fast.— Each breast beat high, 



> MS.—" O ! '"''• , I yet leartul," &g 
( brighf; ) 

« MS.—" Princely blood," Slo 



160 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



And dazzled was each gazing eye — 
The heart had hardly time to think, 
The eyeUd scarce ha^l time to "wink,* 
While on the King, liiie flash of flame, 
Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came 1 
The partridge may the falcon mock, 
If that sUght palfrey stand the shock — 
But, swerving from the I\night's career, 
Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear. 
Onward the baflled warrior bore 
His course — but soon his cojrse was o'er I — 
High in his sthrups stood the King, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
Right on De Bouue, the wliiies he passed, 
Fell that stern dint — the first — the last ! — 
Such strength upon the blow was put, 
The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut ; 
The ase-shaft, with its brazen clasp. 
Was shiver'd to the gauntlet grasp. 
Springs from the blow the startled horse. 
Drops to the plain the Ufeless corse ; 
—First of that fatal field, how soon. 
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune I 

XVI. 

One pitying glance the Monarch sped. 

Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 

Then gently turn'd his palfrey's head, 

And, pacing back his sober way. 

Slowly he gain'd his own array. 

There round their King the leaders crowd 

And blame his recklessness aloud. 

That riskd 'gainst each adventm'ous spear 

A life so valued and so dear. 

His broken weapon's shaft survey'd 

The liing, and careless answer made, — 

" My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 

I've broke, my trusty battle-axe." 

Twas then Fitz-Louis, bending low, 

Did Isabel's commission show ; 

Edith, disguised, at distance stands, 

Aud liides her blushes with her hands. 

The Monarch's brow has changed its 

hue. 
Away the gory axe he threw, 
While to the seeming page he drew, 

Cleai'ing war's terrors from his eye. • 
Her hand with gentle ease he took, 
With such a kind protecting look. 

As to a weak and timid boy 
Might speak, that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there 



< MS.—" The heart took hardly time to think. 
The eyehd scarce had space to wink." 

• MS. — " Just as they closed fn fall career, 

Bruce swerved the palfrey from the spear." 
MS. " her wonted pranks, I see." 



XVII. 

" Fear not," he said, " yoimg Amadine I" 

Then whisper'd, " SttU that name be thine. 

Fate plays her wonted fiUitasy,' 

Kind Amadine, with thee and me. 

And sends thee here in doubtful hour. 

But soon we are beyond her power ; 

For on this chosen battle-plain, 

Victor or vanquish'd, I remain. • 

Do thou to yonder hUl repair ; 

The followers of our host are there, 

And all who may not weapons bear. — 

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care.— 

Joyful we meet, if aU go well ; 

If not, in Arraii's holy cell 

Thou must take part with Isabel ; 

For brave Lord Rouald, too, hath sworn. 

Not to regain the Maid of Lorn 

(The bliss on earth he covets most). 

Would he forsake his battle-post. 

Or shun the fortune that may fall 

To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — ■ 

But, hark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 

Forgive my haste — farewell ! — fitrewell !" — 

And in a lower voice he said, 

" Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid 1"— 

XVIII. 
" What train of dust, with trumpet-souud 
And glitnmering spears, is wheeling round 
Our leftward flank t"' — the Monarch cried. 
To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 
" Lo ! round thy station pass the foes !' 
Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." 
The Earl liis visor closed, and said, 
"My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.— 
Follow, my household !" — And they go 
Like Ughtning ou the advancing foe. 
" My Liege," said noble Douglas then, 
" Earl Randolph has but oue to ten '* 
Let me go forth Ms baud to aid !" — 
— *' Stir not. Tlie cn'or he hath made. 
Let him amend it as he may ; 
I wUl not weaken muie array." 
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry. 
And Douglas's brave heart swell'd high,— 
*'My Liege," he said, "with patient ear 
I must not Moray's death-kneU hear !" — 
" Then go — but speed thee back again." — 
Forth sprung the Douglas with liis train: 
But, when they won a rising hill. 
He bade his followers hold them still — 






* See Appendix, Note 3 U 



6 MS.—'* Lo 1 



I rouml ) 
' through ( 



thy post have pass'd tlie foe 



« M . — " Earl Randolph's strength is one to ten." 



CANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



46; 



" See, see ! the routed'Southern fly I 
The Eiul hath -won the victor/. 
Lo ! where yon steeds run ma^sterlesa, 
His banner towers above the press. 
Rein up I our presence would impair 
T}ie f;une we come too late to share." 
Back to the host the Douglas rode, 
And soon glad tidings are abroad,* 
That, Dayncourt by stout R.andolph slain, 
His followers fled with loosen'd rein. — 
That skii-mish closed the busy day. 
And couch'd in battle's prompt array, 
Each army on their weapons lay. 

XIX. 
It was a night of lovely June, 
High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 

Demayct smiled beucath her ray ; 
Old Stuling's towers ai'ose in light. 
And, twined ia links of silver bright, 

Her winding river lay." 
Ah, gentle planet 1 other sight 
Shall greet thee next returning night. 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark with human gore. 
And piles of slaughter'd men and horse. 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse, 
And many a woimded wretch to plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain 1 
But now, from England's host, the cry 
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry. 
While from the Scottish legions pass 
The murmur'd prayer, the early mass ! — 
Here, numbers had presumption given ; 
•There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from 
Heavea 

XX. 

On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands. 
With serf and page unfit for war. 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
! with what doubtful .igony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun^ 
And ghstens now Demayet dun ; 
Is it the lark that carols shi-ill, 
Is it the bittern's early hum ? 



' MS. — " Back to his post the Donglns rode, 
And soon the tidings are abroad." 
' The M3. here interposes the couplet — 
" Glancing by fits from hostile line. 
Armor and lance retnra'd the shine." 
' See Appendix, Note 3 V. 

• " Although Mr. .Scott retains that necessary and chanio 
leristic portion of his peculiar and well-known manner, he is 
Treo, we think, from any faulty self-imitation ; and the battld 
•f Bannockbum will remain forever as & monument of the 



No I — -distant, but increasing still. 
The trumpet's soiuid swells up the hill, 
With the deep nmrmur of the drum 
Responsive from the Scottish host, 
Pipe-clang and bugle sound were toss'd,' 
His breast and brow each soldier cross'd. 

And started from the grovmd ; 
Arm'd and array'd for mstant fight. 
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight, 
And in the pomp of battle bright 
The (h'ead battalia frown' d.' 

XXI. 

Now onward, and in open view. 

The countless ranks of England drew,' 

Dark rolling like the ocean-tide, 

When the rough west hath chafed his priile. 

And his deep roar sends challenge wide 

To all that bars his way I 
In front the gallant archers trode. 
The men-at-arms behind them rode, 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The Monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes, 
Around him waves a sea of plumes. 
Where many a knight in battle known. 
And some who spurs had first braced on. 
And deem'd that fight should see them won 

King Edward's bests. obey. 
De Argentine attends his side. 
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride 
Selected champions from the train, 
To wait upon iiis bridle-rein. 
Upon the .Scottish foe he gazed — 
— At once, before his sight amazed. 

Sunk banner, spear, and shield ; 
Each weapon-point is downward sent, 
Each warrior to the groimd is bent. 
" The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 

For pardon they have kneel'd." — ' 
" Aye ! — but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon sue than om's I 
See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands, 
And blesses them with Ufted hands !' 
Upon the spot where they have kneel'd. 
These men wiU die, or win the field." — 
—" Then prove we if they die or win ! 
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." 



fertile poetical powers of a writer, who had before so grea\,y 
eicelled in this species of description." — Monthly Review. 

*' The battle, we think, is not comparable to tlie battle is 
Marmion, though nothing can be finer than the scene of con> 
trasted repose and thoughtful anxiety by which it is introdauo^ 
(stanzas xix. xx. xxi.)" — Jeffrey. 

6 See Appendix. Note 3 W. 

8 MS. — " De Argentine ! the cowards repent 1 
For mercy they have kneel'd.** 

' See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



tG2 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


XXII. 


Awhile, with stubborn hardihood, 


Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high, 


Tlieir English hearts the strife made good. 


Just as the Northern ranks aro9% i 


Borne down at lengtli on every side, 


Signal for England's archery 


Compell'd to thght, they scatter wide. — 


To halt and bend their bows. 


-Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee. 


Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace. 


And bound the deer of Djillom-Lee ! 


Glanced at ^he intervening space, 


The broken bows of Bannock's shore 


And raised his left hand Iiigh ; 


Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! 


To the right ear the cords they bring — ' 


Round Wakefield's merry May-pole n jw, 


— At once ten thousand bow-strings ring. 


The maids may twine the sunmaer bough, 


Ten thousand arrows fly ! 


May northward look with longing glance, 


Nor paused on the devoted Scot 


For those that wont to lead the dance, 


The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 


For the bUthe archers look in vain ! 


As fiercely and as fast. 


Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en. 


Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing 


Pierced through, trode down, by thousands sliin 


As the wild hailstones pelt and ring 


Tliey cmuber Bannock's bloody plain. 


Adown December's blast. 




Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, 


XXIV. 


Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide ; 


The King with scorn beheld their flight. 


Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride, 


" Are these," he said, " oiu- yeomen wight 


If the fell shower may last ! 


Each braggart churl could boast before, 


Upon the right, behind the wood, 


Twelve Scottish lives his balclrick bore !* 


Each by his steed dismounted, stood 


Fitter to plunder chase or park. 


, The Scottish chivalry ; — 


Than make a m.anly foe^ their mark. — 


With foot in stuTup, hand on mane. 


Forward, each gentleman and knight 1 


Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restram 


Let gentle blood show generous might, 


' His own keen' heart, his eager train, 


And cliivalry redeem the fight !" j 


Until the archers gain'd the plain ; 


To rightward of the wild affray • ' i 


Tlien, " Mount, ye gallants free !" 


The field show'd fair and level way ; ' 


He cried ; and, vaulting from the ground, 


But, in mid space, the Brlice's care ; 


His saddle every horseman found. 


Had bored the grouaj with many a pit. 


On high their ghttermg crests' th*y toss. 


With turf .and brushwood liidden yet,' 


As springs "the wUd-fire from the moss; 


That form'd a ghastly snare. - , 


The shield hangs down on every breast. 


Ru.shing, ten thousand horsemen came. 


Each ready lance is in the rest, 


With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 


And loud shouts Edward Bruce,— 


lliat panted for the shock ! 
With blazing crests and banners spread, i 


" Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe ! 


We'U tame the terrors of their bow, 


And trumpet-clang and clamor dread, 


And cut the bow-string loose 1'" 


The wide plain thmider'd to then tread. 




As far as Stirling rock. 


XXIII. 


Down ! down hi headlong overthrow. 


Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks. 


Horseman and horse, the foremost go,' 


They rush'd among the archer ranks. 


Wild floundering on the field ! 


No spears were there the shock to let. 


The first are in destruction's gorge, 1 


No stakes to turn the charge were set. 


Then- followers wildly o'er them urge ; — 


And how shall yeoman's armor slight, 


The kniglitly lielm and shield, 


Stand the long lance and mace of might ? 


The mail, the acton, and the spear, 


Oi what may their short swords avail. 


Strong hand, high heart, are useless here 1 


'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail ? 


Loud from the mass confused the cry 


Amid theii' ranks the cliargers sprung, 


Of dying warriors swells on higli. 


High o'er their heads the weapons swung. 


And steeds that shriek m agony !' 


And slu-iek and groan and vengeful shout 


They came like mountain-torrent red. 


Give note of triumph and of rout 1 


That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 


1 MS. — " Drew to his ear the silken string " 


6 MS. — " With many a pit the ground to bore, 

With tart' anil brushwood cover'd o'a | 


a MS.—" T5(ieir brandish'd speare." 


3 See Appendix, Note 3 Y. 


Had form'd," Stc. ' 


4 Ibid. Note 3 Z. 


' See Appendix, Note 4 A. J 


• MS.— "An arm'ii foe." 


» Ibid. Note 4 B. \ 



CAKTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



463 



They broke like that name torrent's wave' 
When swiilkiw'il by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows burst and boil, 
Maintaining still the stern turmoil. 
And to their wuld and tortured groan 
Kach adds new terrors of his own 1 

XXV. 

Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet, to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here ; 
Niunes that to fear were never known. 
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster plied the bloody sword, 
Ajid Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,^ 
And Courteuay's pride, and Percy's fame — 
Names known too well' m Scotland's war. 
At Falkuk, Methren, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years. 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, ^d Argentine, 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er the ground they tread, 

• Slippeiy with blood and piled with dead. 
Till hand to hand in battle set. 

The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side. 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride 
And well did Stewart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kejit their ground ; 
As firmly England onward press'd. 
And down went many a noble crest, 

• The MS. has- 

" When plunging down some darksome cave. 
Billow on billow rusliing on, 
Follows the path the first had gone." 
' in impossible not to r^coIlect our anthor's own lines, — 

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep. 

Receives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in ; 
So di^ the deep and darksome pass 

• Devour the battle's mingled mass." 

Ladtj of the Lake, Canto vi. stanza 18 

• M^ -" BoM, Tvbtot, Neville, Manley, came." 
' MS —"Names known of yore," &c. 
' IM.^.— " Unsliifting foot." &c. 

' " All these, life's rambling journey done, 

Have found their home, the grave." — CowpER. 

8 " The dramatic, and even Shakspearian spirit of much of 
lis battle, must, we think, strike and delight the reader. We 
188 over much alternate anl much stubborn and ' unflinch- 
g* contest— 



And rent was many a valiant breast, 

And Slaughter revell'd round. ' 

XXVL 

Unflinching foot' 'gainst foot was set. 
Unceasing blow bv blow was met ; 

The groans of those who foil 
Were drowu'd amid the shriller clang 
That from the blades and harness rang. 

And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fa.st they fell, unheard, forgot, 
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
And ! amid that waste of life. 
What various motives fired the strife ! 
The aspiring Noble bled for fame. 
The Patriot for his country's claim ; 
This knight his youthful strength to provek 
And that to win liis lady's love ; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood. 
From habit some, or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern, and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode, 

To that dark inn, the grave !' 

XXVII. 

The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins." 
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,' 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on Ms war-sword now. 
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow ; 
Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight. 
From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
Beauchamp undoes his visor clasp. 
And Montague must quit his spear, 

■ The log of strife to flag begins, 
Tliougii neither loses yet nor wins ;' 

but the description of it. as we have ventured to prophesv, 
will last forever. 

" It will be as unnecessary for the sake of our readers, as 11 
would be useless for the sake of the author, to point out many 
of tlie obvious defects of these splendid passages, or of otnen 
in the poem. Such a line as 

' The tug of strife to flag begins,' 

most wound every ear that has the least pretension to judge of 
poetry ; and no one, we should think, can miss the ridicotoiu 
point of such a couplet as the subjoined, — 

' Each heart had caught the patriot spark, 
Old man and stripling, priest and clrrk,' " 

Monthly Review 

' " The adventures of the day are versified rather too literal- 
ly from the contemporary chronicles. The following pasjiage, 
however, is emphatic ; and exemplifies what this anthor has so 
often e.templified, the power of well-chosen and welt-arranged 
names to excite lofty einoiions. with little aid either from sen- 
timent or description." — Jeffrey. 



4 64 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi 


And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere ! 


XXX. 


The blows of Berkley fall less. fast, 


The multitude that watch'd afar, 


And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 


Rejected from the ranks of war, 


Hath lost its hvely tone ; 


Had not unmoved beheld the fight, 


Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-'word. 


Wben strove, the Bruce for Scotland's right; 


And Percy's shout was fainter heard, 


Each heart had caught the patriot spark, 


" My merry -men, fight on !" 


Old man and striphng, priest and clerk. 




Bondsman and serf ; even female hand 


XXVIIL 


Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand ; 


Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye, 


But, when mute Amadine they heard 


The slackening' of the storm could spy. 


Give to their zeal his signal-word, 


" One effort more,.and Scotland's free 1 


A phrensy fired the throng ; 


Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 


" Portents and miracles impeach 


Is firm as Ailsa Rock , 


Our sloth — the dumb otir duties teach — 


Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 


And he that gives the mute his speech. 


I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge ' 


Can bid the weak be strong. 


Now, forward to the shock 1'" 


. To us, as to our lords, are given 


At once the spears were forward thrown. 


A native earth, a promised heaven ; 


Against the sim the broadswords shone ; 


To us, as to our lords, belong.^' 


The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 


The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 


And loud King Robert's voice was 


The choice, 'twist death or freedom, warms 


known — 


Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms 1" 


" Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail 1 


To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 


Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 


And mimic ensigns liigh they rear," 


The foe is famting fast ' 


And, Uke a banner'd host afar. 


Each strike for parent, child, and wife, 


Bear down on England's wearied war. 


For Scotland, liberty, and Hfe, — 




The battle cannot last 1" 


XXXL 




Already scatter'd o'er the plain. 


XXIX. 


Reproof, commsind, and counsel vain. 


The fresh and desperate onset bore 


The rearward squadrons fled amain', ' 


The foes three furlongs back and more. 


Or made but doubtful stay ; — ' 


Leaving their noblest in their gore. 


But when they mark'd the seeming show 


Alone, De Argentine 


Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe. 


Yet bears on liigh his red-cross shield, 


Tlie boldest broke array. 


Gathers the relics of the field, 


give their hapless prince liis due !' ' 


Renews the ranks where they have reel'd, 


In vain the royal Edward threw 


And still makes good the line. 


His person 'mid the spears. 


Brief strife, but fierce, — his efforts raise 


Cried, " Fight !" to terror and despair. 


A bright but momentary blaze. 


Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,' 


Fan- Edith heard the Southron shout, 


And cm'sed their caitiff fears ; 


Beheld them turning from the rout. 


TUl Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein. 


Heard tne wild call their trumpets sent. 


And forced him from the fatal plain. 


In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 


With them rode Argentine, until 


That rallymg force, combined anew. 


They gain'd the summit of the liill. 


Appear'd in her distracted view 


But quitted there the train : — 


To hem the Islesmen round ; 


** In yonder field a gage I left, — 


" God ! the combat they renew. 


I must not live of fame bereft ; 


And is no rescue found ! 


I needs must turn again. 


And ye that look thus tamely on. 


Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace 


And see your native land o'erthrown. 


The fiery Douglas takes the chase. 


! are your heartx of flesh or stone V* 


I know his banner welh 


■ MS.— "The sinking," &c. 


« See Appendii, Note 4 D. 


- See Appendi.T. Note 4 C. 


' MS. — " And rode in bands away.** * 


= MS.—" Tlien liuiry to the shock 1" 




< MS. " of lead or stone." 


9 See Appendix, Note 4 E. 


6 MS. — " To 09, as well as them, belongs." 


3 MS. — " And bade them hope amid despair. 



PANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



46(. 



God send my Sovereii^n joy and bliss, 
Aud maQ}' a liappier field than this ! — 
Once more, my Liege, farewell." 

XXXII. 
Again he faced the battle-field, — 
Wildly- they fly, are slain, or yield.' 
' Now then," he said, and coucli'd his spear, 
■' My course is run, the goal is near ; 
One effort more, one brave career. 

Must dose this race of mine." 
Then in his stirrups rising liigh. 
He sliouted loud his battle-cry, 

" Saint .James for Argentine !" 
And, of the bold pursuers, four 
The gallant kniglit from saddle bore ; 
But not imharm'd — a lance's point 
Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint, 

An axe has razed his crest ; 
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord. 
Who press'd the chase "with gory sword. 

He rode with spear in rest, 
And through his bloo'dy tartans bored. 

And through liis gaUant breast. , 
N-niI'd to the earth, the mountaineer 
Yet writhed him up against the spear. 

And swung his broadsword round ! 
— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way, 
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway. 

The blood gusli'd from the wound; 
And the grim Lord of Colonsay 

Hath turn'd him on tlie ground. 
And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade 
The mortal thrust so well repaid. 

XXXIIL 

Now toU'd the Bruce, the battle done, 
To use his Cf)nquest boldly won -^ 
And gave command for horse and spear 
To press the Southron's scatter'd rear, 
Nor let his broken force combine, 
— When the war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on liis ear ; 
. * Save, save liis life," he cried, " O save 
The kind, the noble, and the brave !" 
The squadrons round free passage gave. 

The wounded kniglit drew near ; 
He raised his red-cross sliield no more, 
Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with gore, 



' The MS. has not the seven lines which follow. 
> MS. — *' Now toilM the Bruce as leaders onght. 

To nse Iiis conquest boldly bought." 
• See AppendLt. Note 4 F. 
' MS. — •■ And the best names that England owns 

Swell llie sad death-prayer's dismal tones." 
' MS. — '* When for her rights her sword wis bare, 

Rights dear to all who freedom share." 
' * The fictitious cart of the story is, on the whole, the least 
StI 



Yet, as he saw the King advance. 

He strove even then to couch liis lance— 

The effort was in vain ! 
Tlie spur stroke fail'd to rouse the horse : 
Woimded and weary, in mid coin"se 

He stumbled on the plain. 
Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
To raise his liead. his helm to loose ; 

" Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fat«, 
Have made our meeting all too hite ; 

Yet this may Argentine, 
As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." 

XXXIV. 

Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp 
Kindly replied ; but, m liis cla.sp, 

It stiffen'd and grew cold^ 
" And, farewell !" the victor cried, 
" Of chivalry the flower and pride. 

The arm in battle bold, 
The courteous mien, the nolle race 
The stainless faith, the manly face ' — 
Bid Ninmn's convent light their shrine, 
For late-wake of De Argentine. 
O'er better knight on death-bier laid, 
Torch never gleam'd nor mass was safd *" 

XXXV. 
Nor for De Argentine alone, 
Through Nini.an's church these torches shoneL 
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.* 
That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale, 
On broken plate and blooilied mail, 
Rent crest and shatter'd coronet, 
Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ; 
And the best names that England kne^v, 
Claini'd in the death-prayer dismal due ' 

Yet mourn not. Land of Fame ! 
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield 
Retreated from so sad a field. 

Since Norman W^iUiam c:.me. 
Oft may thine annals justly boasl 
Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 

Grudge not her victory, 
When for her freeborn rights she strove , 
Rights dear to all who freedom love,' 

To none so dear as thee !° 



interesting — though we thinlt that the author hat hazaroeo 
rather too little embellishment in recording the adventures o( 
the Bruce. There are many places, at least, in which he haa 
evidently given an air of heaviness and flatness to his narration, 
by adhering too closely to the authentic history ; and baa low- 
ered down the tone of hi? [loelry to the tame level ol the rode 
chroniclers by whom the incidents were originally recorded. 
There is a more serious and general fault, however, in tlie cod 
duct of all this part of the story, — and that is, that ^t u dcm 



466 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Canto vi. 



XXXVI 
Turn "we to Bruce, whose curious ear 
Must fioin Fitz-Louis tidings hear ; 
With hhu, .1 hundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

" For the mute page had spoke." — 
"Page!" said'Fitz-Loui.^, "rathei day, 
An angel sent fi'om realms of day. 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume aud bonnet drop, 
When hurrying from the moimtain top ; 
A lovely brow, dju*k locks that wave, 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as light upon the green, 
As if liis pinions waved unseen !" 
'' Spoke he with none ?" — " With none — o le 

word 
Burst when he saw the Island Lord,^ 
Returning from the battle-field." — 
" Wliat answer made the Chief ?" — " He 

kneel'd, 
Durst not look up, but mutter'd low, 
Some mingled sounds tliat none might know,* 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear. 
As being of superior sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, ► 

Heap'd then with thousands of the slain, 
'Mid victor monarch's musings high, 
Mirth laugli'd in good King Robert's eye 
" And bore he such angelic air, 
Such noble front, such waving hair ? 
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him ?" he said, 
" Tlien must we call the church to aid — 



llifficiently national — and breathes nothing either of that ani- 
mosity towards England, or that exaltation over her defeat, 
which must Iiave animated all Scotland at the period to wliiuh 
he refers ; and ought, consequently, to have been the ruling 
passion of his poem. Mr. Scott, however, not only dwells 
fondly on the valor and generosity of the invaders, but actually 
:nakes .in elaborate apology to the English for having ventnred 
to select for his theme a story which records their disasters. 
We hope tin's extreme courtesy is not intended merely to ap- 
pease critics, and attract readers in the southern part of the 
island — and yet it is difficult to see for what other purposes it 
coQid be assumed. Mr. Seott certainly need not have been 
mffaid eitlier of exciting rebellion among his countrymen, or of , 
*»Emging his own liberality and loyalty into question, although, 
In sprakiuff of th'^ eveits of that remote period, where an over- 
'aBar.iig concjueror was overthrown in a lawless attempt tosub- 
doe an indei)endent kiogdom, he had given full expression to the 
hatred and exultation which must have prevailed among the 
victore aud are indeed the only passions which can be supposed 
10 be excited by the story of their exploits. It is not natural, 
and we are sure it is iiot -poetical, to represent the agents in 
such tz-emendons scenes as calm and indulgent judges of the 
molives or merits of their opponents; and, by lending such a 
eharacter to the leaders of his host, the author has actually 
lesaened the interest of the mightv fight of Bannockburn. to 
Ihat which might be supposed to belong to a welU-egulated 
lonmanient among friendly rivals. ' — Jeffrey. 



Our will be to the Abbot known, 
Ere these strange news are wider blown. 
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass, 
And deck the church for solemn mass," 
To pay for high deliverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heav(;iL 
Let him array, besides, such state, 
As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
Ourself the cause, tlu'ough fortune's spite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace, with early morn, 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."" 



CON CLUSION. 

Go forth, my Song, upon thy ventiu'ous way ; 
Go boldly forth ; nor yet thy master blame, 
Who chose no patron for his humble lay, 
And graced thy numbers with no friendly ** 

name, 
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to 

fame. 
There 2cas — and ! bow many sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — there was a claim 
By generous friendsliip given — had fate allow'd^ ■ 
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the 

proud ! 

All angel now — yet little less than all, 
While still a pilgrim in our world below ! 
What Vails it us that patience to recall. 
Which hid its own to soothe all other woe ; 
What 'vails to tell, how Vhtue's pm*est glow 

1 MS. — " Excepted to the Island Lord, 

When turning," &c. 

2 MS. — " Some mingled sounds of joy and woe." 
a The MS. adds :— 

" That priests and choir, with morning beams, 

Prepare, with reverence as beseems, 

To pay," &c. 
* " Bruce issues orders for the celebration of the nuptials; 
whether they were ever solemnized, it is impossible to say. As 
critics, we should certainly have forbidden the banns; he» 
caust-', although it is conceivable that the mere lapse of titn» 
might not have eradicated the passion of Edith, yet how such 
a circumstance alone, without even the assistanoR nl an in- 
terview, could have created one in the bosom ol Ronald ii 
altcgether inconceivable. He must, have proposed ro marry 
her merely from compassion, or for the sake of her lands ; 
and, upon either supposition, it would have comported wilk 
the delicacy of Edith to refuse his proffered hand." — Quat' 
terly Review. 

*' To Mt, James Baltantyne. — Dear [i?ir, — You have now 
the whole afiair, excepting two or three concluding stanzas. 
As your taste for bride's-cake may induce yon to desire td 
know morejjf the wedding, I will save you some criticism b^l 
saying, \ have settleit to stop short as above, — Witness mj 
haml, "W. S" 



CANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLiiS. 



iG\ 



SLxXie yet more lovely ia a form so fuir :' 
And, least of all, wliat 'vails the world should 
Jir.ow. 

'The rf'aflrr is refprrfd tct Mr. Hr^g'H ''Pilgrims of Ihe 
Snn" for some beautiful linrs, and a highly intervsting note, 
en the death of the Duchess of Buccleuch. Seu ante, p. 412. 

3 Tlic E<iinbur<rh Htvicicir (Mr. Jeffrey) say.f. *' The story 
•f tlie Lord of the Isles, in so far as it is fictitioiis, is palpably 
lifirifiit both in intorpst and probability ; and, in so far as it is 
fbnnoed on historit-al truth, seems to us to be objectionable. 
both for want of incident, and want of variety and connection 
in the incidents that occur. Tliere is a romantic grandeur, 
bowever, in the scenery, and a sort of savage gn^atness and 
rude antiquity in many of the characters and events, wliich 
t^lieves the insipidity of the narrative, and atones for many 
defects in the execution." 

Arttr giving copious citations fron what he considers as 
'•the beitir jiarts of the poem." the critic says, '* to give a- 
complete and impartial idea of it, we ought to subjoin some 
from its more faulty passages. But tins is but an irksome task 
at all times, and, with such an suthoi as Mr. Scott, is both in- 
vidious and unnecessary. His faults are nearly as notorious as 
fais beauties ; and we have aimoun-je 1 in the outset^ itiat they 
are equally eonspicnous in \hh as in his other productions. 
There are innumerable harsh lines and uncouth expressions, — 
passages of a coarse and heavy diction, — and details of unin- 
teresting minuteness and oppressive explanation. It is need- 
less, after tliis, to quote such couplets as 

' A damsel tired of midniglit bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark.* — 

' 'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 
Unfit against tlie tide to pull ;' — 

«r to recite the many weary pages which contAlD ih' -o'' t- 
quies of Isabel and Edith, and set fotth the jnir'^l'* .ibl- rea- 
sons of their unreasonable conduct. The co-.icer .s r. t' ^se 
two young ladies, indeed, form the liija -'i^* p? « of Jie ^o?Ti. 
The mawkish generosity of the one, a-.l t' - pi'.eo"s fidt-lity 
of the other, are equally oppressive to t\>-\ rc.rier, and do not 
tend at all to put him in good huniur wi'.ii Lord Ronald, — 
who, though the beloved of both, ai.d t\e nominal hero of the 
work, is certainly as far as possible f'om an interesting person. 
The lover? of poetry liave a particular avcriion to the incon- 
stancy of other lovers. — and especially to that sort of incon- 
stancy which is liable to the suspicion of being partly inspired 
by worldly ambition, and partly abjured from considerations 
of a still meaner selfishness. We suspect, therefore, that they 
Ipill have but little indulgence for the fickleness of the Lorrt of 
die Isles, who breaWs the irotli he had pledged to the heiress of 
l*om. as boon aa n** sees a chance of succeeding with the 
Kiug's sifter, and comes back to the slighted bride, wlien his 
foyal misin.ss takes the vows in a convent, and the heiress 
fPts into possession of her lands, by the forfeiture of her bro- 
iher. These characters, and ;his story, form the great blemish 
•f the ro^m I hut it has rathjr less fire and flow and facility, 
we think, on the wbol?, than some of the autlior's other ]iei> 



The Monthhj Reviewer thus assails the title of the ^oc**. :- 
The L( id of the Isles himself, scloK les regies of lilr ^cflt'* 
•om^ositions, being the hero, is not the first peiran in Cie 
tjoem. The attendant here is alwi.ys in whit*" m'.idin, ar.d 
nibarina herself in while linen. Sti.l, r.tnor^ 'lie Oc? icrtf- 
procoi (or second best) of li>c author, 'aJTI? iAr.ial''. hnl.is a re- 
«.«fta^le rai.k. He is not ao Ae . r .tip^ic-'-nt'.-rn figure, 
w.ca 9»*en -n b^wei ard o-.ce 'ii * e'-' , >' LotJ Canstoun ; he 
'«r f iceei'.t that Mme raU »it I'oile^ tj r?^s without onion or 



Tliat one poor i;i;arland, twined to deck thy hail 
I^ liung upon thy hoarse, to droop lud withei 
there != 

other sauce, De Wilton ; and although he certainly falls in 
finitely rliort of that accomplisiied swimmer M.ili-otin Gnenie, 
yet he ri^es proportionably above the reu-haireo fledmoii \. 
Lord Ronald, indeed, bating his intendcl r.-^rnnge wub oi.-« 
woman while he loves another. Is a very nuble fellow ; &;i<i, 
were he liot so totally eclipsed by ' The Bruce.' he would nave 
served very well to give a title to any octosyllabic epic, were it 
even as vigorous und poetical as the present. Nevertheless it 
would have been just as projier to call Virgil's divinp poeiA 
' The Jlnchisiid,' as it is to call this ' The Lord of the Isles.' 
To all intents and purposes the aforesaid quarto is, and ought 
to be, ' The Bruce.' " 

The Mont hiij Rrvicicrr thus conclndes his article: — "In 
some detached passages, the present poem may challenge any 
of Mr. Scott's compositions; and perhaps in the Abbey's in 
voluntary blessing itexcels any single part. of any one of them. 
The battle, too, and many dispersed lines besides, have trans- 
cendent merit. In point of fable, however, it has not tlie grace 
and elegance of ' The Lady of the Lake,' nor the general clear- 
ness and vivacity of its narrative ;' nor the unexpected happi- 
ness of its catastrophe; and still less does it aj^pire to the praise 
of the complicated, but very proper and well-managed story 
of ' Rokeby.' It has nothing so pathetic as ' The Cypres! 
Wreatii ;' nothing so sweetly touching as the last evening scene 
at Rokeby, liefore it is broken by Bertram ; nothing (with the 
exception of the Abbot) so awfully melancholy as much of 
Mortham's history, or ."o powerful as Bertram's farewell to 
Edmund. It vies, as we have already said, with *Marmion,' 
in the generally favorite part of that poem ; but what has it 
(witli tin- exception before staled) equal to the immurement of 
Constance ? On the whole, however, we prefer it to ' Mar- 
mion;' which, in spite of mucli merit, always had a sort ot 
noisy royal-circus air with it ; a dnp-trappcry, if we may ven 
tore 'on such a word. 'Marmion,' in short, lias become quite 
identified with Mr. Dntham in our minds ; and we are there 
fore' not perhaps unbiiiitd judges o\' its perfections. Finally, 
we do not hesitate to plaee ' The Lord of the Lies' below both 
of Mr. Scott's remaining longer works ; anti as to • Tlie Lay ol 
the Last Minstrel,' for numerous commonplaces and separate 
beauties, that poem, we believe, still constitutes one of the 
highest steps, if not the very highest, in the ladder of tlte au- 
thor's reputation. The characters of the present tale (with 
the exception of 'The Bruce,' who is vividly j)ainted from 
history — and of some minor sketches) are certainly, in point ol 
invention, of the most rtoael, that is, of the most Minerva-pree* 
deseription ; and, as to the language and versification, th. 
poem is in iU general course as interior to * Rokeby' (by mucii 
liie most correct and the least justly appreciated of the author'^ 
works) as it is in the construction and conduct of its fable 
It supplies whole pages of the most jirosaic narrative ; bnt, M 
we conclude by recollecting, it displays also whole page* o 
the noblest poetry.' 



The Briti:fh Critic says: "No poc:. , Mr. Scott has yt». 
appeared with fairer claims to the public attention. If it have 
less pathos than the Lady of the Lake, or less display of char- 1 
acter than Marmion, it surpasses them both in grandeur ui 
conception, and dignity of versification. It is in every respect 
decidedly superior to Rokeby ; and though it may not reach 
the Lay of the Last Min-itrel in a few splendid passages, it if 
far more perfect as a whole. The fame of -Mr. Scotl, among 
those who are capable'ol' distinguisiiing the rich ore of poetry 
from the dross which surrounds it. will receive no small arlvancfr 
ment by this la'it eflbrt of hi-* genius. Wo di^covcr in it a 
brilliancy in detached expressions, and a power of langoago if 



468 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ibe combioation of images, wiiich has never yet appeared ia 
*ny of his previo'js jmlilLcations. 

" We would also bplieve that as his strength has increased, 
30 bis glaring errors have been diminished. But so imbedded 
and iiigniined are these in the gems of his excellence, that no 
blindni'ss can overlook, no art can divide or destroy their con- 
nection. Tli3y must b.- tried togetlier at the ordeal of time, 
mU descend unseparatea 'o posterity. Could Mr. Scott but 
endow his purposes with words' — could he but decorate the 
•OBlice and the splendor of, his conceptions with more unal- 
loyed aptness of expression, and more uniform strength and 
harmony of r^ymbers, he would claim a place in the liighest 
rank among the poets of natural feeling and natural imagery. 
Even as it is, with all his faults, we love him still ; and whrn 
he shaU cease to write, we shall find it difficult to supply his 
vlacc with a better.^* 



The Quarterly Reviewer, after giving his outline of the story 
of the Lord of the Isles, thns proceeds : — " In whatever point 
of view it be regarded, whether with reference to the incidents 
it contains, or the agents by whom it is carried on, we think 
that one less calculated to keep alive the interest and cariosity 
of the reader could not easily have been conceived. Of the 
tharacters, we cannot say much ; they are not conceived with 
any great degree of originality, nor delineSted with any par- 
ticular spirit. Neither are we diyjosed to criticise with mi- 
nuteness the incidents of the story ; but we conceive that the 
whole jjoem, considering it as a narrative poem, ia projected 
npon wrong principles. 

" The Ptory is obviously composed of two independent plots, 
connected with each other mep-'ly by the accidental circum- 
stances of time and place. The liberation of Scotland by 
Bruce has not naturally any more connection with the loves of 
Ronald and the Maid of Lorn, than with those of Dido and 
iEneas ; nor are we able to conceive any possible motive which 
ihould have induced Mr. Scott to weave them as he has done 
into the same narrative, except the desire of combining the ad- 
vantages of an heroical, with what we may call, for want of an 
appropriate word, an ethical subject ; an attempt which we 
feel assured he never would have made, had lie duly weighed 
the very different principles upon which these dissimilar sorts 
of poetry are founded. Thus, had Mr. Scott introduoed the 
loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn as an episode of an 
epic poem upon the subject of the battle of Eannocktjarn, its 
want of connection with the main action might have been ex- 
cused, in favor of its intrinsic merit; but, by a gi-eat singu- 
la', ity of judgment, he has introduced the battle of Bannockburn 
l£ an e^jisodc, in the loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn. 
To aay nothing of the obvious preposlerousness of such a de- 
Bjn, abstractedly considered, the effect of it has, we think, 
decidedly been to destroy that interest which either of them 
might separately have created : or, if any interest remain re- 
ipecting the fate of the ill-requited Edith, it is because at no 
moment of the poem do we feel the slightest degree of it, re- 
jecting the enterprise of Bruce. 

"^^e many beautiful passages which we have extracted 



from the poem, combined with the brief remarks subjoined ttf 
each canto, vvill sufficiently show, hat although the Lord ol 
the Isles is not likely to add very n: uch to the reputation of 
Mr. Scott, yet this must be imputed rather to the greatness o( 
his previous reputation, than to the absolute inferiority of the 
poem itself. Unfortunately, its merits are merely incidental, 
while its defects are mixed uj> with the. very elements of the 
poem. But it is not in the power of Mr. Scott to write with 
lameness ; be the subject what it will (and he could not easily 
have chosen one more impracticable). In; impresses upon what- 
ever scenes he describes, so much movement and activity, — he 
infuses into his narrative such a flow of lif?. and, if we may 
so express ourselves, of animal spirits, that without satisfying 
the judgment, or moving the feelings, or elevating the mind, oi 
even very greatly interesting the curiosity, he is able to seize 
npon, and, as it were, exhilarate the imagination of his readers, 
in a manner which is often truly unaccountable. This quality 
Mr. Scott possesses in an admirable degree ; and supposing that 
he had no other object in view than to convince the world of 
the great poetical powers with which be is gifted, tlie poem 
before us would be quite sufficient for his purpose. But this 
is of very inferior importance to the public ; what they want 
is a good poem, and as experience has shown, this can only be 
constructed upon a solid foundation of taste and judgment 
and meditation." 

" These passages [referring to the preceding extract from the 
Quarterhj, and that from the Edinburgh Review, at the 
commencement of the poem] appear to me to condense the 
result of deliberate and candid reflection, and I have therefore 
quoted ihem. The most important remarks of either Essayist 
on the details of the plot and execution are annexed to the last 
edition of the poem ; and show such an exact coincidence of 
judgment in two masters of iheir calling, as had not hitherto 
been exemplified in the professional criticism of his metrical 
romances. The defects which both point oat, are, I presume, 
but too completely explained by the preceding statement of 
the rapidity with which this, the last of those great perfor- 
mances, had been thrown off"; — [see Life, vol. v. pp. 13-15] 
— nor do I see that either Reviewer has failed to do sufficient 
justice to the beauties which redeem the imperfections of the 
Lord of the Isles — exocpt as regards the whole character of 
Bruce, its real hero, and the picture of the Battle of Bannock* 
burn, which, now that one can compare tliese works from 
something like the same point of view, does not appear to me 
in the slightest particular inferior to the Flodden of ftlarmion. 

" This poem is now, I believe, about as popular as Rokeby ; 
hut it has never reached the same station in general favor with 
the Lay, Marmion, or the Lady of the Lake. The first edition 
of 1800 copies in qnarto, was, liowever, rapidly disposed of, 
and the separate editions in 8vo, which ensued before his po- 
etical works were collected, amounted together to 15,250 copie 
This, in the case of almost any other author, would have been 
splendid success; but, as compared with what he had pre- 
viously experienced, even in his Rokeby, and still more so ai 
compared with the enormous circulation at once attainef^ bj 
Lord Byron's early tales, which were then following each o'Jiei 
in almost breathless succession, the falling off was decided. 
LocEBART, vol. V. p. 37. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



46b 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
Thy rugged halls, Artornish I rung.—V. 415. 

Tbe ruins of the Castle of Artornish are situated npon a 
promontory, on the Mtirven. or niajiiland side ol" tlie Sotind of 
Mat), ?. name given to tlie deep arm ol' the sea, whieli divides 
that island I'rom the continent. The situation is wild and ro- 
mantic in the highest degree, having on the one hand a high 
and precipitous chain of rocks overhanging the sea, and on the 
Other the narrow entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, 
called Loch Alline. which is in many places finely fringed with 
copsewood. The ruins of Artoriiish are not now very consiil- 
erable. and consist chiefly of tlie remains of an old keep, or 
tower, with fragments of outward defences. But. in Ibrmer 
days, it was a place of great consequence, being one of the 
principal strongholds, which the Lords of the Isles, during the 
period of tlieir stormy independence, possessed upon the main- 
land of Argyleshire. Here they assembled what popular tra- 
dition calls tlieir parliaments, meaning, I suppose, their cout 
plentere, or assembly of feudal and palriarchal vassals and de- 
pendents. From this Castle of Artornish, upon the 19th day 
of October. 14GI, John de YIe. designing himself Earl of Ross 
and Lord of the Isles, granted, in the style of an independent 
sovereign, a commission to his trusty and well-beloved cousins, 
Ronald of the Isles, and Duncan. Arch-Dean of the Isles, for 
empowering them to enter into a treaty with the most excellent 
Prince Edward, by the grace of God, King of France and 
England, and Lord of Ireland. Edv;ard IV,, on his part, 
named Laurence, Bishop of Durham, the Earl of Worcester. 
the Trior of St. John's, Lord VVenlock, an<l Mr. Robert Stil- 
lington, keeper of the j)rivy seal, his deputies and commission- 
ers, to confer with those named by the Lord of the Isles. The 
conference terminated in a treaty, by which the Lord of the 
Isles agreed to become a vassal to the crown of England, and 
to assist Edward IV. and James, Earl of Douglas, then in ban- 
*ibment, in subduing the realm of '■■cotland. 

The first article provides, that John de Lie, Earl of Ross, 
with his son Donald Balloch. and his grandson John de Isle, 
with all their subjects, men, people, and inhabitants, become 
rassaU and liegemen to Edward IV. of England, <ind assist 
him in his wars in Scotland or Ireland ; and then follow the 
allowances to be made to the Lord of the Isles, in recompense 
of his military service, and the provisions for dividing such 
conquests as their united arms should make upon the main- 
land of Scotland among the confederates. These appear such 
cnriona illustrations of the period, that they are here sub- 
joined ; 

" Itfm, The seid John Erie of Rosse shall, from the seid fest 
•f Whittesontyde next corayng, ycrely, dnryiig liig lyf. liave 
and take, for fees and wages in tyme of pea:*, of the seid most 
Oigh and Cliristien prince c. marc sterlyng of Englysh money ; 
tnd in lyir.e of werre, as long as he shall entende with his 
myght and power in the said werres, in manner and fourrae 
abovesaid, he shall have wages of ccc. lb. sttrrlyng of English 
money yearly ; and after the rate of the tyme that he shall be 
occupied in the seid werres. 

" Item, The seid Donald shall, from the seid feste of Whit- 
tesontyde, have and take, during his lyf, yerly, in tyme of 
peas, for his fees and wages, xx 1. sterlyng of Englysh money ; 
aad, when he sha'l be occupied and intend to the werre, with 
■»li myght and power, and in manner and fourme aboveseid. 



he shall have and take, for his wages yearly, il i. sterlynge of 

Englysh money ; or for the rale of the tyme of weiTe 

** Itevi, The seid John, sonn and hi-ire apparant of the sal 
Donald, shall have and take, ycrely, from the seid fest. for Iii. 
fees and wages, in the tyme of peas, x I. sterlynge of Englysb 
money ; and for tyme of werre, and his intendyng thereto, ic 
manner and fourmp aboveseid, lie shall have-, for his fees ani 
wages, yearly xx 1. sterlynge of Engly-h money; or after ths 
rate of the tyme that he shall be ot-cujiied in the werre ' And 
tlie seid John, tii' Erlir Donald and Julm. ;iiij eclic of Inern, 
shall have good and sufficiaunt painient of liie seid fees and 
wages, as wel for tyme of peas as of werre, accordyng to 'Jieai 
articules and appoyntements. Itrm, It is appointed, accortied, 
concluded, and finally determined, that, if it so be that here- 
after the said reaume of Scollande. or the more part thereof, 
be conquered, subdued, and brought to the obeissance of the 
seid most high and Christien prince, and his heircs, or succe* 
soures. of the seid Lionell, ih fonrino aboveseid rlt?sccndyng, ba 
the assistance, helpe, and aide of the -^'aid John Erie of Rosse, 
and Donald, and of James Erie of Douglas, then, the said 
fees and wages for the tyme of peab cet^ying, llie same eries and 
Donald shall have, by the graunte of the same most Christien 
prince, all the possessions of the said rcanme beyoiide Scottishe 
see, they to be departed equally betwix them ; eche of them, 
his heires and successonrs, to IioUle his parte of the seid most 
Christien prince, his heires and successours, for evermore, in 
right of his croune of England, by homage and feaule to be 
done therefore. 

" Item, If so be that, by th' aide and assistence of the seid 
James Erie of Douglas, the said reaunie of Scotlande be con- 
quered and subdued as above, then he shall have, enjoie, and 
iuherile all his own possessions, lande«, and inheritaunce, on 
this syde the Scottishe see ; that is to saye, betwixt the seid 
Scottishe see and Englande, sncli he hath rejoiced and be pos- 
sessed of before this ; there to liolde them of the said most high 
and Christien prince, his heires, and auecessoors, as is above- 
said, tor evermore, in right of the coroune of Englondc. as weel 
the said Erie of Douglas, as his heires and successours, hy 
homage and feaute to be done therefore." — Rymer's Fadera 
Conventionrs hitcrm et cujuscunquc generis jJcta Publiea, 
fol. vol. v., 1741. 

Such was the treaty of Artornish ; bnt it does not appeal 
that the allies ever made any very active cdbrt lo realize theii 
ambitious designs. It will serve to show botli the power of 
these regnli, and their independence upon tlie crown of Scot* 
land. 

It is only farther necessary to say of the Castle of Artornish, 
that it is almost opposite to the Bay of Aros, in the Island ut 
Mull, where there was another castle, the occ^ional resideoM 
of the Lords of the Isles. 



Note B. 



Rude HeiskaT^a seal through surges dark. 
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark. — P. 418, 

Tine sea. displays a taste for music, which could erarcely tM 
expected from his habits and local prctlilcclions. They wiL 
long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played, 
and even a tune simply whistled ha!< itiracticns for then 



ilO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Dean of the Isles says of Heiskar, a small nninhabited 
rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the isle of Uist, that 
an infinite slaughter of seals takes place there. 



Note C. 



- fl turrcVs airy head 



^irnder and steep, and battled round, 

O'erlook'd, dark Mull I thy mighty Sound.— V. 417. 

he Sound of Mall, whici divides that island from the con- 
linent of Scotland, is one of tlii* most striking scenes which the 
Hehrides aflord to the travelkr. Sailing from Oban to Aros, 
orTobermorj, 'hi-ough a narrow cliannel, yet deep enoogh to 
bear vessels of tne largesi burden, he has on his left the bold 
and mountainous shores of Mull ; on the right those of that 
district of Argyleshire, called Morven, or Morvern, succes- 
sively indented by deep salt-water lochs, running up many 
miles inland. To the soatheastward arise a prodigious range 
»f mountains, among which Cruachan-Ben is pre-eminent. 
And to the northeast is the no less huge and picturesque range 
of the Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated 
generally upon clijH's overhanging the ocean, add interest to the 
icene. Those of Donolly and Dunstaffnage are first passed, 
then that of Duart, formerly belonging to the chief of the war- 
like and powerful sopt of Macleans, and the scene of Miss 
Baillie's beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. Still 
passing on to the northward, Artornish and Aros become vis- 
ible upon the opposite shores; and, lastly, Mingarry, and other 
rnins of less distinguished note. In fine wxather. a grander 
and more impressive scene, both ffom its natural beauties, and 
associations with ancient history and tradition, can hardly be 
imagined. When the weather is rough, the passage is both 
diflScolt and dangerous, from the narrowness of the channel, 
and in part from the number of inland lakes, out of which sally 
forth a number of conflicting and thwarting tides, making the 
navigation perilous to open boats. The sudden flaws and 
gasts of wind which issue without a moment's warning from 
the mountain glens, arc cfiually formidable. So tliat in un- 
settled weatiier, a stranger, if not mucli accustomed to the 
■ea, may sometimes aild to the other sublime sensations ex- 
eited by the scene, that feeling of dignity which arises from a 
KDse of danger. 



Note D. 



' these seas behold. 



catnre, consisting of fourteen, sat always her° ; and there wai 
an appeal to them from all the courts in the isles : the eleventh 
share of the sum in debate was due to the principal judge. 
There was a big stone of seven foot square, in which there was 
a deep impression made to receive the feet of Mac-Donald; 
for he was crowned King of the Isles standing in this stone 
and swore that he would continue his vfissals in the possession 
of their iands, and do exact justice to all his subjects : and 
then his father's sword was put into his hand. The Bishop 
of Argyle and seven priests anointed him king, in presence of 
all the heads of the tribes in the isles and continent, and were 
his vassals ; at which time the orator rehearsed a catalogue of 
his ancestors," Stc. — Martin's Account of the JVesiern Isles, 
8vo. London, 1716, p. 240, 1. 



Round twice a hundred Hslavds rolled. 
From Hirt, l/iat hears their northern roar. 
To the green Hay* s fertile shore.*' — P. 417. 

The number of the western isles of Scotland exceeds two 
oandred, of which St. Kilda is tlie most northerly, anciently 
called Hirth, or Hirt, probably from " earth," being in fact 
the whole globe to its inhabitants, liay, which now belongs 
n hn OS t entirely to Walter Campbell, Esq., of t^hawfield, is by 
far tlie most fertile of tlie Hebrides, and has been greatly im- 
proved under the bjiirited and sagacious management of the 
oresent proprietoi. This was in ancient times the principal 
abode of the Lords of the Isles, being, if not the largest, the 
most important island of their archipelago. In Martin's time, 
lOme relics of their grandeur were yet e;*:tant. " Locb-Fin- 
lagan, about three miles in circumference, affords salmon, 
uvuts, and eels : this lake lies in the centre of the isle. The 
'ele Finlagan, from whigh this lake hath its name, is in it. It's* 

amoQS for being once the court in which the great Mac-Don- 
ald, King of the Isles, had his residence ; his houses, chapel, 
fco., are now ruinous. H'\s guards de corps, called Luchttach, 
Kepi guard on tlie lake side nearest to the isle ; the walls of 

-tia'r hoQsei are still to be seen there. The high court of Judi- 



NOTE E. 



-Mingarry sternly placed, 



Overawes the woodland and the waste. — P. 417. 

The Castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of the 
district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which are tolerably 
entire, are surrounded by a very high wall, forming a kind of 
polygon, for the purpose of adapting itself to the i)rojecting 
angles of a precipice overhanging the sea, on which the castle 
stands. It was anciently the residence of the Mac-Ians, a 
clan of Mac-Donalds, descended from Ian, or John, a grani' 
son of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles. The last time that Min- 
garry was of military importance, occurs in the celebrated 
Leabhar dearg, or Red-book of Clanronald, a MS. renowned 
in the Os=ianic controvei-sy. Allaster Mac-Donald, commonly 
called Colquitto, who commanded the Irish auxiliaries, sent 
over by the Earl of Antrim, during the great civil war, to the 
assistance of Montrose, began his enterprise in 1644, by taking 
the castles of Kinloch-Alline, and Mingarry, the last of which 
made considerable resistance, as might, from the strength of 
the situation, he expected. In the mean while, Allaster Mao* 
Donald's ships, which had brought him over, were attacked 
in Loch Eisord, in Skye, by an armament sent round by the 
covenanting parliament, and his own vessel was taken. Thia 
circumstance is said chiefly to have induced him to continue 
in Scotland, where there seemed little prospect of raising an 
army in behalf of the King. He had no sooner moved east- 
ward to join MonlroBP, a junction which he eflected in the 
braes of Athole, than the Marquis of Aigyle besieged the 
castle of Mingarry, but withoot success. Among other war* 
riore and chiefs whom Argyle summoned to his camp to assist 
upon this occasion, was John of Moidart, the Captain of Clan- 
ronald, Clanronald appeared ; but. far from yielding effeo 
tual assistance to ^Vi^yle, he took the opportunity of being in 
arms to lay waste'the djstrict of Sunart, then belonging to the 
adherents of Argyle, an<i sent part of tlie spoil to relieve the 
Castle of Mingarry. Thus the castle was maintained until re- 
lieved by Allaster Mac-Donald (Colquitto), who had been de- 
tached for the purpose by Montrose. These particulars 9» 
hardly worth mentioning, were th^ not connected with ibt 
memorable successes of Montrose, related by in ej«ii 
and hitherto unknown to Scottish historians. « 



Note F. 
The heir of mighty Somerlcd.—V. 417. 
Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about 
the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exer 
cised his authority in both capacities, independent of th« 
crown of Scotland, against which he often stood in hostility 
He made various incursions upon the western lowlands during 
the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace with 
him upon the terms of an independent prince, about the yea. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47i 



1157. In 1164, ho resoined the war asrainsi Malcolm, and in- 
ftded Scotlaiiil with a laryu, but [)roUahly a tumultuary army, 
ooUectc^d in the i^les, in the inuiulatut of Argyleshirc, and in 
the neighboring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and 
■Iain in an engagement with a verj- inferior force, near Ren- 
frew. !!is son Gillieolane fell in the same battle. This mighty 
ebicftain married a daughter oroiaut. King of Man. From 
him our genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in 
the stormy history of the mitidle ages ; Uie Lords of the Isles 
descended from his elder son Ronald. — and the Lords of Lorn, 
*tiut loo^ their sirname of M'DougaJ, as descended of his sec-" 
•nd son Dougal. That Somerled's territories opon the main- 
land, ai;d upon the islands, should have been tlius divided 
oetween his two sons, instead of passing to the elder exylu- 
uvely, may illustrate the uncertainty of descent among the 
gK&i Hi^'land families, which we shall presently notice. 



Note G. 



Lord of the Isles.—?. 417. 

The representative of this independent principality, for snch 
It seems to have been, though acknowledging occasionally the 
ore-eminence of the Scottish crown, was. at the period of the 
poem, Angus, called Angus Og ; but the name has been, cu- 
phonim gratia, exchanged for tliat of Ronald, which frequent- 
ly occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert 
Bruce, whom he received in his castle of Dunnaverty, during 
the time of his greatest distress. As I shall be equally liable 
to censure for attempting to decide a controversy wliich has 
long existed between three distinguished chieftains of this fam- 
ily, who have long disputed the re])resentation of the Lord of 
the Isles, or for leaving a question of such importance alto- 
gether luuonched, I choose, in the tlr=t place, to give such in- 
formation as I have been able to derive from Highland geneal- 
ogists, and wliich, for those who have ]»aticnce to investigate 
•uch subjects, really contains some curious information con- 
ceruii^ the history of the Isles. In the second place, I shall 
offer a few i^marks upon the rules of succession at that pe- 
riod, without pretending to decide their bearing upon the ques- 
tion at issue, which must depend upon evidence which I have 
had no opportunity to examine. 

" Angus Og." says an ancient manuscript translated from 
the Gaelic, " son of Angus Mor, son of Donald, son of Ronald, 
son of Soraerled, high chief and superior Lord of Innisgall (or 
the li.es of the Gael, the general name given to the Hebrides), 
he married a daughter o\' Cunbui, namely, Catiian ; she was 
mother to John, son of Angus, and with her came an unusual 
portion from Ireland, viz. twenty-four clans, of whonj twenty- 
four families in Sfotlacl are descended. Angus had another 
son. namely, youug John Fraoch, whose descendants are called 
Clan-Ean of Glencoe, and tlie M'Donalds of Fraoch. This 
Angus Og died in Isla, where his body was interred. His son 
John sticceeded to the inheritance of Innisgall. He had good 
•<*aTi-'Q lant"*, namely, three sons procreate of Ann, daughter of 
«od>.i high chief of Lorn, and one daugiiler, Mary, married 
toior.n MacLean. Laird of Doart. and Lanchlan, his brother, 
Lair^ Df Coll ; she was interred in the church of tlic Black 
Kons. The eldest sons of John were Ronald, Godfrey, and 

Anguj He gave Ronald a great inheritance. 

Thes« were the lands which he gave him, viz. from Kilcomin 
to Abertarf to the river Seil, and from thence to Bcilli, north 
of Eig and Rum, and the two Uisl-s, and from thence to the 
foot of the river Glaichan, and threescore long ships. John 
married afterwards Margaret Stewart, daughter to Rol ert 
Stewart, King of Scotland, called John Fernyear ; she bore 
aim three good sons. Donald of the Isles, the heir, John the 
Tainister ((. e. Thane), the second son, and Alexander Car- 



I WeBt*?m lal'^e ftnd fidjaeeni coast. 



9 Inoiaeal. 



rach. John had another son called Marcus, of whon' llie clan 
Macdonald of Cnoc, in Tirowen, are descended. Tins John 
lived long, and made donations to Icolunikill ; he co'^eicd tha 
chapel of Eorsay-Elaii, the chapel of Fiidagam, and the 
chapel of the Isle of Tsuibhne, and gave the proper furniture 
for the service of God, upholding the clergy and n'onkfi, he 
built or repaired the church of the Holy Cross immediately 
before his death. He died at his own castle of Anltorinibh • 
many [iriesis and monks look the sacrament al hi? fuuor'il, 
and tliey embalmed the body of this dear man, and brou^n*. 
it to Icolumkill ; the abbot, monks, and vicar, came as tSer 
ought to meet the King of Fiongal,i and out of great resotov 
to his memory mourned eight days and niglns ovei it, a.Ai 
laid it in the same grave with his father, in the church ofOran, 
1380. 

*' Ronald, son of John, was chief ruler of the Isles in hia 
father's lifetime, and was old in the government at his father*a 
death. 

" He assembled the gentry of the Isles, brought the sceptre 
from Kildonan in Eig, and delivered it to his brother Donald, 
who was thereupon called M'Donald, antl Donald Lord of t lie 
Isles,2 contrary to the opinion of the men of the Isles. 

"Ronald, son of John, son of Angus Og, was a great sup 
porter of the church and clergy ; Ids descendants are called 
Clanronald. He gave the lands of Tiruma in Uis(, to the 
minister of iv forever, for the honor of God and ColumkiU ; 
he was proprietor of all the lands of the north along tiie coast 
and the isles ; he died in the year of Ciirist 136ti, in his own 
mansion of Castle Tirim, leaving five children. DonaM of the 
Isles, son of Jo|jn, son of Angus Og, the brother of Ro.'iald, 
took possession of Inisgall by the consent of Iiis brother and 
the gentry thereof; they were all obedient to him : he mar- 
ried Mary Lesley, daughter to the Earl of Ross, and by her 
came the earldom of Ross to the M'Donalds. After his suc- 
cession to that earldom, he was called M'Donald, Lord of the 
Isles, and Earl of Ross. There are many things written of him 
in other places 

" He fought the battle of Garioch {i. c. Ilarlaw) against 
Duke Murdoch, the governor; the Earl of Mar commanded the 
army, in, support of his claim to the earldom of Ross, which 
was ceded to him by King James the First, at\er his release 
from the King of England ; and Duke Murdoch, his two sons 
and retainers, were beheaded : he gave lands in Mull and Isla 
to the jninisler of Hi, and every privilege which the minister 
of lona had formerly, besides vessels of gold and silver to Co- 
lumkiU for the monastery, and became himself one of the Ira 
ternitv. He left issue, a lawful heir lo Innisgall and Ross, 
namely Alexander, the son of Donald : he died in Isla, and 
his body was interred in the south^siile of llie temple of Oran. 
Alexander, called John of -the Isles, son of Alexander of the 
Isles, son of Donald of the Isles. Aii;:(:'i, the tiiird son of 
John, son of Angus Og, married the dau; '.ter of Jolin, the sod 
oi Allan, which connection caused some - isagreement betwixt 
the two families about their marcJies ;. ;.I division of. lauds, 
the one party adhering to Angus, and t' ■■ other to John : the 
differences increased so much that John jhiained from Allan 
all the lands betwixt Ahhan Falida (/. r. the long river) and 
old na sionnack (i. e. the fox-burn brook), in the upprr pari 
of Cantyre. Allan went to the king to complain af his «id 
in-law ; in a short time thereafter, there happened lo be a grout 
meeting about this young Angus's lands lo the north of lever- 
ness, where he was murdered by his own harper Mac-Cairbre, 
by cutting his throat with a long knife. He^ lived a yeaf 
thereafter, and many of those concerned were delivered up to 
the king. Angus's wife was prtgnant at the time of his mur- 
der, and she bore him a son who was named Donald, and 
called Donald Du. He was kept in confinement until he was 
thirty years of age, when he was released by the men of Gleu 
CO, by the strcng hand. After this enlaisement, he came la 
the Isles, and convened the gentry thereof. There happened 

8 Tho ninrderer, I presume, not the nurn who was iuiml*rarf 



472 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



great feoils betwixt these families while Donald Du was in 
confinement, insomuch that Mac-Cean of Anlnamurchan de- 
Btroyed \hn greatest part of the posterity of John Mor of the 
[sl6s and Cantyre. For John Catbanach, son of John, son of 
Donald Balloch. son of John Mor, son of John, son of Angus 
Og (llie chief of the descendants of John Mor), and John Mor, 
Bon of John Cathanach, and young John, son of John Calha- 
Qach, and young Donald Balloch, son of John Cathanach, were 
treai'herously taken hy Mac-Cean in the island ofFinlagan, in 
Isla, and carried to Edinburgh, wliere he got thern hanged at 
the Borrow-muir, and their bodies were buried in the Church 
of St. Anthony, called the New Church. There were none 
left alive at that time of the children of John Cathanach, ex- 
cept Alexander, the son of John Cathanach, and Agnes Flach, 
who concealed themselves in the glens of Ireland. Mac-Cean, 
hearing of their hiding-places, went to cot down the woods of 
these glens, in order to destroy Alexander, and extirpate the 
whole race. At length Mac-Cean and Alexander met, were 
reconciled, and a marriage-alliance took place ; Alexander 
married Mac-Cean's daughter, and she brought him good chil- 
dren. Tiie Mac-Donalds of the North had also descendants ; 
for. after the death of John, Lord of the Isles. Earl of Ross, 
and the murder of Angus, Alexander,' the son of Archibald, 
the son of Alexander of the Isles, took possession, and John 
was in possession of the earldom of Ross, and the north bor- 
dering coantry ; he married a daughter of the Earl of Moray, 
of whom some of the men of the north had descended. The 
Mac-Kenzies rose against Alexander, and fought the uattle 
called Blar na Patre. Alexander had only a few of the men 
of Ross at the battle. He went after that biltlc to lake pos- 
session of the Isles, and sailed in a ship to tlie south losee if lie 
could find any of the posterity of John .Alor alive, to rise along 
with him ; but Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan watched him as 
ne sailed past, followed him to Oransay and Colonsay, went 
to the house where he was, and he and Alexander, son of 
John Cathanach, murdered him there. 

" A good while after tliese things fell oat, Donald Galda, 
flon of Alexander, son of Archibald, became major; he, willi 
the advice and direction of the Earl of Moray, came to the 
feles, and Mac-Leod of the Lewis, and many of the gentry of 
.he Isles, rose with him : they went by the promontory of 
Ardnamurchan, where they met Alexander, the son of John 
Cathanach, were reconciled to him, he joined his men with 
theirs against Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan, came upon him at 
a place called the t^ilver Craig, where he and liis three sons, 
and a great number of his people, were killed, and Donald 
Galda was immediately declared Mac-Donald : And, after the 
affair of Ardnamurchan, all the men of t.'ie Isles yielded to 
him, but he did^ct 'ive abo%'e seven or eight weeks after it ; 
he died at Carnabo; ,■. in Mull, without issue. He had three 
Bisters' daugliters ol Alexander, son of Archibald, who were 
portioned in the non i upon the continent, but the earldom of 
Ro?s wa-s kept for them. Alexander, the son of Archibald, 
had a natural son, called John Cam, of whom is descended 
Achnacoichan, in Ramoeh, and Donald Corm, son of Ronald, 
80*1 of Alexander Duson, of John Cam. Donald Du, son of 
Angus, son ot John of the Isles, son of Alexander of the Isles, 
son or Donald of the Isles, son of John of the Isles, son of An- 
£08 Og, namely, the true heir of the Isles and Ross, came 
after his release from captivity to the Isles, and convened the 
mon thereof, and he and the Earl of Lennox agreed to raise a 
great armv tor the purpose of taking possession, and a ship 
camr tr*m England with a supply of money to carry on the 
wai, which landed at Mull, and the money was given to Mac- 
Lean of Duart to he distributed among the commanders of the 
ftrmj , ivhich they not receiving in proportion as it should have 
been (listributed among them, caused the army to disperse, 
which, when the Earl of Lennox heard, he disbanded his own 
wen, and made it up with the king. Mac-Donald went to 
Ireland to raise men, hut he died on his way to Dublin, at 
lirogheda, of a fever, without issue of either sons or daugh- 



In this history may be traced, though the Bard, or Sean 
nachie, touches such a delicate discussion with a gentle hand 
the point of difference between the three principal septs d& 
scended from the Lords of the Isles. The first questicn, and 
one of no easy solution, where so little evidence is prodoced, 
respects the nature of the connection of John called by tha 
Archdean of the Isles " the Good John of Ila," and " the las* 
Lord of the Isles," with Anne, daughter of Roderick Mao- 
dougal, high-chief of Lorn., In the absence Df positive e\i* 
dence, presumptive must be resorted to. and I own it appean 
to render it in the highest degree improbable that this conneo 
tion was otherwise than legitimate. In the wars between Da^ 
vid II. and Edward Baliol, John of the Isles espoused the 
Baliol interest, to which he was probably determined by his 
alliance with Roderick of Lorn, who was, from every family 
predilection, friendly to Baliol, and hostile to Bruce. It seems 
absurd to suppose, that between two chiefs of the same de- 
Bcent, and neariy equal power and rank (though the Mac- 
Dougals had been much crushed by Robert Bruce), such a 
connection should have been that of concubinage ; and it ap- 
pears more likely that the tempting offer of an alliance with 
the Bruce family, when they had obtained the decided supe- 
riority in Scotland, induceil " the Good John of Ila" to dis- 
inherit, to a certain extent, his eldest son Ronald, who came 
of a stock so unpopular as the Mac-Dougals, and to call to 
his succession his younger family, born of Margaret Stuart 
daughter of Robert, afterwards King of Scotland. The set- 
ting aside of this elder branch of his family was most probably 
a condition of his new ulliance, and his being received into 
favor with the dynasty he ha-J always opposed. Nor were the 
laws of succession at this early period so clearly understood as 
to bar such transactions. The numerous and strange claims 
set u p to the crown of Scotland , when vacant by the death o: 
Alexander IIL, make it manifest how very little the indefeasi- 
ble hereditary right of primogeniture was valued at that period. 
In fact, the title of the Braces themselves to tiie crown, though 
justly the most popular when assumed with the determination 
of asserting the independence of Scotland, was, upon pure 
principle, greatly inferior to that of Baliol. For Bruce, the 
competitor, claimed as son of Isabella, second daughter of Da- 
vid, Earl of Huntingdon; and John Baliol, as grandson ol 
Margaret, the elder daughter of that same earl. So that the 
plea of Bruce was founded upon the very loose idea, that as 
the great-grandson of David I., King of Scotland, and the 
nearest collateral relation of Alexander III., he was entitled to 
succeed in exclusion of the great-great-grandson of the same 
David, though by an elder daughter. This maxim savored ol 
the ancient practice of Scotland, which often called a brother 
to succeed to the crown as nearer in blood than a grand-child, 
or even a son of a deceased monarch. But, in truth, the max- 
ims of inheritance in Scotland were sometimes departed from 
at |)eriods when they were much more distinctly understood. 
Such a transposition took place in the family of Hamilton^ in 
1513, when t.'ie descendants of James, third Lord, by Lady 
Janet Home, were set aside, with an appanage of great value* 
indeed, in order to call to the succession those which be had 
by a subsequent mairiage wrth Janet Bcatoun. In short, 
many other examples might be quoted to show that the ques- 
tion of legitimacy is not always determincil by the fact of suc- 
cession ; and there seems reason to believe, that Ronald, de- 
scendant of " John of Ila, ■ by Anne of J-orn, was legitimate, 
and therefore Lord of the sles dejiiTC, though de facto his 
younger half-brother Donalo, son of his father's second ma^ 
riage with the Princess of Scotland, superseded him in hu 
right, and apparently by his own consent. From this Donald 
so preferred is descended the family of Sleat, now Lords Mao- 
Donald. On the other hand, from Ronald, the excluded heir, 
upon whom a very large appanage was settled, descended the 
chiefs of Glengary and Clanronald, each of whom had Ia^i» 
possessions and a numerous vassalage, and boasted a long de- 
scent of wariike ancestry. Their con.mon ancestor RonaW 
was murdered by the Earl of Ross, at the Monaster' nf Elcho 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47* 



*. 5r. 13-i6. I believe it has been sabject of fierce dispute, 
whoUi^-r Donald, who carried on the line of Gltngarv. or Al- 
lan ot M^.lart. the ant-estor of ihecaiUains of Cianronald, waa 
the olJtJt bon of Ronald, the son of John of Isla. An humble 
Lo»vl;i:i ler may be permitted to waive the discussion, since a 
Seniiaehie of no small note, who wrote in the sixteenth cen- 
tury, txpresses himself upon this delicate topic in the following 
words : — 

" I liave now given you an account of every thing you can 
expect of the descendants of the clan Colla (*. c. the Mac- 
Donalds), 10 the death of Donald Du at Drogheda, namely, 
the true line of those wlio possessed the Isles, Ross, and the 
mountainous countries of Scotland. It was Donalii, the son 
of Angus, that was Jiilled at Inverness (by his own harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre). son of John of the Isles, son of Alexander, 
•on of Donald, son of John, son of Angus Og. And I know 
oot whieli oi' his kindred or relations is the true heir, except 
these five sons of John, the son of Angus Og, whom I here set 
down for you, namely, Ronald and Godfrey, the two sons of 
the daughter of M;u--Donald of Lorn, and Donald and John 
Mor. and Ali;xander Carrach. the three sons of Margaret 
Stewart, daughter of Robert l^tewari, King of Scotland."—' 
Lcabhar Dearg. 



Note H. • 

The House of Lurn.—F. 418. 

The House of Lorn, as we observed m a former note, was, 
•Ike tlie Lord of the Isles, descended from a sou of Somerled, 
■lain at Renfrew, in 1164. This son obtained the succession 
■jf ids mainrand territories, comprehending tlie greater part of 

' Uie three districts of Loru, in Argyleshire, and of course might 
rather be considered as petty priuces than feudal barona. 
They assumed the patronymic appellation of .Mac-Dongal, by 

I which they are distinguished in the history of the middle ages. 

I The Lord of Lorn, who flourished during the wars of Bruce, 
was Allasler (or Alexander) Mac-Dougal, called Allaster of 
Ar^yle, lie liad married the third daugliter of John, called 
(he Re<l Comyn,' who was slain by Bruce in the Dominican 
Church at Dumfries, and hence he was a mortal enemy of 
Jiat prince, and more than once reduced him to great straits 
■luring the early and distressed period of his reign, as we shall 
nave repeatt-'d occasion to notice. Bruce, when he began to 
nbtiin an ascendency in :=cotland, took the (iret opportunity 
r& his power to requite these injuries. He marched ■ into 
Argyleslfire to lay wa^te the country. John of Lorn, son of 
the chieftain, was posted with his followers in the formidable 
pau between Dalraally and Bunawe. It is a narrow path 
along the verge of the huge and precipitous mountain, called 
Cruacban-BLn. and guardc-d on the other bide by a precipice 
9verlj^nging Loch Awe. The pass seems to the eye of a sol- 
dier a?: strong, as it is wild and romantic to that of an ordinary 
' traveller. But the skill of Bruce had anticipated this dilli- 
cuhy. While his main body, engaged in a skirmish with the 
msa of Lorn, dctaineii their attention to the IVont of their 
'iMJ-iifion. James of Douglas, with Sir Alexander Fraser, Sir 

■ William Wiseman, and :^ir Andrew Gray, ascended the moun- 

■ lain with t select ho.ly of archery, and obtained possession of 
.th? heights whieh commanded the pass. A volley of arrows 
>de»ci-nJing upon tliem directly warned the Argyleshire men 
.of their perilous situation, and their resistance, wliich had 

ntlUt-M been hold and manly, was changed into a precipitate 
flieh:. The lieep and rapid river of Awe was then (we learn 
rlhe f«t from Barbour with some surprise) crossed by a bridge. 

ITae»Qct, according (« Lord Hailea. But the genealogy « distincUy 
iWTIB by WyutouD : — 

' " The thryd douchlyr of Red Cwmyn, 

> Alyuwndyr of Argayle fyn« 



This bridge the mountaineers attempted to demolish, bol 
Bruce's followeni were too close upon their rear ; tliey were 
therefore, without refuge and defence, and were disjiersed 
with great slaughter. John of Lorn, suspicious of the event, 
had early betaken liimself to the galleys which he had upon 
tlie lake ; but the feelings which Barbour assigns to him, 
whde witnessing the rout and slaughter of his follower* ex 
culpate him from the charge of cowardice. 



" To Jhone off Lome it suld displese 
I trow, quhen he his men mycht se, 
Owle otf his schjjfpis fra the se. 
Be slayne and chasayt in the hill, 
That he mycht set na help thar till. 
Bot It angrys als gretumly. 
To gud hartis that ar wortlii, 
To se thar fayis fulfill thair w|i' 
As to thaim selffto thole the ill."— 



B. vii., V. 3l*». 



After thid decisive engagement, Bruce laid waste Argyleshire, 
and besieged DunstatFnage Castle, on the western shore ol 
Lorn, corapelleii i; to surrender, and placed m that principal 
stronghold of the .Mae-Dougals a garrison and governor of hu 
own. Tlie elder Mac-Dougal, now wearied with the contest, 
submitted to the victor ; but his son, " rebellious," says Bai^ 
hour, " as he wont to be," fled to England by sea. When tha 
wars between the Bruce and Baliol factions again broke out 
in the reign of David II., the Lords of Lorn were again found 
upon the losing side, owing to their hereditary enmity to the 
house of Bruce. Accordingly, upon the issue of that contest 
they were dejtrived by David II. and hi.< successor of by ta 
the greater pari of their extensive territories, which were con 
ferred upon Stewart, called the Knight of Lorn. The house 
of Mau-Dougal continued, however, to survive the loss of 
power, and affords a very rare, if not a unique, instance of i, 
family of such unlimited power, and so distinguished daring 
the midille ages, surviving the decay of their grandeur, and 
flourishing in a private station. The Castle of Dunolly, near 
Oban, with its dependencies, was the principal part of what 
remained to them, with their right of chieftainship over the 
families of their name and blood. These they continued to 
enjoy until the year 1715, when the representative inclined 
the penally of forfeiture, for his accession to thw insurrection 
of tiiat period ; thus losing the remains of his inheritance, to 
replace upon the throne the descendants of tliose princes, 
whose accession his ancestors had opposed at the expense o/ 
their feudal grandeur. Tlie estate was, however, restored 
about 1745, to the father of the present proprietor, whom 
family experience had taught the hazard of interfering with 
the established government, and who remained quiet npon 
that occasion. He therelbre regained his property when many 
Highland chiefs lost theirs. 

Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than the situation ol 
Dunoily. The ruins are situated upon a bold and precijdtoui 
promontory, overhanging Loch Etive, .ind distant about a 
mile from the village and port of Oban, The principal part 
whi.h remains is the donjon or keep ; but fragments of othei 
buildings, overgrown with ivy, attest that it had been once » 
place of importance, as large apparently as Artornish or Don* 
slaflnage. These fragments enclose a courtyard, of which the 
kfiep probably formed one side ; tlie entrance being by a steep 
ascent from the neck of the isthmus, Ibrmerly cut across by a 
moat, and defended doubtless by outworks and a drawbridge 
Beneatli the castle stands the present mansion of the family, 
having on the one hand Loch Etive, with its islands and 
mountains, on the other two romantic eminences tufted wit^ 



Tuk, and weddyt til hys wvf, 
And on liyr he gnt in-til hys lyfo 
Jhon of L^me, tlio quliilk g;at 
Ewyn of Lome eflyr that." 
WyjnooN'a CkronicU, Book viLL Ckup. vi, Liv) j 



t74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



copfewcotl- Theie are other accorapaniraents soiled to the 
ncene ; in particular, a Jiuge uprin^ht pillar, or detached frag- 
Bienl of tliat son of rock called plum-pudding stone, U{ion the 
ii>ore, about a qaarter of a mile from the castle. It is called 
Clark-nn-cau, or the Dog's Pillar, because Fingal is said to 
have used it as a stake to which he bound his celebrated dog 
Bran OLhers say, that when the Lord of the Isles came opon 
a visiv 'o the Lord of Lorn, the dogs brought for his sport were 
kent beside tliis pillar. Upon tlie whole, a more delightful 
and romsntic spot can scarce be conceived ; and it receives a 
moral inte. 'st from the considerations attached to the residence 
of a'family once powerful enough to confront and defeat Rob- 
Mi Bruce, and now sunk into the shade of private life. His 
at present possessed by Patrick Mac-Dougal, Esq., the lineal 
and undisputed representative of the ancient Lords of Lorn. 
The heir of Dunolly fell lately in Spain, fighting under the 
Duke of Wellington, — a death well becoming his ancestry. 



Note X 

Awaked before the rusking prom. 
The mimic fires 'of ocean glow, 

Those lightnings of the wave — P. 419. 

The phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the 
most beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in ihe He- 
brides. At times the ocean appears entirely illuminated 
around the vessel/ and a long train of lambent coruscations 
are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pur- 
•ning her wake through the darkness. These phosphoric ap- 
pearances, concerning the origin of which naturalists are not 
Agreed in opinion, seem to be called into action by the rapid 
motion of the ship through the water, and are probably owing 
to the water being saturated with fish-spawn, or other animal 
inbstances. They remind one strongly of the description of 
the sea-snakes in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical 
balltid of the Ancient Mariner : — 

" Beyond the shadow of the ship 
I watch'd the water-snakes, 
They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they rear'd, the elvish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes." 



Note K. 

The dark fortress.— V. 420. 

The fortress of a HebTidean chief was almost always on the 
lea-shore, for the facility of communication whicli the ocean 
afforded. Nothing can be more wild than the situations which 
they chose, and the devices by which the architects endeavored 
to defend them. Narrow stairs and arched vaults were the 
Dsual mode of access ; and the drawbridge appears at Dun- 
itatfnage. and elsewhere, to have fallen from the gate of the 
ouilding to the top of such a staircase ; so that any one ad- 
vancing with hostile purpose, found himself in a state of 
exposed and precarious elevation, with a gulf between him 
auJ 'be object of his attack. 

These fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty 
of tKe vv.'ch devolved chiefly upon an officer called the Cock- 
man. it(.o had the charge of challenging all who approached 
the casi*o. The very ancient family of Mac-Niel of Barra 
kept this attendant at their castle about a hundred years ago. 
Martin gives the following account of the difficulty wliich 
dtUnded his procuring entrance there : — " The little island Kis- 



mul lies about a quarter of a mile from tae south of tiii vik 
(Barra) ; it is the seat of Mackneil of Barra ; there is a stou 
wall round it two stories high, reacliing the sea ; and witbio 
the wall there is an old tower and an iiall, with other hnusei 
about it. There is a little magazine in the tower, to which 
no stranger has access. I saw the officer called the Cockman, 
and an old cock he is ; when I bid him ferry me over the wa- 
ter to the island, he tc\d me that lie was but an inferior ofr 
cer, his business being^to attend in the tower ; but if (says ha) 
the constable, who then stood on the wall, will give yon 
access, I'll ferry you over. X desired him to procure me the 
constable's permission, and I would reward him ; but having 
waited some hours for the constable's answer, and not receiving 
any. I was obliged to return without seeing tliis famous fort. 
Mackneil and his lady being absent, was the cause of tfab 
difficulty, and of my not seeing the place. I was told some 
weeks after, that the constable was very apprehensive of soma 
design I might have in viewing the fort, and thereby to cspoae 
it to the conquest of a foreign power; of which I sapposed 
there was no great cause of fear. ' * 



Note L. 



That keen knight, De Argentine.— V. 422. 

Sir Egidius. or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most 
accomplished knights of the period. He had served in the 
wars of Henry of Luxemburg with such liigh reputation, that 
he was, in popular estimation, the third worthy of the age. 
Those to whom fame assigned precedence over him were, 
Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine 
had warred in Palestine, encountered thrice with the Saracens, 
and liad slain two antagonists in each engagement : — au ea«y 
matter, he said, for one Christian knight to slay two Pagan 
dogs. His death corresponded with his high character. Witb 
Amer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed tt' 
attend immediately upon the pei'son of Edward II. at Baa- 
nockburn. When the day was utterly lost they forced the 
king from the field. De Argentine saw the king safe from 
immediate danger, and then took his leave of liim ; " God be 
with you, Kir," he said, " it is not my wont to fly." So say- 
ing, he turned his horse, criel his war-cry. plunged into the 
midst of the combatants, and was slain. Baston, a rhyming 
monk who had been brought by Edw.ird to f .lebrate his ex- 
pected triumph, and who was compelled by thp victors to com- 
pose a poem on his defeat, mentions with & ^me feeling the 
death of Sir Giles de Argentine : 

JSTohilis Argenten, pugil inclyte, dulcis Egidi, 
Viz scieram mentem cum te suceumhcre vidi. 

" The first line mentions the three chief requisites of*a troe 
knight, noble birth, valor, and courteousnesa. Few Leoniiw 
couplets can be proiluced that have so much sentiment. ^ 
wish that 1 could hai'e collected more ample memorials co. 
cerning a character altogether different from modern mannei 
Sir Giles d' Argentine was a hero of romince ir. real Ufe." 8 
obser-'cs the excellent Lord Hailes. 



Note M. 



" Fill mc the mighty cup /" he said, 

" Erst own^d by royal Somcrled.'^ — P. 423, 

A Hebridean drinking cup, of the most ancient and corii 
workmanship, has been long preserved in the castle of Dub 
vegaii, in Skye, the romantic seat of Mac-Leod of Mic-Leod 
the chief of that ancient and powerful clan. The hortt o 



I 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



'Ill 



Bxtt'o More, preserved in the same family, and recordijd by 
Dr. Johnson, is not to be compared >vith this pit^ce of aiiti- 
quilv. wliich is one of the greatest curiosities in Scotland. The 
following is a pn-lly accurate description of its shape and di-* 
mensions. but canuot, I f ' «■, be perfectly understood without 
% dnvving. "^ 

Tliis very curious piece i' antiquity is nine inches and three- 
quarters in inside depth, and. ton and a half in height on the 
0Qt»id3. tlie extreme measure over the lips being four inches 
and a half. The cup is divided into' two parts by a wrought 
ledge, beautifully ornamented, about three-fourths of an inch 
la bn?adth. Beneath this ledge the shape of the cup is rounded 
off. acd terminates in a flat circle, like that of a teacup ; four 
abort feet support tlie whole. Above the projecting ledge the 
•hape of tiie cup is nearly square, projectmg outward at the 
brim. The cop is made of wood (oak to all appearance), but 
most curiously wrought and embossed with silver work, which 
projects from the vessel. There are a number of regular pro- 
jecting sockets, which appear to have been set with stones ; 
two or lliree of them still hold pieces of coral, the rest are 
empty. At the four corners of the projecting ledge, or cornice, 
are four sockets, much larg^^r, probably for pebbles or precious 
itone?. Tiie workmanship of the silver is extremely elegant, 
aad appears to have been highly gilded. The ledge, brim, and 
legs of the cup, are of silver. The family tradition bears that 
It was the property of Neil Ghlune-dhu, or Black-knee. But 
who this Neil was, no one pretends to say. Around the edge 
cf the cup is a legend, perfectly legible, in the Saxon black- 
letter, which seems co ran thus : 



Bfo : JoDfs : f«fc!) : J fBfln : i3ncfpis : Be :|| 
3D|v : Ittanae : Vk)) : || arafjia : J^flrnncil:! 
Ht: ,^pat:I3o: Ji)u: J3a:|l«C:icn:SHt)ra Spa:] 
JTecft : ano : iSi : Jr : 93o OiiUf : ©imi : || 

The inscription may run thus at length : Vfo Johanis Mich 
',Magni Principia dc Hr Manae Vich JAakia Jilagryneil et 
$ptrat Dom'mo Ihcsu ilari clcmcntiam illoTum opera. Fecit 
Jinno Domini 993 Ontfi Oimi. Which may run in English ; 
Ufo, the son of John, the son of Magnus, Prince of Man, the 
Ciandson of Liahia Macgryneil, trusts in the Lord Jesus that 
their works (i. e. his own and those of his ancestors) will ob- 
(liii mercy. Oneil Oimi made this in the year of God nine 
(lundred and ninety -three. 

, But this version does not inclnde the puzzling letters hr be- 
tire the word Mariae. Within the mouth of the cop the letters 
Vv^' (Jesus) are repeated four times. From this and other 
ircumstances it would seem lo have been a chalice. This cir- 
urastance may perhaps account for th^ n?e of the two Arabic 
nmerals 93. These figares were introduced by Pope Sylves- 
='r, A. D. 991, and miglit be used in a vessel formed for 
*iurch Vrvice so early as 993. The workmanship of the whole 
iDp is extremely elegant, and resembles, I am told, antiques of 
,ie name nature preserved in Ireland. 

t The cu|*s, thus elegantly formed, and highly vahied, were 
[>• no ratans utensils of mere show. Martin gives the follow- 
^ account of the festivals of hi? time, and I have heard sirai- 
r iiulances of brotality in the Lowlands at no very distant 
rriod. 

"The manner of drinking used by the chief men of the Isles 

called in their language Streah, i. e. a Round ; for the com- 

"V eat in a circle, the cup-bearer filled the drink round to 

and all was rlrank out. whatever li:-^ liijuor was, whether 

_ or weak; they continued drinking sometimes twer^'v- 

ometime'i forty-eight hours : U was reckoned a piece of 

'od to drink until they Vcame drunk, and there were two 

li with a barrow attending punctually on such occasions. 

;iey fllood at the door unlil some became drunk, and they 

Ty'd them upon the barrow to bed, and returned again to 

pir DOBt as long as any continued freyh, and so carried off the 



whole company, one by one, as they became drunk. Severa. 
of my acquaintance have been witnesses to this custom of 
drinking, hut it is now abolished." 

Tills savage custom was not entirely done away within thij 
last generation. I have heard of a gentleman who happened 
to be a watei^drinker, and was permitted to abstain from the 
strong potations of the company. The bearers carried a«*y 
one man after another, till no one was left hut this Scottish 
Mirglip. They then came to do him the same good office, 
which, however, he declined as unnecessary, and jjroposed to 
walk to his bedroom. It waa a permission be coald notobtaic. 
Never such a tiling had happened, they said, ia the castle 
that it was impossible but he must require their ossistanoe, at 
any rate he must submit to receive it ; and carried him off in 
the barrow accordingly, A classical penalty was sometime? 
imposed on those who balked the rules of good fellowship 
by evading their share of the banquet. The same author con- 
tinues: — 

*' Among persons of distinction it was reckoned an affroni 
pal upon any company to broach a piece of wine, ale, or aqua- 
vitje, and not to see it all drank out at one meeting. If any 
man chance to go out from the company, though but for a few 
minutes, he is obliged, upon his return, and before he take his 
seat, to make an apology for his absence in rhyme ; which \i 
he cannot perform, he is liable to such a share of the reck 
oning as the company thinks fit to impose : which custom ob 
tains in many places still, and is c^led Bianchiz Bard, which, 
in their langoage, signifies the poet's congratnlating the com- 
pany." 

Few cnps were better, at least more actively, employed in 
the rude hospitality of the period, than those of Dunvegju 
one of which we have just described. There is in th^ Leabhai 
Dearg, a song, intimating the overflowing gratitude of a bard 
of Clan-Ronald, after the exuberance of a Hehridean festival 
at the patriarchal fortress of M.ac-Leod. The translation being 
obviously very literal, has greatly flattened, as I am informed, 
the enthusiastic gratitude of the ancient bard ; and it must be 
owned that the works of Homer or Virgil, to say nothing of 
Mac-Vuirich, might have suffered by their transfusion through 
such a medium. It is pretty plain, that when the tribute ot 
poetical praise was bestowed, the horn of Rorie More hatl not 
been inactive. 

Upon Sir Roderic Mor Maclcod, by J^iaJl ,Mor 
MacVuirich. 

" The Bix nights I remained in the Danvegan, it was not a 
show of hospitality I met with there, but a plentiful feast \u 
thy fair hall among thy numerous host of heroes. 

"The family placed all around under the protection of their 
great chief, raised by his prosperity and respect for his warlike 
feats, now enjoying the company of his friends at the feast, — 
Amidst the sound of harps, overflowing cnps, and happy youth 
unaccustomed to guile, or feud, partaking of the generous faro . 
by a flaming fire. 

'* Mighty Chief, liberal to all in your princely mansion, filled 
with your numerous warlike host, whose generous wine would 
overcome the hardiest heroes, yet we continued to enjoy tha 
fea'jt, so liappy our host, so generous our fare." — Translated 
by J>. Macintosh. 

It would be unpardonable in a modern bard, who lias exj** 
rienced the hospitality of Dunvegan Ca^ll ■ in the present day 
to omit paying his own tribute of gratitude for a reception 
more elegant indeed, but not less kindly sincere, than Sir Rod- 
erick More himself could have afforded. But Johnson has 
already described a similar scene in the same ancient patriarchal 
residence of the Lords of Mac-Leod : — " Whatever is imaged 
in the wildest tales, ifgiunts, dragons, and enchantment be ex" 
cepted, would be felt by him, who, wandering in the moun- 
tains without a guide, or upon the sea without a pilot, hhoold 
be carried, amidst his terror and uncertainty, to the bospKalitf 
and elegance of Raasay or Dunveiran " 



176 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note N. 

tVith solemn step and silver wand. 
The Senrsckat the presence scaniCd 
Of these strange guests. — P. 423. 

T'.ie Sewer, to wliom, rather than the Seneschal, the office 
0f arranging tlie guests of an island chief appertained, was an 
officer of importance in the family of a Hebridean chief, — 
Every family had commonly two stewards, which, in their 
angnage, were called ^Alarischal Tach : tlie tirst of these served 
always at home, and was obliged to be versed iu the ptdigree 
jf ail the .ribes in tlie isles, and in the highlands of Scotland ; 
for it was his province to assign every man at table his seat ac- 
cording to his quality ; and this was done withoct one word 
speaking, only by drawing a score with a white rod, which 
this Marischal had in his hand, before the person who was 
bid by liirn to sit down : and this was necessary to prevent 
disorder and contention ; and though the Marischal might 
EOmetimes be mistaken, the master of the family incurred no 
censure by such an escape ; but tlus custom has' been laid 
a^ide of late. They had also cup-bearers, wlio always filled 
and carried tiie cup round the company, and he himself always 
drank ofl'the first draught. They had likewise purse-masters, 
who kept tliL-ir money. Botli these officers had an hereditary 
right to their office in writing, and each of tliem liad a town 
and land for his service ; some of those rights I liave seen fairly 
written on good parchment'." — Martin's Western Isles. 



Note 0. 



the rebellious Scottish crew, 

Who to Rath-Erin^ s shelter drew 
With Carrick^a outlawed Chief?— V. 



424. 



It must be remembered by all who have read the Scottish 
history, that after he had slam Comyn at Dumfries, and assert- 
ed his riglit Id the Scottish crown, Robert Bruce was reduced 
to the greatest extremity by the English and their adherents. 
lie was crowned at Scone by the general consent of the Scot- 
tish barons, but his authority endured hut a short time. Ac- 
-'Ording to the phrase said to have been used by his wife, he 
was for that year " a summer king, but not a winter one." 
'Jn the 29tli March, 1306, he was crowned king at Scone. 
Upon the 19rh June, in the same year, he was totally defeated 
at Methven, near Perth ; and his most important adherents, 
witli few exceptions, were either executed, or coropelled to 
embrace the English interest, for safety of thpir lives and foi^ 
tunes. After this disaster, his life was that of an outlaw, 
rather than a oa^ndidate for monarchy. He scjiarated himself 
trom tho females of his retinue, whom lie sent for safety to the 
Castle of Kildrunimie, in Aberdeenshire, wiierc they afterwards 
became captives to England. From Aberdeenshire, Bruce 
retreated to the mountainous parts of Breadalbane, and ap- 
proached the borders of Argyleshire. There, as mentioned in 
tlie Appendix, Note H, and more fully in Note P, he was de- 
feated by the Lord of Lorn, who had assumed arms against 
him in revenge o\' the death of his relative. John the Red Co- 
myn. Escaped from this peril, Bruce, with his few attendants, 
subsisted by hunting and fishing, until the weather compelled 
th6m to seek better sustenance and shelter than the Highland 
mountains afforded. With great difficulty they crossed, fiom 
Rowardeunau probably, to the western banks of Lochlomond, 
partly in a Miserable boat, and partly by swimming. The 
vanant and loya. Earl of Lennox, to whose territories they had 
now found their way, welcomed them with tears, but was un- 
ible to assist ihera to make an effectual head. The Lord of 
the Isles, then in possession of great part of Cantyre, received 
4c fogitive monarch and future restorer of his country's inde- 



pendence, in his castle of Dunnaverty, in that distiict. Bu 
treason, says Barbour, was so general, that the King durst nui 
abide there. Accordingly, with the remnant of his followcBi, 
Bruce embarked for Ratli-ErJn, or Rachrine, the Recina ol 
Ptolemy, a small island lying almost opposite to l!ie sliores ol 
Ballycastle, on the coast of Ireland. The islanders at first flee 
from tlieir new and armed guests, but upon some explanation 
submitted themselves to Brnce's sovereii^nty. He resided 
among them until the approach of spring [1306], when hu 
again returned to Scotland, with the desperate resolution to rc> 
conquer his kingdom, or perish in the attempt. Tlie progreat 
of his success, from its commencement to its completion, form! 
the brightest period in Scottish history. 



Note P. 



The Brooch of Lorn.— P. 424. 

It has been generally mentioned in the preceding notes, thai 
Boberi Bruce, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed 
by the English, eodeavored, witli the dispirited remnant ol 
his followers, to escape from Breadalbane and the mountaini 
of Perthshire into the Argyleshire Highlands. But he was en- 
countered and rejiulsed, after a very sevi-re engagement, by !i 
the Lord of Lorn. Bruce's personal strength and courage ; 
were never displayed to greater advantage than in this coii' , 
flict. There is a tradition in the family of the Mac-Dougalsof 
Lorn, that tJieir chieftain engaged in personal battle wiUi i 
Bruce himself, while the latter was employed in protecting i 
the retreat of his men ; that Mac-Dougal was struck down by i 
the king, whose strength of body was equal to his vigor of 
mind, and would have been slain on the spot, had not two of . 
Lorri's vassals, a father and son, whom tradition terms Mac- 
Keoch, rescued him, by seizing the mantle of the monarch, and ■ 
dragging him from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of 
these foes by two blows of his redoubled battle-axe, but waa 
so closely pressed by the other followers of Lorn, that he was. 
forced to abandon the mantle, and brooch whicli fastened it, 
clasped in the dying grasp of the Mac-Keochs. A studded 
brooch, said to have been that which King Robert lost npon i 
this occasion, was long preserved in the family of Mac-Dougal, ■ 
and was lost in a fire which consumed tlieir temporary resi 
dence. 

The metrical history of Barbour throws an air of credibility ' 
upon the tradition, allhongh it does not entirely coincide eitliet" 
in tlie names or Tmiiiber of the vassals by whom Bruce was 
assailed, and makes no mention of the personal danger of Lorn,' 
or of the loss of Bruce's mantle. The last cin^umstaiice, inr( 
deed, might be warrantably omittetl. i| 

According to Barbour, the King, with his handful of fol-|l 
loivcrs. not amounting probably to three Iiundred men, en",! 
countered Tjorn with about a thousand Argyleshire men, ii;. 
Glen-Douchart, at the head of Breadalbane, near Teyiulniin i 
The place of action is still called Dairy, or the King's Ficll 
The field of battle wa-s unfavoi \'i)le to Bruce's adliereuU* ' 
who were chiefly men-at-arms. Minyof the horses wero8laii,[ 
b.y the long pole-axes, of winch the Argyleshire Scottish im' i 
learned the use from the Norwegians. At length Bruce com 
manded a retreat op a narrow and difficult -lass.he lumself briii;: . 
ing up the rear, and repeatedly turning anl driving b.ick th . 
more venturous assai'^'.nts. Lorn, observi^ig ihe skill and val 
or used by his enemy in protecting the retreat of his fol'oW' ■ 
ers, " Methinks, Murthokson," said he, addressing one of h i 
followers, *'he resembles Gol Mak-morn, jirotecting Ids Jo. 
lowers from Fingal." — " A most unworthy comparison." ol 
serves the Archdeacon of Aberdeen, unsuspicious of the futiii i 
fame of these names ; "he might with more propriety ha» 
compared the King to Sir Gaudefer de Layrs, protecting ti 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47V 



fofB^er? of Gadyrs against the attacks of Alexander.'*! Two 
brotlien, the stroriifst among Lorn's followen), whose names 
Bftrbour calls Mackyn-Drosscr (inter(>rtted Durward, or I'or- 
lerwii), resotvod lo rid their chief of this forniidabli! foe. A 
'hini person (perhaps the Mac-Keoch of the family tradition) 
law'ialed himself with them for this purpose. They watclied 
their opportunity until Bruce's party had entfrcd a pass be- 
fv'fn a lake (Loch Dochart probablyj ami a precipice, wliere 
Lie King, who was the last of thi? party, had scarce room to 
Bianage his steed. Here lits three foes sprung Dpon him at 
»nce. One seized his bridle, but reci-ired a wound which 
hewed ofThia arm ; a second grasped Bruce by the stirrup and 
leg, aiul end»'avore<i to chsmount him, but th(> King, potting 
•pum to his horse, threw him down, still holding by the stirrup. 
The t}iird, taking advantage of an acclivity, sprung up be- 
hind him upon his horse. Brace, however, whose personal 
rtrenglh is uniformly mentioned as exceeding that of most 
iDen, extricated himself from his grasp, threw him to the 
ground, and cleft his skull witii his swont. By similar ex- 
ertion he drew the stirrup from his grasp whom he liad 
overthrown, and killed Iiim also witli his sword as he 
lay among the horse's feet. The story seems romantic, but 
thb was the age of romantic exploit ; and it must be remem- 
bered that Bruce was armed cap-a-pie, and the assailants were 
half-clad mountaineers. Barbour adds the following circum- 
ilance, highly characteristic of the sentiments of chivalry 
Mac-Naughton, a Baron of Cowal, pointed out to the Lord of 
Lorn the deeds of valor which Bruce performed in this mem- 
Brabri retreat, with the highest expressions of admiration. 
" It seems to give thee pleasure," said Lorn, " that he 
makes such havoc among our friends." — " Not so, by my 
faith," replied Mac-Naughton ; " but ^^ he friend or foe who 
achieves high deeds of chivalrr, men should bear faitliful wit- 
ness to his valor ; and never have I heard of one, who, by his 
knightly feats, has extricated himself from such dangers as 
have tills day surrounded Bruce." 



Note Q. 

Wrought and chased vMh fair device, 
Studded fair with gems of price. — P. 434. 

Great art and expense was bestowed upon the fibula, or 
hfooch, which secured the plaid, when the wearer was a per- 
»on of importance. Martin mentions having seen a silver 
brooch of a hundred marks value. " It was broad as any or- 
dinary pewter plate, the whole curiously engraven with various 
animals, &c. There was a lesser buckle, which was wore in 
the middle of the larger, and above two ounces weight ; it had 
In Uie centre a large piece of crystal, or some finer stone, and 
this was set all round with several finer stones of a lesser size." 
— Western Islands. Pennant has given an engraving of such 
a brooch as Martin describes, and the workmanship of which 
■ very elegant. It is said to have belonged to the family of 
Lochbuy. — See Pennant's Tour, vol. iii. p. 14 



in that unfortunate skirmish. He married Marjcrie, sister to 
^ Robert Bruce, and was among nis most faithful follower9. Id 
a manuscript account of Ihe house of Argyle, supplied, it 
would seem, as materials for Archbishop f-pottiswoode's His 
tory of the Church of Scotland,* find the following passage 
concerning Sir Niel Campbell : — " Moreover, when all the no- 
bles in Scotland had left King RoUert after his hard success, 
yet this noble knight was most faithful, and shrinked not, ai 
it is to be seen in an indenture bearing these a ordf . — Memo- 
randum quod cum ab incaniatione Domini 1308 ci\ne%iM.m 
fuit i-t concordatum inter mobiles Kiros Dominum vf^exan* 
drum de Scatoun mititcm et Dominum Qiibcrtum de Hayt 
militcm et Dominum J*figellum Campbell viilitcm apud mo* 
nasteriuvi de. Cambuskenncth 9'^ Septcmbris qui tot.z, rancta 
eucharista, magnoque juramcnto facto, jurarunt se aebere 
libertatem regni ct liabcrtum nuper rrgcm coronatum antra 
omnes morlales Francos Anglos Scotos defcndere usque ad 
ultimum terminum vitw ipsoram. Their sealles are appended 
to the indenture in greene wax, togithir with the seal of Go' 
frid. Abbot of Cambuskenneth." 



Note R. 



/'am was then the Pouglas brand — ■ 

yain the CampbeWs vaunted hand. — P. 434. 

The gallant Sir James, called the Good Lord Douglas, the 
■Ort faithful and valiant of Bruce's adherents, was wounded 
it the battle of Dairy. Sir Nigel, or Niel Campbell, was also 
I 

il Thi» ie 3 very curious passage, and has been oftt^n quotod ia 
^ Hie Oasiiinic controversy. That it refers to ancient Celtic tradition, there 
I SB be no doubt, and as little that it rcfiTs to no incident in the poenu 
' <«.Uklt<-d bj Mr. MacphersoD as from the Gaelic. The hero of romance. 



Note S. 



When Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide The Bruce.~P. 421 
F'ain Kirkpatrick^ s bloody dirk, 
Making sure of murder^ s work, — P. 424. 

Every reader must recollect that the proximate cause o 
Bruce's asserting his right to the crown of Scotland, was the 
death of John, callad the Red Comyn. The causes of this 
act of violence, equally extraordinary from the liigh rank both 
of tlie perpetrator and sufferer, and from the place where the 
slaughter was committed, are variously related by the Scottish 
and Englibh historians, and cannot now be ascertained. The 
fact that they met at the high altar of the Minorites, or Grey. 
friar's Church in Dumfries, that their difference brojte out into 
high and insulting languiige, and that Bruce drew his dagger 
and stabbed Comyn, is certain. Rushing to the door of the 
church, Bruce met two ]>owerful barons, Kirkpai.ick of Close 
burn, and James de Lindsay, who eagerly asked him whal 
tidings ? '* Bad tidings," answered Bruce ; " I donbt I have 
slain Comyn." — " Doubtest thou?" said Kirkpatrick ; "1 
make sicker" (i. e, sure). WitJi these words, he and Lindsay 
rushed into the church, and despatched the wounded Comyn. 
The Kirkpatricks of Closeburn assumed, in niemoi/ of thi 
deed, a hand holiHiig a dagger, with the memorable words, " I 
make sicker." Some doubt having been started by the lalt 
Lord Hailes as to the identity of the Kirkpatrick who com 
pleted this day's work with Sir Roger then representative ». 
the ancient family of Closeburn, my kind and ingenious '"•ienti 
Mr. Charles Kirkpairicke Sharpe. has furnished me with th , 
following memorandum, wliich appears to fix the "leed w'*,i 
his ancestor : — 

"The circumstances of the Regent Cummin's ra|irder, ujm 
which the family of Kirkpatrick, in Nithsdale, is said to iia^ I 
derived its crest and motto, are well known to all ccnvt-rsajl 
with Scottish history ; but Lord Hailes has started n loabt ui 
to the authenticity of this tradition, when recording' the Uixxt- 
der of Roger Kirkpatrick, in his own Castle of Cacrlaverock, 
by Sir James Lindsay. ' Fordun,' says his .ordship, 'remarks 
that Lindsay and Kirkpatrick were the heirs of the two men 
who accompanied Robert Brus at the fatal conference with 
Comyn. If Fordun was rightly informed as to this particu- 
lar, an argument arises, in support of a noti/»n which I haT« 

whom Barbour thinks a mere proper prototype for the Bruco, occura m the 
romance of Alexander, of which there is u uniqne trnttstntion into Scottish 
vene, w the library of the Honourable Mr. Maule, now Earl of Pjff- 
mure."— See WsesK's Romances, vol. i. Appendix lo IntroducUon. p. Ui 



t78 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



o-^ entertained, that llie person who struck his dagger in Co- 
myii's heart, was not the re]ireseiitative of the honourable 
family of Kirkpatrick in Nithsdale. Roger tie K. was made 
prisoner at die battle of Durham, in 1340. Roger de Kirkpat- 
rick was alive on the Gth of August, 1357 ; for, on that day, 
Humphry, the son and lieir of Roger de K., is proposed as one 
of the young gentlemen who were to be hortages for David 
Bruce. Roger de K. Miles was pre-sent at the parliament held 
ir. Edinburgh, 25th September. 1357. and he is mentioned as 
alive 3d October, 1357 (Ficdera) ; it follows, of necessary con- 
•eijivence, that Roger de K., murdered in June, 1357, must have 
teen a dlirereot person.'— ^n7ifl;s of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 242. 
■' To (his it may be answered, tliat at the period of the re- 
gent's murder, there were only two families of the name of 
Kirkjialrick (nearly allied to each other) in existence — Stephen 
Kirkpatrick, styled in the Chartulary of Kelso (1278) Domi- 
nus villas de Closeburn, Filius ct kmrcs Domini ^dcde Kirk- 
patrick, JJilitis (whose father, Ivone de Kirkpatrick, wit- 
nesses a charter of Robert Brus, Lord of Annandale, before 
the year 1141;, had two sons, Sir Roger, who carried on the 
line of Clo?eburn, and Duncan, who married Isobel, daughter 
and heiress of Sir David Torthorwald of that Ilk ; they had a 
charter of the lands of Torthorwald from King Robert Brus, 
dated 10th August, the year being omitted — Umpbray, the 
?on of Duncan and Isobel, got a charter of Torthorwold from 
the king, 16th July, 1322— bis son. Roger of Torthorwold, got 
a charter from John the Grahame, son of Sir John Grahame, 
of Moske=sen. of an annual rent of 4(1 shillings, ont of the 
lands of Overdryft. 1355— his son, William Kirkpatrick, grants 
a charter to John of Garroch, of the twa merk land of Glengip 
and Garvellgill, within the tenement of Wampbray, 22d 
April, 1372. From this, it appeai-s that tlie Torthorwald 
branch was not concerned in the affair gf Comyn's murder, 
and tlie inflictions of Providence which ensued : Duncan 
Kirkpatrick, if we are to believe the Blind Minstrel, was the 
firm friend of Wallace, to whom he was related : — 

' Ane Kyrk Patrick, that cruel was and keyne, 
In Esdail wod that half yer he bad beyne ; 
With Ingliss men he couth nocht weyll accord. 
Off Torthorowald he Barron was and Lord, 
Off kyn he was, and Wallace modyr ner ;' — &c. 
B. v., V. 920. 

But '.rii!. baron seems to have had no share in the adventures 
of King Robert ; the crest of his family, as it still remains on a 
carved stone built into a cottage wall, in the village of Tor- 
thorwald, bears some resemblance, says Grose, to arose. 

" Universal tradition, and all our later Iiistonans, have at- 
tributed the regent's death-blow to Sir Poger K., of Closeburn. 
The author of the MS. History of the Presbytery of Penpont, 
in the Advocates' Library, affirms, that the cre-»t and motto 
were given by the King on that occasion ; find proceeds to re- 
late some circumstances respecting a grant to a cottager and 
his wife in tlie vicinity of Closeburn Castle, which are cer- 
tainly authentic, and strongly vouch for the truth of the other 
report. 'The steep hill,' says he, 'called the Dune of Tyn- 
ruij, af a considerable height, upon the top of which there 
natb hentn some habitation or fort. There Iiave been in an- 
cient limes, on all hands of it, very thick woods, and great 
about that place, which made it the more inaccessible, into 
.vhiidi K. Ro. Bruce is said to have been conducted by Ro^er 
Kirk[tutrick, of Closeburn, after they had killed the Cumin at 
Duniiricss. which is nine miles from this place, whereahoot it 
js prohable that be did abide for some time thereafter ; and it 
B reported, that during his abode tlierc. he did often divert to 
!i poor man's cottage, named Brownrig, sitciLe in a small par- 
cel of stony ground, encompassed with thick woods, where he 
was content sometimes with such mean accommodation as the 
fdace could afford. The poor man's wife being advised ti'«e- 
itiov tlie King for somewh-.t, v/\3 so modest in .,sr desi?ea, 



that she sought no niorf "out iec'-.ni- tor llie -roP in hsr ht» 
band's possession, ant' a 'loert/ o"" pascurage for a very few 
cattle of different i-'.nd' jn t!.e l-J, and the re^t of the bounds 
01 which privilege tliat aiic'^nt family, by the injury of time, 
hath a long time been, and is, deprived : but the croft contiii 
ues in the possession of the heirs and successoars lineally de. 
scended of this Brownrig and his wife: so that this family, 
being more ancient than rich, dolli yet continue in the name, 
and, as they say, retains the old cliarter." — JUS History o) 
the Presbytery of Penpont, in the Advocate** Library oj 
Edinburgh. 



X^OTE T. 

Barendown Jled fast away. 

Fled thLjicry De la Haye.—P. 424. 

These knights are enumerated by Barbour among the smaE 
n imber of Bruce's adherents, who remained in anna witii him 
after the battle of Methven. 

" Witli him was a bold baron, 
Scbyr William the Baroundouo, ' 

Schyr Gilbert de la Haye alsua." 

There were more than one of the noble famil> of Hay engaged 
in Bruce's cause; but the principal was Gilbert de la Haye, 
Lord of Errol, a stanch adherent to King Robert's intereat, 
and whom he rewarded by creating him liereditary Lord High 
Constable of Scotland, a title wliicb be used IGtb March. 1308, 
where, in a letter from tlie peers of Scotland to Philip '.ha 
Fair of France, he is deidgned Oilbrrtus d" Hny Conslabur 
lariits ScotiiE. He was slain at the baitle of HaUdoun-hiU. 
Hugh de la Haye, his brother, was made prifiouer at the battle 
of iVIethven. 



Note U. 



li^fll hast thou framed, Old Many thy strains, 
To praise the hand that pays thy pains.—P. 425, 

The character of the Highland bards, however high In sc 
earlier period of society, seems soon to have degenerated 
The [rish affirm, that in their kindred tribes severe laws be- 
came necessary to restrain their avarice. In the Highlandi 
they seem gradually to have sunk into conienipt, as well as 
the orators, or men of speech, with whose office that of family 
poet was often united. — " The orators, in their language called 
Isdanc. were in high esteem both in thcs> islands and the con- 
tinent ; until within tliese forty years, tJn'y sat always amonj; 
the nobles and chiels of families Jn the sireah, or circle 
Their houses and little villages were sanctuaries, as well ai 
churches, and they took place before doHors of physick. 
The orators, after the Druids were extinct, were brought in 
to preserve the genealogy of families, and to repeat the same 
at every succession of chiefs ; and upon the occasion of .map 
riages and births, they made epiihalaminms and panegyncks, 
which the poet or bard pronounced. The orators, by the force 
of -tbeir rloquence, had a powerful ascendant over the ereatt-sl - 
men in their time; for if any orator did bat ask the habit 
arms, horse, or any other thing belonging to the greatest man 
in tliese islands, it was readily granted them, sometimes out 
of respect, and sometimes for fear of being exclaimed ag.iin«t 
by a satyre, which, in those days, was reckoned a great dis- 
honour. But these gentlemen becoming insolent, lost e\et 
since both the profit and esteem vWiich was formerly due la 
their character ; for neither their panegyricks nor satyres are 
regarded to what they have been, and they ire now allowed 
but a small salary. I mnst not omit to relate their way oi 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



479 



lody, which b very singular: Tliey shut their doors and 
vjndu"'!* for a day's time, an<l lie on thi^ir backs, with a stone 
l|ton tliPU bflly. f-tid pbuls :iboul their lieads, and their eyes 
jeiiig covered, they [niniji their brains for rhetorical encoininni 
or iwiiegyrick ; and indeed they furnish such a style from tliis 
iuk cell as is underatuoil by very few ; and if they purcliase a 
_«uple of horses as the reward of their meditation, they think 
idey have done a ?rciu inatter: The poet, or bard, had a title 
ID the brideg.-oora's upper garb, that is, the plad and bonnet ; 
bol nov^ he is satisfied with what the bridegroom pleases to 
pve him on each occasions." — Martin's fVcstcrn Isles. 



Note Y. 



H'as't not enough to Ronald's bower 
I brought thee, like a paramour. — P. 427. 

It was anciently customary in the Highlands to bring the 
bride to the house of the husband. Nay, in some eases the 
complaisance was stretched so far, that she remained there 
npon trial for a twelvemonth ; and the bridegroom, even after 
this period of cohabitation, retained an option of refusing to 
falOl his engagement. It is said that a desperate feud ensued 
between the clans of Mac-Donald of j^leate and Mac-Leod, 
owing to the former chief having availed himself of this license 
to send back to Dunvegan a sister, or daughter of the latter. 
Mac-Leod, resenting the indignity, observed, that since tliere 
was no wedding bonfire, there should be one to solemnize the 
divorce. Accordingly, he burned and laid waste the territories 
•f Mac-Donald, who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all its 
ucorapani meats, took place in form. 



Note W. 



*tncc metchless Wallace jirst had been 

In mockery crowned loUh wrraths of green. — P. 427. 

tflow gives 'he following curious account of the trial and 

execution of this celebrated ])atriot : — "William Wallace, 

who had ofl-tiraes set Scotlani! in great trouble, was taken and 

brought to London, with great numbers of men and women 

woodoring upon him. lie was lodged in the house of William 

Delect, a citizen of London, in Fcncliurch-street. On the 

morrow, being the eve of >t. Bartholomew, he was brought on 

Jiorecback to Westminster. John Legrave and Geflrey, knights, 

the mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen of London, and many others, 

Jraih on horseback and on foot, accompanying him ; and in 

-'■■nt hall at Westminster, he being placed on the south 

<.TOwn''d with laurel, for tliat he had said in times past 

ought to bear a crown in that hall, as it was commonly 

1 ; and being appeaeiied for a traitor by Sir Peter Malo- 

kJng's justice, he answered, that he was never traitor 

King of England ; hut for other things whereof he was 

:. he confessed lliem ; and was after headed and quar^ 

" — Stow. C'hr. p. 209. There is sometbing singularly 

:oabtful about the mode in whicli Wallace was taken. That 

'« WM betrayed to the Engli^h is indubitable; and popular 

ame charges Sir John Menteith with the indelible infamy. 

Accursed." saj-s Arnold Blair. •' be the day of nativity of 

ohn de Mcnteith, and may his name be struck out of the book 

f life." Bu* Johnde Menleitii was all along a zealous favorer 

f the ^cglish interest, and was governor of Diimb.irtoo Castle 

y commis^tMi from Edward the Firet ; and therefore, as the 

:cQrate Lord Hatles has observed, could not be the friend and 

infidant r.f Wallace, as tradition states him to be. The truth 

enuto br. that .'\IiMiteith, thoroughly engaged in the English 

ter^., pnrmeil Wallace closely, and mad« him prisoner 

roupb the ireaciurj of •"> af'-ndan' whom Peter Langtort 

■^s JacI Short 



" AVilliam Waleis is nomen that master was of thevea, 

Tiding to the king i« conien that robbery mischejves, 

Sir John of Menelest sued William so nigh, 

He tok him when he ween'd least, on night, his lemao 

him by. 
That was tlirough treason of Jack Short his man, 
He was the eneheson that Sir John so him ran, 
Jack's brother had he slain, the WalleiK that is said, 
The more Jack was fain to do William that l.Taid." 

From tliis it would appear that the infamy of seiring WuiAice 
must rest between a degenerate Scottish nobleman, the vassal ol 
England, and a domestic, the obscure agent of liis treachery ; 
between Sir John Menteith, son of Walter, Earl of Menteilh. 
and the traitor Jack Short. 



Note X. 



Whereas J^igel Bruce 7 and De la Haye, 
^nd valiant Seton — where are they 7 

Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
And Fraacr, flower of chivalry ? — P. 427. 

When these lines were written, the author was remote from 
the means of correcting his indistinct recollection concerning 
the individual fate of Bruce's followers, after the battle o( 
Methven. Hugh de la Haye, and Thomas Somerville of Lin 
tonn and Cowdally, ancestor of Lord Somerville, were bot^ 
made prisoners at that defeat, but neither was executed. 

Sir Nigel Bruce was the younger brother of Robert, to whr m 
he committed the charge of his wife and daughter, Marjorie, 
and the defence of his strong castle of Kildrummie, near the 
head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire, Kildrummie long resisted 
the arms of the Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, until the 
magazine was treacherously burnt. The garrison was theu 
compelled to surrender at discretion, and Nigel Bruce, -a youth 
rem;irkable for personal beauty, as well as for gallantry, fell 
into the hands of the unrelenting Edward. He was tried by a 
special commission at Berwick, was condemned, and executed, 

Cliristopher Se:itoun sliared the same unfortunate fate. He 
also was diRiinguished by personal valoV, and signalized him- 
self in the fatal battle of Metliven. Robert Bruce adventured 
his person in that battle like a knight of romance. He dis- 
mounted Aymer de Valence. Earl of Pembroke, but was in his 
turn dismounted by Sir Philip Mowbray. In this emergence 
Seatoun came to his aid, and reraounteil him, Langtoft men 
tions, that in this battle the Scottish wore white sur])lices, o 
shirts, over their armor, that those of rank might not be knowr 
In this manner both Bruce and Seatoun escaped. Bat iht 
latter was afterwards betrayed to the English, through means 
according to Barbour, of one MacNab, "a disciple of Judas.' 
in whom the unfortunate knight reposed entire confidence 
There was some peculiarity respecting his punishment : be- 
cause, according to Matthew of Westminster, he was consid- 
ered not as a Scottish subject, but an Englishman. Ht wax 
therefore taken to Dumfries, where he was tried condemned, 
and executed, for tlie murder of a soldier slain by liim. HU 
brother, John de Seton. had the same faie at Newcastle *■ 'yiolh 
were considered as accomplices in tJie slaughter of Corny* foi 
in wliat manner they were particularly accessory to that tfeeu 
does not appear. 

The fate of Sir Simon Frazer, or Frizel, ancesto of the 
family of Lovat, is ilwelt upon at great length, and with savrigc 
exultation, by the English historians. Tliis knight, who wa;' 
renowned for personal gallantry, and high deeds of chivalry, 
was also made prisoner, after a gallant defence, in the bat-tl*" 
of Methven, ^omc stanzas of a ballad of the limes, whitih, 
for the sake of rendering it intelligible, I have translated oul 
of its rude orthogr:»()liy. give minute particulars of his fate 
It was written immediately at the jierioil, for it mentions th 
Earl af AtJtole as not yet in custody. It was firat publis'x-J 



480 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



bj the indefatigable Mr. Ritson, but with ao many contrac- 
tiODii a^d peculiarities of character, as to render it illegible, 
ficeptmg by antiquaries, 

" This was before Saint Bartholomew's mass, 
That Frizel was y-taken, were it more other less, 
To Sir Thomas of Multon, geatil baron and free. 
And to Sir Jolian Jose be-take tho was he 
To band 
He was y-fettered wele 
Roth with iron and with steel 

To bripgen of Scotland. 

' Hoon tnereafter the tiding to the tdnj; come, 
He sent him to London, with mony nrmed groom, 
He came in at Newgate. I tell you it on a-plight, 
A garland of leaves on liis head y-dight 

Of green. 
For he should be y-know. 
Both of high and low, 

For traitour I ween. 

• y-feltcred were his legs under his horse's wombe, 
Both with iron and with steel mancled were his hond, 
A garland of pervynk^ set upon his heved,'* 

Mnch was the power that him was bereved. 
In land. 
So God me amend. 
Little he ween'd 

So to be brought in hand. 

• This was upon our lady's even, forsooth I nnderstand, 
The justices sate for the knights of Scotland, 

Sir Thomas of Multon, an kinde knvght and wise. 
And Sir Ralph of Sandwich that mickle is told in price 
And Sir Johan Abel, 
Moe I might tell by tale 
Both of great and of small 

Ye know sooth well. 

Then said the justice, that gcntil is and free. 
Sir Simon Frizel the king's traiter hast thoa be ; 
In water and in land that mony mighten see, 
What sayst thon thereto, how will thou quite thee, 
Do say. 
So fonl he him wist, 
Nede war on trust ' 

For to say nay. 

With fetters and with gives" y-hot he was to-draw 
From the Tower of London that many men might know. 
In a kirtle of burel. a selcouth wise, 
And a garland on his head of the new guise. 

Through Cheape 
Many men of England 
For to see Symond 

Thitherward can leap. 

Though he cam to the gallows tirst he was on hung. 
All quick beheaded that him thought long ; 
Then he was y-opened, his bowels y-brend.* 
The heved to London-bridge was send 

To shende. 
So evermore mote I the. 
Some while weened he 

Thus tittle to stand.« 

He rideth through the city, as I tell may. 

With gamen and with solace that was their play, 

I Periwmcklc. —3 Head. — 3 He was coodemced t? lie drawn. — 4 Burned. 
S U«ttumg, at CD9 Uioe be Uttlo thouglit to itood thui. — 6 viz. Saith 



To London-bridge he took the way, 
Mouy wad the wives child that thereon lacketh a day.* 
And said, alaa I 
That he was y-born 
And 80 vilely forelorn, 

So fair man he was,' 

" Now standeth the heved above the tu-brigge, 
Fast by Wallace sooth for to segge ; 
After succour of Scotland long may he pry. 
And after help of France what halt it to liq^ 
I ween. 
Better him were in Scotland, 
With his axe in his hand, 

To play on the green," &c 

The preceding stanzas contain probably as minute an accoai.1 
as can be found of the trial and cvecution of state criminals ut ' 
the period. Superstition mingled its horrors with fhosu of a fe- 
rocious state policy, a.s appears from the following singular nai* 
rative. 

"The Friday next, before t)ie assumption of Our Lad;, 
King Edward met Robert the Bruce at Saint Johnstoune, in 
Scotland, and with his company, of wliich company King Ed- 
ward quelde seven thousand- When Robert the Bruce saw 
this mischief, and gan to flee, and hov'd him that men might 
not him find ; but S. Simond Frisell pursued was so sore, so , 
that he turned again and abode bataille, for he was a worthy 
knight and a bolde of bodye, and the Englishmen pursuede 
him sore on every side, and qoelde the steed that Sir Simon 
Frisell rode upon, and then toke him and led him to the host. 
And S. Symond began for to flatter and speke fair, and saide, 
Lordys, I shall give you four thousand niarkes of silver, and 
myne horse and harness, and all my armoure and income. 
Tbo' answered Tliobaude of Pevenes, that \va.« the kinges i 
archer. Now, God me so heipe, it is for naught that thon speak- 
est, for all the gold of England I would not Itt thee go with- 
out commandment of King Edward. And tho' be was led to 
the King, and the King would not sec liim, hut commanded to 
lead him away to his doom in London, on Our Lady's even | 
nativity. And lie was hung and drawn, and his head smitteD 
off, and hanged again with chains of iron upon the gallows, 
and his head waa set at London-bridge upon a spear, and 
against Christmas the body was burnt, for encheson (reasan) 
that the men that keeped tho body saw many devils ramping 
with iron crooks, running upon the gallows, and horribly to^ 
menting the body. And many that them saw, anon thereaflel 
died for dread, or waxen mad, or sore sickness they had."— 
JUS. Chronicle in the British Museum^ quoted by Ritson. 



Note Y. 



Was not the life of Ji thole shed. 

To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed? — P. 428. 

John de Strathbogie. Earl of Athole, had attempted to es- 
cape out of the kingdom, but a storm cast him upon the coast, 
when be was taken, sent to London, and executed, with or 
cumstances of great barbarity, being 6rst half strangled, then 
let down from the gallows while yet alive, barbarously dismem- 
bered, and his body burnt. It may surprise the reader to leam, 
that this was a mitigated punishment ; for in respect that hii 
mother was a grand-daughter of King John, by his natural son 
Richard, he was not drawn on a sledge to execution, "thai 
point was forgiven," and he made the passage on horffebaoK. 
Matthew of Westminster tells us that King Edward, then ex- 
tremely ill, received great ease from the news that his relative 
was apprehended. " Quo audito, Rex Anglim, ctsi gravis 

Lack-a-day.— 1 The gallant knight, like othere in the aame situation, wr 
pitied by the female spectaton as " a proper young man.*' 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



481 



tim ; morbo tuns lan^erct, levius xomen tulit dotorem," To 
this singalar expression the text alludi's. 



Note Z. 



Jlnd must his word, till dying day. 

Be naught hut quarter, hang, and stay. — P. 428. 

This alludes to a [lassage in Barbour, singularly expressive of 
the vin<licti\e spirit of EJwanl I. The prisoners taken at the 
cattle of Kildrunimie haJ surrendered upon condition thaf tliey 
thonlil be at Kin^ Edward's disposal. " Bnt his vill," says 
Barbour. " was always evil towards Scottishmtn." The news 
of the surrender of Kildrunimie arrived when he was in his 
aortal sickness at Burgh-upon-Sands. 

*' And when he to the death was near, 
The folk that at Kyblromy wer 
Come with prisoners that they had tane, 
And syne to the king are gane. 
And for to comfort liim they tauld 
How they the castcll to tliera yajUld ; 
And hnw they till Ids will were brought. 
To do ofl'tlial whatever he thought ; 
.And ask'd what men should off them do. 
Then look'd he angryly tliem to, 
He said, grinning. ' h.vnos and draws. * 
That was wonder of sic saws. 
That he, tliat to the death was near, 
Sho'ild answer upon sic maner, 
Forouten moaning ami mercy; 
How might he trust on him to cry, 
That soolh-fastly dooms all thing 
To have mercy for his crying, 
Off him that, throw his felony. 
Into sic point had no mercy ?" 

There was much truth in the Leonine couplet, with which 
Matlliew of Westminster concludes his encomium on the first 
Bdward :— 

"Scotos Edwardus, dom vixit, suppeditavit, 
T«-aait, afflixit, depressit, dilaniavit.*' 



Note 2 A. 



While I the blessed cross advance, 
And expiate this unhappy chance. 
In Palestine, with sword and lance. — P. 428. 

Brace uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction 
^ having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaugh- 
ter of Comyn ; and finally, in his Ixf t houra, in testimony of his 
failh, penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas 
to cvry ^}'i httix to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the 
Hoiy Sepuicnre. 



Note 2 B.^ 

De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread 
Tovpcak my curse upon thy head. — P. 429. 

So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, 
3r2cc and his adherents were excommunicated. It was pub- 
i»hed ilrst by tlie. Archbishop of York, and renewed at differ- 
nt times, partiealarly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, 
a 1308; bnt it does not appear to have answered the purpose 
fhjch the English monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons 
'hich it may be difficilt to trace, the thunders of Rome de- 
61 



Bcended upon the .Scottish mountains %Vith less effect than in 
more fertile countries. Probably the comparative poverty o( 
the benefices occasioned that fewer foreign clergy settled in 
Scotland ; and the interest of tlie native churchmen weie 
linked with that of their country. Many of the Fcottish pr& 
lates, Lambyrton tlie primate particularly, declared for Bruce, 
while he was yet under the ban of the church, although H* 
afterwards again cliaogod sides. 



Note 2 C. 



/ feel vithin mine aged breast 
A power that will not be repressed. — P. 429. 
§ 

lEruce, like other heroes, observed omens, and one is recorded 
by tradition. After he had retreated to one of the miserable 
places of shelter, in which he could venture to take some re- 
pose after his disasters, he lay stretched upon a handful of 
straw, and abandoned himself to his melancholy meditations. 
He had now been defeated four times, and was upon the point 
of resolving to abandon all hopes of further opposition to hia 
fate, and to go to the Holy Land. It chanced, his eye, whilt 
he wa.s thus pondering, was attracted by the exertions of a spi- 
der, who. in order to fix his web, endeavored to swing himseli 
from one beam to another above his iiead. Involuntarily he 
became interested in the pertinacity with which the insect re 
newed his exertions, after failing six limes ; and it occurred l<* 
him that he Would decide his own course according to thesuo- 
cess or failure of the spider. At the seventh effort the insect 
gained his object ; and Bruce, in like manner, persevered aitd 
carried his own. Hence it has been held unlucky or ongrate* 
fol, or both, in one of the name of Bruce to kill a spider. 

The Archdeacon of Aberdeen, instead of the abbot of thii 
tale, introduces an Irish Pythoness, who not only predicted hii 
good fortune as he left the island of "Rachrin, bnt sent her tw« 
sons along with him. to insore her own family a share in '^ 

Then in schort time men mycht thaim se 

Sr'chute all thair galayis to the se. 

And ber to se baith ayr and sler. 

And othyr thingis that mystir' wei 

And as the king apon tlie sand 

Wes gan^and wp and doun, bidand^ 

Till that his menyo redy war. 

His 03t come rychttill him thar. 

And quhen that scho him halyst had, 

And priw6 spek till liim scho made ; 

And said, * Takis gud kep till my saw ; 

For or ye pass I sail you schaw. 

Off your fortoun a gret party. 

Bot our all speceally 

A wyttring her I sail yow hi**- 

Q,uhat end that your purposs sail «a 

For in this land is nane trewly 

Wate thingis to cum sa weill aa I. 

Ye pass now furth on your wiage. 

To wenge the harrae, and the owtrag. 

That Ingliss men has to yow done ; 

Bol ye wat nocht quhatkyne forton 

Ye mon drey in your werraying. 

Bot wyt ye weill, wiih outyn lesing. 

That fra ye now haiff takyn land, 

Nane sa mychty, na sa sirentli tlii of hand, 

Sail ger yow pass owt of y.'or countr6 

Till all to yc v abando.viiyt >e. 

Wilh in Fchot tyme ye siall Y>e kin/j, 

And haiff the land at your liking, 

And ourcum your fayis all. 

Bot fele anoyis thole ye sail, 

I Need.— 2 Abidin 



«82 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Or that yonr parposs end haiff tane : 
Bot ye sail tliaim ourdry ve ill.ane. 
And, that ye irow this sekerly, 
My twa feonnys with yow sail I 
Send to lak part of your trawaiU ; 
Fnr I wate Weill thai sail oocht fail! 
To be rewardyt weill at rycht, 
ftuhen ye a heyit to yowr mycht.' " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book iii., v. 85G. 



Note 2 D. 



^ hunted wanderer on the wild. 

On foreign shores a man exiled. — P. 429. 

This is not metaphorical. The echoes of Scotland did ac- 
tnally 

" ring 

With the bloodhounds that bayed for her fugitive king." 

A very curious and romantic tale is told hy Barbour upon this 
lobject, which may he abridged as follows ; — 

When Bruce had again got footing in Scotland in the spring 
of 130G, he continued to he in a very weak and precarious con- 
dition, gaining, indeed, occasional advantages, but obliged to 
fly before his enemies whenever they assembled in force. Upon 
one occasion, while he was lying with a small party in tlio 
wihis of Cumngck, in Ayrshire, Ayraer de Valence, Earl of 
Pembroke, with his inveterate foe John of Lorn, came against 
him suddenly with eight linndred Highlanders, brides a large 
body of men-at-arms. They brought with them a slough-dog, 
er bloodhound, which, some say, ba{l,«been once a favorite 
with tlie Bruce himself, ana therefore was least likely to lose 
the trace. 

Brnce, whose force was under four hundred men, continued 
to make head against the cavalry, itill the men of Lorn had 
nearly cut oli' his retreat. Perceiving the danger of his situa- 
tion, ne acted as the- celebrated and ill-requited Mina is said 
to have done in similar circumstances. He divided his force 
into three parts, appointed a place of rendezvous, and com- 
manded them to retreat by different routes. But when John 
of Lorn aiTived at the spot where they divided, he caused the 
hound to be put upon the trace, which immediately directed 
him to tile pursuit of that party which Bruce headed. This, 
therelbre. Lorn jiursued with his whole force, paying no at- 
tention to the others. The king again subdivided his small 
body into three parts, and with the same result, for the pur- 
suers attached themselves exclusively to that which he led in 
person. He llieii caused his follower;" :o disperse, and retained 
only ids fostei^brother in his company. The slough-dog fol- 
lowed the trace, and, neglecting the others, attached himself 
and his attendai.U to the pursuit of the king. Lorn became 
convinced that his enemy was nearly in his power, and de- 
tached five of his most active attendants to follow him, and 
intcrropl his flight They did so with all the agility of moun- 
taineera "Wha, aid wilt thou make?" said Bruce to his 
riijU attendant, when he saw the five men gain ground on 
bun " The best I can," replied his foster-brother. '* Then,'* 
MP: Bruce, ' here I make my stand." The five pursuers 
nme up fast. The King took three to himself, leaving the 
ether ^wo to his foster-brother. He slew the first who en- 
eOHCtered him ; but observing his fostei^brother hard pressed, 
he sprung to his assistance, and dispatched one of his assail- 
ants. 1 .caving him to deal with the survivor, he returned 
apon the other two, both of whom he slew before his foster- 
L.-ather had dispatched his single antagonist. When this hard 
fncoutter was over, with a courtesy, which in the whole work 
marks Bruce's character, lie thanked his foster-brother for his 
aid. " it likes you to say so," answered his follower ; " but 
you y jurself slew four of the five." — " True," said the king, 

but onl} 'lecause I had bitter op '>nunity tlian you. They 



were not apprehensive of me when they saw me enconntfj 
three, so I had a moment's time to spring to thy aid, and in 
return equally unexpectedly upon my own opponents." 

In the mean while Lorn's party approached rapidly, and the 
king and his foster-brother betook themselves to a neighboring 
wood. Here they sat down, for Bruce was exhausted by 
fatigue, until the cry of the slougli-hound came so near, that 
his foster-brother entreated Bruce to provide for his safety by 
retreating further. *' I have heard," answered the king, " that 
whosoever will wade a bow-shot length down a n-nuing stream, 
shall make the slough-hound lose scent. — Let us try the exjjer- 
iment, for were yon devilish hound silenced. J should care 
little for the rest." 

. Lorn in the mean while advanced, and found the bodies ol 
his slain vassals, over whom he made his moan, and threat- 
ened the most deadly vengeance. Then he followed the houni 
to the side of the brook, down whi^h the king had waded a 
great way. Here the hound was at fault, and John of Lorn, 
after long attempting in vain to recover Bruce's trace, relio- 
quished tlie pursuit. 

" Others," says Barbour, " affirm, that upon this occasion 
the king's life was saved by an excellent archer who accompa- 
nied him, and who perceiving they would be finally taken by 
means of the blood-hound, hid himself in a thicket, and shot 
him with an arrow. In which way," adds the metrical biog* 
rapher, " this escape happened I am uncertain, but at that 
brook the king escaped from his pursuers." 

" Quhen the chasseris relyt war, 
And Jlion of Lorn had met tliaim ihar. 
He tauld Sjrhyr Aymer all the cass 
How that the king eschapyt wass ; 
And how that he his five men slew. 
And syne to the wode him drew. 
Q,ulien Scliyr Aymer herd this, in hy 
He sanyt him for the ferly : 
And said ; ' He is grelly to pryss ; 
For I knaw nane that liffand is, 
That at myscheyft'gan help him swa 
I trow he sutil be liard to sla. 
And he war bodyn' ewynly.' 
On this wiss spak Schyr Aymery." 

Barbour's liruce. Book v., v. 391. 

The English historians agree with Barbour as to the mode 
in which the English pursued Bruce and his followers, and 
the dexterity with which he evaded them. The following is 
the testimony of Harding, a great enemy to the Scottish na 
tion : — 

" The King Edward with boost hym sought full sore, 
But ay he fled into woodes and sirayte forest. 
And slewe his men at staytes and daungers ihore, 
And at marreys and mires was ay full prest 
Ecglyshmen to kyll wiKioutyn any rest ; 
In the mounlaynes and cragges he slew ay where 
And in tin.- nyght his foes he frayed full sere ; 

■" The King Edward with homes and houndes hira toghl, 
With menne on fote, through marris, mosse, and niyre, 
Through wodes also, and mountens (wlier ihei fought), 
And ener the Kyngi|*Edward bight men greatehyre. 
Hym for to take and by myght conquere ; 
But Uiei might hym not gette hy force ne by jfain. 
He satte by the fyre when thei went in the rain," 

Hardyng's Ckronicle, pp. 303-4^ 

Peter Langtoft has also a passage concerning the extremitiei | 
to which K' tg Robert was reduced, which he entitles 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



48c 



De Roberto Tirus ev fiiga eircum circa Jit, 
A.iH wele [ UDi'fretoJp that the Kyng Rohyn 
Has ilrunken of that bloile tin* drink of Dan Waryn. • 
Dan Waiyn he les touiies that he hehi, 
With wrong lie mad a res, and iin^lKryiig ofscheld, 
Sitlier iiilo the foR-st he j udi' naked and wode, 
AIs a wiUI hf'ast, ute of the gras that stoiie. 
Thus of Dan Waryn in his boke men rede, 
Gud gyf the King Ro\)yn. that alle his kynde so spede, 
Sir Rubynet the Brus he durst Doure abide, 
That ihei mad hjm restus, both in more and wod-side, 
T« wliile he mad this train, and did umwhite ootrage," &c. 
Pkter Langtoft's Chronicle, vol. ii. p. 335, 
«vo. London, 1810. 



JCOTE 2 E. 

For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 

A pirate sworn was Cormac Doit. — P. 430. 

A sort of persons common in the isles, as may be easily be- 
Beved. until tlie introduction of civil polity. Witness the 
Pean of the Isl«' account of Ronay. *' At the north end of 
Raarsay, be half myle of sea frae it, layes ane ile callit Ronay, 
maire then a myle in lengthe, full of wood and heddir, with 
ane havein for heilaad galeys in the middis of it, and the same 
.Savein is guid for fostering of iheives, ruggairs. and reivairs, 
till a nail, upon the peiiling and spulzeingof poor pepill. This 
Ue perteins to M'Gillych^allan of Raarsay by force, and to tlie 
bishope of the ilea be heritage." — Sir Donald Monrv s 
Description of the Wistem Islands of Scotland, Edinburgh, 
»805, p. 2a. 



Note 2 F. 



Alas! dear youth, the unhappy timr,'* 
Hnswer^d the Bruce, " must bear the crime. 

Since, guiltier far than ijou. 
Even I" — he paused ; for Faikirk^s woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose. — P. 431, 

1 have fol'owed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that 
Bruce fought against Wallace, and ihe array of Scotland, at 
the fatal battle of Falkirk. The ;tory. which seems to have 
DO better authority than that of Blind Harry, bears, that hav- 
ing made much elanghler daring^lie engagement, he sat down 
to dine with the conquerors without washing tJie filthy witness 
from hi3 hands. 

" Fasting he was, and had been in great need, 
Blooded were all his weapons and his weed ; 
Southeron lords scorn'd him in terms rude, 
And said, Behold yon Scot eaLs his own blood. 

" Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known, 
That blood and land alike shoald b^ his own ; 
With them he long was, ere he got away. 
But contrair Scots he fought not from that day.'* 

Che account given by most of onr historians, of tlie conversa- 
lion between Bruce and Wallace over the Carron river, is 
eqna..^ apocryphal. There is foil evidence that Bruce was 
|Dt a. that time on the Englisli side, nor present at the battle 
>f Faii;irk ; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scotland, 
'ong witli John Comyn. in the name of Baliol. and in oppo- 
Blion to the English. He was the grandson of the competitor, 
with whom he has been sometimes confounded. Lord Hailes 
baji well described, and in some tiegree apologized for, the ear* 
er part of his life. — " His gi-andfather, tlie competitor, had 
•lieotly acqv'esced ii the avard of Edward. Hb father. 



yielding to the times, had served under Ihe English banner* 
Hot young Bruce had more ambition, and a more restless spirit 
In his earlier year^ he acted upon no regular plan. By turnt 
the partisan of Edwanl, and the vicegeivnt of Baliol. he seemi 
to have forgotten or stilled his pretensions to the crown. Bui 
his character developed itself by dcgn^es, anil in maturer age 
became firm ami consistent." — Jinnats of Scotland, p. 290 
4to. London, 1T76. 



Note 2 G. 



These are the savage wilds that lie • 
JVorth of StrathnardiU and Dunskye. — P. 432. 

The extraordinary piece of scenery which I have here at- 
tempted to describe, is, I think, unparalleled in any part of 
Scotland, at least in any which I have happened to visit. It 
liesjust upon the frontier of the Laird of Mac-Leod's country 
which is thereabouts divided from the estate of Mr. Macalist' 
of Strath-Aird, called StrathnardiU by the Dean of the Isle. 
The following account of it is extracted from a journali jjepi 
daring a tour through the Scottish Islands: — 

" The western coast of Sky is highly romantic, and at the 
same time displays a richness of vegetation in the lower groundi 
to which we have hitherto been stringers. We passed thret 
salt-water lochs, or deep embaynients, called Loch Braeadale, 

Loch Einort, and Loch , and aboul eleven o'clock opened 

Loch Slavig. We were now under the western termination 
of the higii ridge of mountains called Guillen, or Q,nillin, Of 
Coolin, whose weather-beaten and serrated peaks we had a^ 
mired at a distance from Dnnvegan. They sunk here upon 
the sea, but with the same bold and peremptory aspect which 
their di'^tant appearance indicated. Tiiey appeared to consist 
of precipitous sheets of naked rock, down wliirh the torrents 
were leaping in a hundred lines of foam,* The to'»s of the 
ridge, apparently inaccessible to liuman foot, were rent and 
split into the most Iremeniious pinnacles. Towanls the base 
of these bare and precipitous crag^, the grouad, enriched by 
the soil washed down from them, is comparatively verdant and 
productive. Where we passed wiiliin the small isle of Soa, 
we entered Loch Slavig. under the shoulder of one of these 
grisly mountains, and observed that the ojiposite side of the 
loch was of a milder diaracier. the mountains being softened 
down into steep green declivities. From the bottom of the 
bay advanced a headland of high rocks, which ^divided its 
depth into two recesses, from each of which a iirook issued. 
Here it had been intimated to us we would find some roman- 
tic scenery ; but we were uncertain np which inlet we should 
proceed in search of it. We chose, against our better judg- 
ment, the southerly dip of the bay. where we saw a house 
which might afford us intbrmation. We found, ujion inquiry, 
that there is a lake adjoining To each branch of the bay ; ana 
walked a couple of miles to see that near the farm-house, 
merely because tlie hones^ Highlander seemed jealous of the 
honor of his own loch, though we were speedily convinced it 
was not that which we were recommended to examine. It ' 
had no particular merit, excepting from its neighborhood toft 
very high cliff, or precipitous mountain ; otherwise ^e sheet ol 
water had nothing differing from any ordinary low-cotinfiry 
lake. We returned and re-embarked in our boat, for onr goice 
shook his head at our projio^al to climb over the peninsula, oi 
rocky headland which divided the two lakes. In rowing round 
the headland, we were surprised at the infinite number of sea- 
fowl, then busy apparently with a shoal offish- 

" Arri\j. at the dejith of the hay, we found that the diB- 
charge from this second lake forms o sort of waterfall, or rathei 
a rapid stream, which rushes down to the sea with great fury 
and precipitation. Round this place were assembled hundredi 
of trouts and salmon, struggling to get up into the freah waWr 

I This IB from the Toel's own j.-umnl.— Ki> 



^84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



with a net we might have had twenty salmon at a haul ; and 
n sailor, with no better hook tliun a crooked pin, caught a dish 
ol tronis during our absence. Advancing up this huddling 
and riotous brook, wo found ourselves in a mo^t extraordinary 
BCeue ; we lost si^hi of the sea almost immediately after we 
nad climbed over a low ridge of crags, and were surrounded by 
Cionntains of naked roi^k, of the boldest and most precipitous 
character. TIk ground on which we walked was the,margin 
of a lake, which seenied lo have sustained the constant ravage 
cf toirenrs from these ruile neighbors. Tlije stiores consisted of 
huge strata of naked grniiite, here and there intermixed with 
i»g3. and heaps of giavd and sand piled in the empty water- 
coursc?s. Vegetation there was little or none ; and the moun- 
lahis rose so perpendicularly from the water edge, that Bor- 
rowdale, or even Glencoe, is a jest to them. We proceeded a 
mile and a half up this deep, dark, and solitary lake, which 
was about two miles long, half a mile broad, and is, as we 
learned, of extreme depth. The murky vapors which envel- 
oped the mountain ridges, obl'ged us by assuming a thousand 
varied s'hapes, changing their drapery into all sorts of forms, 
and sometimes clearing otf all together. It is true, the mist made 
na pay the penalty by some heavy and downright showers, 
from the frequency of which a Highland boy, whom we 
brought from the farm, told us the lake was popularly called 
the Water^kettle. The proper name is Loch Corriskin, from 
the deep carrie, or hollow, in the mountains of Cuilin, which 
affords the basin for this wonderful sheet of water. It is as 
exquisite a savage scene as Loch Katrine is a scene of romantic 
beauty. After having penetrated so far as distinctly to ob- 
Eerve the termination of the lake under an immense precipice, 
which rises abrujitly from the water, we retnrned, and often 
stopped to admire the ravages which storms must have made 
in these recesses, where all human witnesses were driven to 
places of more shelter and security. Stones, or rather large 
masses and fragments of rocks of a composite kind, perfectly 
different from the strata of the lake, were scattered upon the 
bare rocky beach, in the strangest and most precarious situa- 
tions, as if abandoned by the torrents which had borne them 
down from above. Fome lay loose and tottftring upon toe 
'edges of the natural rock, with so little security, that the 
slightest push moved them, though their weight might exceed 
many tons. These detached rocks, or stones, were chiefly what 
19 called plum-pudding stones. The bare rocks, which formed 
the shore of the lakes, were a species of granite. The opposite 
Bide of the lake seemed quite pathless and inaccessible, as a 
huge mountain, one of the detached ridges of the Cuilin hills, 
sinks in a profound and perpendicular precipice down to the 
water. On the left-hand side, which we traversed, rose a 
higher and equally inaccessible moantain, the top of which 
strongly resembled the shivered crater of an exhausted volcano. 
I never saw a spot in which there was less appearance of vege- 
*Ation of any kind. The eye rested on nothing but barren and 
naked crags, and the rocks on which we walked by the side of 
the loch, were as bare as the pavements of Cheapside. There 
are one or two small islets in the loch, which seem to bear 
janiper, or some snch low busby shrub. Upon the whole, 
(hough I have seen many scenes of more extensive desolation, 
I never witnessed any in which it pressed more deeply upon 
th« eye aii>'. the heart than at Loch Corriskin ; at the same time 
that its grandeur elevated and redeemed it from the wild and 
iiaarr oliancter of utter barrenness." 



Note 2 H. 



Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-looWd, unwilling to be seen. — P. 434. 



The etory of Bruce's meeting the banditti is copied, with 
inch alterations as the fictitious narrative rendered necessary, 
rrom a striking incident in the monarch's history, told by IJai^ | house, cottage.— 10 Alone. 



boor, and which 1 shall give in the words of the hero's bio| 

rapiier. It is the sequel to the adventure of the bloodliounJ 
narrated in Note 2 D. It will be remembered that the narra 
tive broke off, leaving the Bruce escaped from his pursaer> 
but worn out with fatigue, and having no other atteniant bo 
his f jstei^brother. 

" And the gude king held forth his way, 
Betuix him and his man, quhill thai 
Passyt owt throw the forest war ; 
Syne in the more thai entryt tliar. 
It wes bathe hey, and lang, and braid ; 
• And or thai halff it passyt had, 

Thai saw on syd thre men cummand, 
Lik to lycht men and wauerand. 
Swerdis thai had, and axys aU ; 
And ane off thaim, apon his hals,' 
A mekill boundyn wethir bar. 
Thai met the king, and hailst^ liim that: 
And thu king thaim thar hailsing yajld ;3 
And askyt thaim quethir thai wauld. 
Thai said, Robert the Bmyss thai soocbt; 
For mete with him gifFthal thai mouch'., 
Thar duelling with him wauld thai ma.-* 
The king said, * GifF that ye will swa, 
Haldys furth your way with me. 
And I shall ger yow sone him se.' 

" Thai persawyt, be his speking. 
That he wes the selwyn Robert king. 
And chaungyt contenance and late ;6 
And held nocht in tlie fyrst state. 
For thai war fayis to the king ; — 
And thouchi to cum in to scalking, 
And duell with him, quhill that thai saw 
Thar poynt, arid bryng him than off daw. 
Thai grantyt till his spek forthi.' 
Bot the king, that wes witty, 
Persawyt Weill, by thar hawing,- 
That thai lufTyt him na thing : 
And said, ' Falowis, ye mon, all thre, 
Forthir aqwent till that we be, 
All be your selwyn furth ga ; 
And. on the samyn wyss, we twa 
Sail folow behind weill uer,' 
Q,uoth thai, ' Schyr, it is na mystei* 
To trow in ws ony ill.' — 
' Nane do I,* said he ; ' bot I will. 
That yhe ga fourth thus, quhill we 
Better with othyr knawin be.' — 
' We grant,' Uiai said, ' sen ye will swa : 
And furth apon thair gate gan ga. 

" Thus yeid thai till the nycht wes net. 
And than the formast cummyn wer 
Till a waist housbatid houss \'^ and thar 
Thai slew the wethir that thai bar: 
And slew fyr ibr to rost thar mele ; 
And askyt the king giff he wald ete, 
And«est him tilt the mete war dycht. 
The king, that hungry was. Ik hycht, 
Assentyt till thair spek in by. 
Bot he said, he wald anerlyio 
At a fyr ; and thai all Uire 
On na wyss with tliaim till gyddre be. 
In the end off the houss thai suld ma 
Ane othyr fyr ; and thai did swa. 
Thai drew thaim in the houss end, 
And halff the wethir till him send. 
And thai rostyt in by thair mete ; 



Neck.— 2 Sniuted.— S Returned their eaiute.— 4 Mnkt * «Hilo»« « 
manner.— 6 Kill hiiu.— T Therefore.— 8 There ia no neid.— « *Nl**j4iiuui^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



48 c, 



Aud fell rj'clit fresclily for till ete. 
For the king wt-itl lang fastyt had ; 
And had rycht inekill trawaill mad : 
Iharlor he eyt full egrely. 
And qnhen lie had etyn hastily, 
He had to slep sa inekill will. 
That he moiicht set na let tliar till, 
Tor qiihen the wanys' fillyt ar, 
M«n worthys^ tirwy euirmar; 
And to slepe drawys licwynes. 
The king, that all forirawaillyl^ wes, 
Saw that him worthyt slep nedwayis 
Till his fostyi^hrodyr he sayis ; 
* Ma>' I traist in the, me to walk, 
Tilt Ik a little sleping tak ?'— 
■ Ya, Schyr.'.he said, ' till I may drey * 
The king then wynkyt a litill wey ; 
And slepyt nochl full encrely ; 
Bol glifTnyt wp oft sodanly. , 
For he had dreid off thai tlire men, 
That at the totliyr fyr %var then. 
That thai his fais war he.wyst ; 
Tharfor he slepyt as I'oule on twysL'* 
" The king slepyt hot a htill than ; 
Uuhen sic slep fell on his r/.an, 
That he mycht nocht hald wp hia ey, 
Bot fell in slep, and rowtyt hey. 
JJow is the king in grel perile : 
For slep he swa a litill quhile, 
He sail be,ded. for owtyn dreid. 
For the thre tratours tuk gud held, 
That he on slep wes, and his man. 
In full gret hy thai raiss wp than, 
And drew the snerdis hastily ; 
And went towart the king iii hy, . 
Quhen that thai saw him sleip swa. 
And slep.and thoucht thei wald hira fli 
The king wp hlenkit hastily, ^ 

And saw his man slepand him by ; 
And saw cummand the lothyr thre. 
Deliuerly on fute gat he ; 
And drew his snerd owt, and thaim mele^. 
And, as he yude, his fute he set 
Apon his man. weill hewyly 
He waknyt, and raiss disily : 
For the slep maistryt hym sway. 
That or he gat wp, ane off thai, 
That come for to sla the king, 
Gaiff hym a strak in his rysing, 
Swa that he mycht help him no mar. 
Tiie king sa straitly stad' wes thar, 
That he wes nenir yeyt sa stad. 
Ne war the armyng'' that he had, 
He hail been dede, for owtyn wer. 
But nocht for thi" on sic maner 
He hel|)yt hira. in that bargayne,^ 
That thai thre tratowris he has slan, 
Throw Goddis grace, and hLs manheid. 
His fostyr-brothyr thar was dede. 
Then wes he wondre will of wayn,^*' 
Q,uhen he saw him left allane. 
His fostyr-brodyr menyt he ; 
And waryitii all the tothyrthre. 
And syne hys way tuk him allane, 
And rycht towart his tryst'2 is gane." 

The Bruce, Book t. p. 



OeUtei. — 2 Becomes. — 3 Fatig:ued. — I Endiiro. — 5 Bird on botigh.- 
8o d&ng'erousW situated. — 7 Had it not be«n for the armor he wot«.- 
t N<T«rtbe]eM. — 9 Fray, or dispute. — 10 Much afflicted. — II Cntwd.- 
^* The place 3f readezToos appointed for liis soldiers. 



Note 2 I. 

jSnJ mermaid's alabaster grot. 
Who baUtf-s kcr limbs in sunless well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. — P. 436. 

Imagination can hardly conceive any thing more beautifol 
than the extraordinary grotto discovered not many years sinc« 
upon the estate of Alexander Mac-Aliisier, Esq., of Strath- 
aird. It has since been much and deservedly celebrated, and 
a full account of its beauties has been published by Dr. Mae- 
Leay of Oban. The general impression may pernapa b6 
gathered from the following extract Irom a journal, which, 
written under the feelings of the moment, is likely Np be mOM 
accurate than any attempt to recoltL-cl the impressions then 
received. — " The first entrance to this celebrated cave is rad« 
and unpromising; but the light of the torches, with which 
we were provided, was soon retlectetl from the roof, floor, and 
walls, which seem as if they were slieele;l with marble, partly 
smooth, partly rougli with frost-work and rn«tic ornamonts, 
and partly seeming to be wrought into statuary. The flooi 
forms a steep and difficult ascent, and might he fancifully 
compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whiten- 
ing and foaming down a declivity, had been suildcniy arrested 
and consolidated by the spell of an enchantct Upon attain- 
ing the summit of this ascent, tlie cave opens into a splendid 
gallery, adorned with the most dazzling cryslalizations, an 
finally descends with rapidity to the brink of a pool, of the 
most limpid water, about four or five yards broad. There 
opens beyond this pool a portal arch, formed by two columns 
of white spar, with beautiful chasing; upon the sides, which 
promises a continuation of the cave. One of our sailors swam 
across, for there is no other mode of passing, and informed us- 
(as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the en- 
chantment of Maccalister's cave twniinales with this portal, 
a little bevond which there was only a rude cavern, speedily 
choked with stones and earth. But the pool, on the brink of 
which we stood, surrounded by the most fanciful mouldings, 
in a substance resembling white marble, and distinguished 
by the depth and purity of its waters, might have been the 
batiiing grotto of a naiad. The groups of combined figures 
projecting, or embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, are 
exquisitely elegant and fanciful. A statuary might catch 
beautiful hints from the singular and romantic disposition ot 
those stalactites. There is scarce a form, or group, on which 
active fancy may not trace figures or grotesque oroamenta, ■ 
which have been gradually moulded in this cavern by tha 
dropping of the calcareous water hardening into petrifactiona- 
Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senselesa 
rage of appropriation of recent tourists ; and the grotto has 
lost (I am informed), through the smoke of torches, some- 
thing of that vivid silver tint which was originally one of its 
chief distinctions. But enough of beauty rrmains to Compeu- 
sate for all that may be lost." — Mr. Mar-Al'ister 0f Strath- 
aird has, with great propriety, built up the exterior eotrancs 
to this cave, in order that s rangers may enter prep^^ly afr 
tended by a guide, to prevent any repetition of the wantoit 
and selfish injury which this singular scene has already b«» 
tained. 



Note 2 K. 



Yet to no sense of selish wrongs. 
Bear icitncsa with mi. Heaven, belongm 
My joy oUr Edw-.rd*s bicr.—V 438. 

The generosity which does ^ustice to the character of U 
enemy, often marks Brace's s-entiments. as recorded by ibi 
faithful Barbour. He seldom mentions a fallen enemy with 
OQt praising such good qualities as he might possess. I Bhal 



»nly take one instance. Shortly iifler Bruce landed in Cap- 
rick, in 1306, Sir Ingram Bell, the English governor of Ayr, 
engaged a wealthy yeoman, who had hitherto been a follower 
of Brace, to nndertake the task of assassinating him. The 
King learned this treachery, as he is said to have done other 
secrets of the enemy, hy means of a female with whom he had 
att intrigue. Shortly after he was possessed of this informa- 
tion, Bruce, resorting to a small thicket at a distance from his 
men, with only a single page to attend him, met the traitor, 
accompanied by two of his sons. They approached him with 
their wonted/amiliarity, but Bruce, taking his page's bow and 
arrow- 'jommanded them to keep at a distance. As they still 
pfeosed forward with professions of zeal for his person and 
service, he, after a second warning, sliot the father with the 
arrow ; and being assaulted successively by the two sons, dis- 
patched first one, who was armed with an axe, then as the 
other charged him with a spear, avoided the thrust, struck the 
head from the spear, and cleft the skull of the assassin with a 
blow of his two-handed sword. 

" He rashed down of blood all red. 
And when the king saw they were dead, 
All three lying, he wiped his brand. 
With that his boy came fast running, 
And said, "Our lord might lowyt^ be, 
That granted you might and poweste' 
To fell the felony and the pride, 
Of three in so little tide.* 
The king said, ' So our lord me see, 
They have been worthy men all three. 
Had they not been full of treason : 
But that made their confusion.' '* 

Barbour's Bruce, B. v. p. 152. 



Note 2 L. 



Suck hate iras his on Solwaifs strand. 
When vengeance clenched his palsied hand. 
That pointed yd to Scotland*s land.— P. 439. 

To establish his dominion in Scotland had been a favorite 
object of Edward's ambition, and nothing could exceed the 
pertinacity with whir-h he pursued it, unless his inveterate 
' resentment against the insurgents, who so frequently broke 
the English yoke when he deemed it most firmly riveted. 
After the battles of Falkirk and Methven, and the dreadful 
examples which he had made of Wallacf and other cham- 
pions of national independence. lie probably concluded every 
chance of insurrection wa^ completely annihilated. This was 
in 1306, when Bruce, as we have seen, was utterly expelled 
from Scotland : yet, in the conclusion of the same year, Bruce 
was again in arms and formidable ; and in 1307. Edward, 
though exhausted by a long and wasting malady, put Iiimself 
at the head of the army destined to destroy him utterly. This 
was perhaps, partly in consequence of a vow which he had 
ta*'"'i upon him, with all the pomp of chivalry, upon the day 
'i wmch be dubbed his son a knight, for which see a subne- 
qceut note. Bi'teven his spirit of vengeance was unable to 
lestore his exhausted strength. He reached Borgh-upon-Sands, 
a petty village of Cumberland, on the shores of the Sol way 
Firth, and there. 6lh July. 1307, expired in sight of the de- 
tested and devoted country of Scotland, His dying injunc- 
lions to his son required lum to continue the Scottish war, and 
never to recall Gaveston. Edward 11. disobeyed both charges. 
Yet, more to mark his animosity, the dying monarch ordered 
fiis bones to be carried with the invading army. Froissart, who 
probably ^^d the authority of eye-witi^esses, has given ua tlie 
follow ing accoDiit of this remarkable cbarse :— 



Landed 



i Power. 



*' In the said forest, the old "King Robert of Scotland dyd 
kepe hymselfe, whan King Edward the Fyrst conquered nygh 
all Scotland ; for he was so often chased, that none durst log* 
hira in castell, norfortresse, for feare of the said Kyng. 

" And ever whan the King was returned into Ingland, than 
he would gather together agayn his people, and conqaera 
townes, castells, and fortresses, iuste to Berwick, some by bat 
tie, and some by fair speech and love : and when the said ^ 
King Edward heard thereof, than would he assemble his pow- 
er, and wyn the realnie of Scotland again ; thus the chanot 
went between these two foresaid Kings. It was shewed me, 
how that this King Robert wan and lost iiis realme v. times. 
So this continued till the said King Edward died at Berwick; 
and when he saw that he shoula die, he called before him hia 
eldest son, who was King after him, and there, before all the 
barones, he caused him to swear, that as soon as he were dead, 
that he should take his body, and boyle it in a cauldron, till 
the flesh departed clean from the bones, and than to bury the 
flesh, and keep still the bones ; and that as often as the Scottfl 
should rebell against him. he should assemble the people 
against then^ and carry with him the bones of his father ; for 
he believed verily, that if they had his bones with them, that 
the Scotts should never attain any victory against them. Tha 
which thing wa^not accomplished, for when the King died 
liis son carried him to London." — Bbrners' Froissa,rt*8 
Chronicle, London, 1812, pp. 39, 40. 

Edward's commands were not obeyed, for he was interred 
in Westminster Abbey, witli the appropriate inscription, — 

" Edwardus Primus Scgtorum malleus hic est. 
Pactum Serva." , 

Yet some steps seem to have been taken towards rendering 
his body capable of occasional transportation, for it was exqni 
sitely embalmed, as was ascertained when his tomb was opened 
some years ago. Edward II, judged wisely in not carrying 
the dead body of his father into Scotland, since he would not 
obey his living counsels. 

It ouglil to be observed, that though the order of the ioci 
dents is reversed in the poem, yet, in point of h-storical accn 
racy.Sruce had landed in Scotland, and oh'iined some bdi 
cesses of con»equence, before the death of Edward I. 



Note 2 M. 



Note 2 N. 



Canna's lower, that, stC'tp ami gray, , 

Like falcon-nest 6'erliangs t/ie hay. — P. 440. 
The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins to those of 
Rum and Muick, with which it forms one parish. In a 
pretty bay opening towards the east, there is a lofty and 
slender rock detached from the shore. Upon the summit are 
the ruins of a very small tower, scarcely accessible by a 
steep and precipitous path. Here, it is said, one of the 
kings, or Lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, of 
whom be was jealous. The ruins are of course haunted by 
her restless spirit, and many romantic stories are told by 
the aged people of the island concerning her fate in life, and 
her appearances after death. 



And Ronin?s mountains dark have sent ^ 
Their hunters to the shore, — P. 440. 

Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a poet may 
be pardoned for avoiding if possible) is a rough mountain- 
ous island, adjacent to those of Eigg and Cannay. There 
is almost no arable ground upon it, so that, except in the 
plenty of the deer, which are now nearly extirpated, it 
still deserves the description bestowed bv the archdeacon of 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 



48? 



tbe Isles. " Ronin. pixtee.i my'.e north-wast from the ile of 
Coil. lyes anc ilo uallit Renin I'e, of sixteen myle long, and six 
In bredthein th*: aarroi-esl, die fcrcst of heigh mountains, and 
Abundance of little deir in it, (jnhilk deir will never be slane 
dounewith, but tne princi[tal i^aittis man be in the height of the 
hil), because the deir will be callit ujiwart ay be the tainchell, 
or v'.'.hou*. tynchell the;* will pass upwart perforce. In this 
Ue will be- gotten aboul Britane a!s many wild nests apon the 
olane mure aa men pleasis to gadder, :tiid ye*, by ressoa the 
fowls hesf-'W to start them e.icept deii TI's 'le lyes from the 
west to *-ie bist in lenlh, and nertaina to !S!'K.'nabrey of Colla. 
Mauy solar "ees? are mi tins ile." — MoNiio « JJtscription of 
the Western Ulrt, p. 18. 



Note 2 O. 



0% Seoorriffg next a warning light ' 

Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; 

A numerous race, ere stern Macleod 

O'er their bleak shores in vengeance mtrode. — P. 440. 

'I'hese, and the following lines of the stanza, refer to a 
dfe^dful tale of feudal vengeance, of which unfortonately 
there are relics that still attest the truth. ?coor-Eigg is a high 
p^Jc in the centre of the small Isle of EJgg. or Egg. It is well 
known to mineralogists, as aflbrtling many interesting speci- 
mens, and \Q others whom chance or curiosity may lead to the 
island, for the astonishing view of the mainland and neighbor- 
ing isles which it commands. [ shall again avail myself of the 
journal I have quoted. ^ 

"26//i ^Jugust, 1814. — At seven this momiiig we were in 
tbe Sound wiii<-h divides the Isle of Rum fiom that of Eigg. 
The latter, although hiiSy and rix-Ky, and tr-ivcrsed by a re- 
markably U!;,'h and barer, cid^e jallci Scoor-Rigg, has, in 
point of soil, a macli morr oi^-misiD- appe^iiance. Poothward 
of both lies the IsV of MjIcIj, or Mack, a low and fertile 
iiland, and thoagh the least. ye\ pfobaDly the most valuable 
of ihe three. We roar.ied the boat, and rowed/along the 
•horeofEgg in quesl of a cavern, which had been the memo- 
rable scene of a horr J feodal vengeance. We had rounded 
more than half the islanfl, admiring the entrance of many a 
I Vild natural cave, which its rocks exhibited, without finding 
Jiat which we sought, until we procured a guide. Nor, in- 
deed, was it surprising that it should have escaped the search 
•f strangers, as there are no outward indications more than 
might distinguish the enlrance of a fo.^-earth. This noted 
«ve has a very narrow opening, through which one can hardly 
creep on his knees and hands. It rises steep and lofty within, 
and runs into tlie bowels of the rock to the depth of 255 mea- 
wrcl feet ; the heiglit at the entrance may be about three feet, 
bot rises witiiin to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may 
vary in the same proportion. The rude and stony bottom of 
this cave is strewed with the bones of men, women, and chil- 
jdien, th«i sad relics of the ancient inhabitants of the island. 200 
hi number. v,io were slain on the following occasion : — The 
Mac-Donalds of the Isle of Egg, a people dependent on Clan- 
Ranald, had done som; injury to ''.le Laird of Mac-Leod. The 
tradition of the isle says, tliat .t v/as by a personal attack on 
die chieftain, in which IJs bac'' ^as broken. But that of the 
Other isles bears, mo:e pfb^.lny ,nat the injury was offered to 
two or three of the M-ic-Lecs, jvho, landing apon Eigg, and 
•sing some freedom w' ^i the young women, were seized by 
the islanders, bound hard and foot, and turned adrift in a boat, 
which $he winds and waves safely conducted to Skye. To 
avenge the offence givun, Mac-Leod sailed with such a body 
of men, as rendered resistance hopeless. The natives, fearing 
his vengeance, concealed themselves in this cavern, and, after 
1 strict search, the Mac-Leods went on board their galleys, 
tAar doing what mischief they could, condading the inhabit- 

1 Sea noto 3 G, (k 438, anla. 



ants had left the isle, and betaken them!*elve3 to the T<ong lii> 
and, or some of Clan-Ranald's other posses8ion<<. Bnt next 
morning they espied from the vessels a man upon the island, 
and immediately landing again, they traced his retreat by tho 
marks of hLi footsteps, a liglit snow being unhappily on the 
ground. Mac-Leod then surrounded the cavern, summonei 
the subterranean garrison, and demanded that the individual 
who had otfonded him should be delivered jp to him. fhii 
wa-s peremptorily rffused. The chieftain tlien caused his pp« 
pie to divert the course of a rill of water, which, falling ov» 
the entrance of the cave, would have prevented his purpo*« 
vengeance. He th^n kindled at the entrance of the caver, 
huge tire, composed of turf and tern, and maintained it witb 
unrelenting assiduity." until all within were destroyed by snflo* 
cation. The dale of this dreadful deed must have been re- 
cent, if one may Judge from the fresh appearance of lliose re'- 
ics. I brought otf. in spite of the prejudice of our sailors, a 
skull from among the numerous specimens of mortality which 
the cavern afforded. Before je-embarking we visited anoUier 
cave, opening to the sea, but of a character entirely dilh^rent, 
being a large open vault, as high as that of a cathedral, and 
running back a great way into the rock at the same height. 
The height and width of the opening gives ample light to the 
whole. Here, after 1745, when the Catholic priests were 
scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used to perform the Ro- 
man Catholic service, most of the islanders being of that per- 
suasion. A huge ledge of rocks rising about half-w;vy up 
one siile of the vault, ser^'ed for altar and pulpit ; and the ap 
pearance of a priest and Highland congregation in such an ei 
traordinary place of worship, might have engaged the pencil of 
Salvator." 



Note 2 P. 



-that wondrous dome. 



Where, as to shame the temples decked 

By skill of earthly architect, 

J^ature herself, it scenCa, would raise 

A Minster to her Maker'' s praise. — P. 441. 

It would be unpardonable to detain the reader upon a vob- 
der so often described, and yet so incajiable of being undir* 
stood by description. This palace of Neptune is even grander 
upon a second than the first view. Tlie stupendous columns 
whicii form the sides of the cave, the depth and strength of 
the tide which rolls its deep and heavy swell up to the extra- 
mity of the vault — the variety of the tints formed by while, 
crimson, and yellow stalactites, or petrifactions, which occupy 
the vacancies, between the base of thi urokcn pillars which 
form the roof, and intersect them with a n^h, curious, and va- 
riegated chasing, occupying each intersl; ..- — the corresponding 
variety below water, where the ocean ri> Is over a daik-reii oi 
violet-colored rock, from which, us from a base, the basaltic 
columns arise — the tremendous noise ol*;'ie swelling tide, min 
gling with the deep-toned echoes of iln^ vauU. — are circum' 
stances elsewhere unparalleled. 

Nothing can be more interesting than the varied nppnnrano 
of the little archipelago of islets, of whii-h StafTa is the moa 
remarkable. This group, called in Gaelic Trpshamisn. affbrn 
a thousand varied views to the voyager, as they appear in dil 
ferent positions with reference to his course. The variety • 
their shape contribates mnfih to the beaaty of these effects 



Note 2 Q. 

Scenes sung by htm who sings no more.— P. 441. 
The ballad, entitled " Macphail of Colonsay, and the Me» 
I maid of Comevrekia" fsee Border MinstreUv, vol. i». • 



t88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



285], was composed by John Leyden, from a tradition which 
He found while making a tour thmagh the Hebrides aboat 
I8OI, soon before his fatal departure for India, where, after 
having made farther progress in Oriental literature tlian any 
man of letters who had embraced those studies, he died a 
martyr to his zeal for knowledge, in the island of Java, im- 
Biedialely after the landing of our forces near Batavia, in Au- 
rust. Itill. 



Note 2 R. 



up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 

Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er. — P. 441. 

The peninsala of Cantire is joined to South Knapdale by a 
very narrow isthmus, ibrmed by the western and eastern Loch 
of Tarbat. Tltese two salt-water lakes, or bays, encroach so 
farnpon the land, and the extremities come so near to each 
other, that there is not above a mile of land to divide them. 

" It is not long," says Pennant, " since vessels of nine or ten 
<ODS were drawn by horses ontof the weat loch into that of the 
east, to avoid the dangers of the Mull of Cantyre, so dreaded 
and so little known was the navigation round that promontory. 
It is the opinion of many, that these little isthmuses, so fre- 
qnently styled Tarbat in North Britain, took their name from 
the above circumstance; Tarrning, signifying to draw, and 
Bata, a boat. This loo might be called, by way of pre-emi- 
nence, the Tarbat, from a very singular circumstance related 
by Torfa-us. When Magnus, the baYefooted King of Norway, 
obtained from Donald-bane of Scotland the cession cf tlie 
Western Isles, or all those places that could be surrounded in 
a boat, he added to them the peninsnla of Cantyre by this 
frand : he placed himself in the stern of a boat, held the rud- 
der, was drawn over this narrow track, and by tiiis species of 
navigation wrested the country from his brother monarch." — 
Pe.nnant's Scot/and, London, 1790, p. 190. 

But that Bruce also made this pas.sage, althoagh at a period 
two or three years later than in the poem, appears from the 
evidence of Barbour, who mentions also the effect produced 
upon the^minds of the Highlanders, from the prophecies cur- 
•ent amongst iliem : — 

" Bot to King Robert will we gang. 
That we half left wnspokyn of lang. 
Q,nhen he had conwoyit to the se 
His brodyr Ednuard, and his menye, 
And othyr mi^n off'gret noblay. 
To Tarbart '"'ai held thair way, 
In galayis or 'anyt for thair far. 
Bot thaim u rthyt' draw thair schippis thar : 
And a mylL ■ es betuix the seys ; 
Bot that wes iompnyt" all with treis. 
The King his scbip'pis thar gert^ draw. 
And for the wynd couth' stoutly blaw 
Apon thair bak, as thai wald ga, 
He gert men rapys and mastis ta, 
And set thaim in the schippis hey. 
And sayllis to the toppis tey ; 
And gert men gang thar by drawand. 
The wynd thaim helpyt, that was blawand ; 
Swa that, in a litill space, 
Thair flote all our drawin was. 

" And qnhen thai, that in the His war, 
Hard tell how the gnd King had thar 
Gert hys schippis with saillis ga 
Owt our betui\ [the] Tarbajfr^] twa, 
Thai war abaysit^ sa wtrely. 
For tliai wyst. throw auld prophecy, 

WVtv obliged to.— 2 L.iii* w th trees.— 3 Cauwd.— 4 Could. 



That he sold gei* schippis saa, 

Betuix thai seis with saillis ga, 

Suld wyne the His sua till hand. 

That nane with strenth suld him withstand. 

Tharfor they come all to the King. 

Wes nane withstud liis bidding, 

Owtakyn' Jhone of Lome allayne. 

Bot Weill sone eftre wes he tayne ; ^ 

And present rycht to the King. 

And thai that war of his leding, 

That till the King had brokyn lay ,8 

War all dede, and destroyit away." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book i. t Wl 



Note 2 S. 



The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ohoil, '^ the Mountain of the Wind,* 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 
And bade Loch Rama smile. — P. 441 

Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity o1 
Arran, opening towards East Tarbat Loch, It is well described 
by Pennant : — " The approach was magnificent ; a fine bay to 
front, about a mile deep, having a ruined castle near the lowei 
end, on a low far projecting neck of lanti. that forms anothei 
harbor, with a narrow passage ; but within has three fathom 
of water, even at the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little plain wa? 
tered by a stream, and inhabited by the people of a small vil 
lage. The whole is environed with a theatre of mountains; 
and in the background the serrated crags of Grianan-Athol soai 
above." — Pennant's Tozir to the JVcstern Isies, p. 191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil, " the mountain of the winds," is generally kaowo 
by its English, and less poetical name, of Goatfield. 



Note 2 T. 



Each to Loch Rama's viargin spring ; 
That blast wasfwindcd by the King! — P. 443. 

The passage in Barbour, describing the landing of Brace, 
and his beingvecognized by Doiiglas and those of his followen 
who had preceded him, by the sound of his horn, is in the 
original singularly simple and affecting. — The king arrived In 
Arran with tliirty-tbree small row-boat^. He interrogated a 
female if there had arrived any warlike men of late in that 
country. " Surely, sir," she replied, "I can tell you of maiiy 
who lately came hither, discomfited the English governor, anil 
blockaded his castle of Brodick. They maintain tliemselvesio 
a wood at no great distance." The king, truly conceiving th^t 
this must be Douglas and his followers, who had lately set forth, 
to try tlieir fortune in Arran, desired the woman to conctol 
him to the wood. She obeyed. i 

' The king then blew his horn on high, 
And gert his men that were him by, 
^pld them still, and all privy ; 
And syne again his home blew he. 
James of Dowglas heard him blow. 
And at tlie last alone gan know, 
And said, ' Sootlily yon is the kinc; 
I know long while since his blowing.* 
The tliird time therewithall he blew, » 

And then Sir Robert Boid it knp.w ; 
And said, ' Yon is the king, hut dread, 
Go we forth till him, better speed.' 
Then went they till the king in hye, 
And hira inclined courteously. 

6 Confounded.— 6 Make.— 7 Excepting.— 8 Faith, 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4B« 



And hlithly welcomed them the king, 

And was joyriil of their meeting. 

And kissed them ; and speared^ syne 

How they liad fared in huming? 

And they him told all, but tesing :i ' 

6yne laud tliey (ioil of their meeting. 

Syne with the king till his liarboorve 

Went botli joyfu' and jolly '" 

Barbour's Bruce, Etook v. pp. US, 116. 



Note 2 XJ. 



■ his brother blamed. 

But shared the weakness, while ashamed, 

IVith haughty lau^h his head he turn'd, 

And dashed away the tear he scorji'd. — P. 443. 

T. I kin<I, and yet fiery character of Edwani Bruce, is well 
■ftliK^d by Barbour, in the account of his behavior after the 
Mitle of Bannockbnrn. Sir Walter Ross, one of the very few 
Scottish nobles who fell in that battle, was so dearly beloved 
Dy Edward, that lie wbhed the victory had been lost, so Ross 
aad lived. 

" Out-taken him, men has not seen 

Where he for any men made moaning." 

ilnd here the venerable Archdeacon intimates a piece of scan- 
dal. i?ir EdwapJ Bruce, it seems. loved Ross's sister, par 
gmours, to the neglect of his own lady, sister to David de 
Strathbogie, Earl of Atnole. This criminal passion had evil 
consequences ; for, in resentment to the affront done to his 
•igter, Athole attacked the •t"^"' which Bruce had left at 
Cambaskenncth, during the battle of Bannockbnni, to protect 
his magazine of provisions, and titew t^ir ^Villiam Keith, the 
commander. For which treason he was forfeited. 

Id like manner, when in a sally from Carrickfergus, Neil 
Fleming, and the guards whom he commanded, Iiad fallen, 
after the protracted resistance which saved the rest of Edward 
Brace's army, he made such moan as surprised his followeis : 

" Sic moan he made men liad ferly,3 
For he was not customably 
Wont for to moan men any thing, 
Nor would not hear men make moaning.'*' 

Each are the nice traits of character so often lost in general 
history. 



Note 2 V; 



fhou hrird'sl a wretched female plain 

[n agony of travel-pain, 

'iiid thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant turn and stand, 

^nd dare the worst the foe might do. 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

Leave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress. — P. -IAd. 

r.:u incident, which illustrates M happily the chivalrous 
ji(Oeio<tty of Bruce's character, is one of the many simple and 
catfl»« traits recorded by Barbour. It occurred during the 
eipediiion which Bruce made to Irelari , to sopijort the pre- 
Isnaionsof hi^ brother Eilward to the throne of thai kingdom. 
Brace waatabout to retreat, and his host was arrayed for 
Doving. 

" The king has heard a woman cry, 
He asked what that was in by.* 
' (t is the Iayndar,6 sir,' sai ane, 



1 Ai%ed.— a Whliout lying.- 

m 



-3 Woinlej. — 4 ILute, — E Laimdre«t.~ 



' That her child-i!!" right now has la*en : 
And must leave now behind us here. 
Therefore she makes an evil cheer.'^ 
The king said, ' Ccrtes,^ it were pity 
That she in that point left should be, 
For certes I trow there is no man 
That he no will rue'-" a woman tlian.* 
Uis hosts all there aiEsted he, 
And gert'o a tt-nt soon stinted" be, 
And gert iier gang in hastily, 
And other women to be her by. 
While she was delivered he bade ; 
And syne forth on Im ways rade. 
And Iiow she forth should carried be, 
Or he forth fure,'^ ordained he. 
This was a full great courtesy, 
Thatswilk a king and so mighty, 
Gert his men dwell on this manner. 
But for a poor lavender." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book xvi. pp. 39, 



Note 2 W. 

O'er chasms he passed, where fractures wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride. — P. 448. 

The interior of the island of Arran abounds with tcautiftal 
Highland scenery. The hills, being very rocky and precipi 
tous, afford some cataracts 'of great height, thougli of incon- 
siderable breadth. There is one pass over tin? river Machrat, 
renowi.ed for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being 
temptetl by the narrowness of the ravine to siep across, sac- 
ceeded in making the first movement, but took fright when i. 
became necessary to move the other foot, and rtniained in a 
poiitnre equally ludicrous and dangerous, until some chanca 
passenger assisted her to extricate herself. It is said she f* 
mained there some hours. 



Note 2 X. 

He cross' d his brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan ; 
jJnd at the cairns upon the wild. 
O'er many a heathen hero piled. — P. 448. 

The isle of Arran, like those of Man and Anglesea, aboana* 
with many relics of heathen, and probably Druidical, super- 
stition. There are high erect colum is of unhewn sione, the 
most early of all monuments, the circles of rude stones, com- 
monly entitled Druidical, and the cairns, or sepulchral piles, 
within which are usually found arns enclosing ashes. Much 
doubt necei'sarity rests upqn the history of such monnments, 
nor is it possible to consider them as exclusively Celtic of 
Druidical. By much the finest circles of standing siones, ex- 
cepting Stonehege, are those of Stenhouse, at ^tennis, in the 
island of Pomona, the principal isle of the Orcades. These, 
of course, are neither Celtic nor Drnidical ; and %ve are Msored 
that many circles of the kind occur both \\l Sweden and Nor- 
way. 



Note 2 T. 

Old Brodick's gothie towers were seen ; 
From Hastings, late their English I^ord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. — P. 448. 
Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of Arran, is an aa 
cient fortress, near an open roadstead called Brodick-Ba? 

1 Stop.— 8 Certainly.— » Piiy.— 10 Cau»ed.— 11 Pitched.— 12 Mot«4 



490 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



%.nd not far distant from a tolerable harbor, closed in by the 
Island of Lamlaih. This important place iiad been assailed a 
flhort time before Bruce's arrival in the island. James Lord 
DoDglas, who accompanied Bruce to hia retreat in Rachrine, 
Beems, in tlie spring of 1306, to have tired of his abode there, 
and set ont accordingly, in the phrase of the times, to see what 
«u3ventnre God wou-d send him. Sir Robert Boyd accom- 
panied him ; and his knowledge of the localities of Arran 
appears to have directed his course thither. They landed in 
yiB island privately, and appear to have laid an anibnsh for 
f :r John Hastings, the English governor of Brodwick, and 
■irprised a considerable supply of arms and provisions, and 
learly took the castle i.^elf. Indeed, that they actually did 
30, has been generai'.y averred by historiars, although it does 
lot appear from the narrative of Barbonr. On the contrary. 
It would seem that the^ took shelter within a fortification <)f 
the ancient inhabitants, a rampart called Tor an Sckian. 
When they were joined by Brace, it seems probable that they 
had gained Brodick Casile. At least tradition says, that from 
the battlements of the tower he saw the supposed signal-fire 
on Turnberry-nook. . . . The castle is now much modernized, 
but has a dignified appearance, being surrounded by flourish- 
ing plantations. 



Note 2 Z. 



Oft, too, -with, unaccustomed ears, 

A language much unmeet he hears. — P. 448. 

Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from 
which it would seem that the vice of profane swearing, after* 
wards too general among the Scottish nation, was, at this 
time, confined to military men. As Douglas, after Bruce's 
return to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous coun- 
try of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, he chanced to hear 
some persons in a farm-house say "(AerfeyzV," Concluding, 
from this hardy expression, that the house contained warlike 
guests, he immediately assailed it, and had the good fortune 
lo make prisoners Thomas Randolph, afterwards the famous 
EarVof Murray, aiyd Alexander Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both 
were then in the English interest, and had come into that 
•country with the purpose of driving ont Douglas. They after- 
wards ranked among Bruce's most zealous adhereilts. 



Note 3 A. 

For, sec! the ruddy signal made. 
That Clifford, with his mcrry-mcn all. 
Guards carelessly our father's hall. — P, 449. 

The remarkable circumstances by which Bruce was induced 
tenter Scotland, under the false idea that a signal-fire was 
lighted upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry 
— the disappointment which he met with, and the train of 
ficoess which arose out of that very disappointment, are too 
eMrioiB to be passet over unnoticed. The following is the 
tanativ? of Barbout. The introduction is a favorable speci- 
ncc of nis style, which seems to he in some degree the model 
(or that ofGawam Douglas ; — 

^ " This wes in ver' qohen wynter tid, 
With his blastls hidwyss to bid, 
Was our drywyn : and byrdis smale, 
As turturis and the nychtyngale, 
Begouth^ rycht sariely i to syng ; 
And for to mak in thair singyng 
Swete notia, and sownys ser,* 

1 Sonae — 2 Began.— 3 Loftilv. — 4 Several. — 6 Make.— S Bad*.— 7 Cov- 



And melodys plesand to her. 
And the treis begouth to ma^ 
Burgeans.c and brycht blomys alsua, 
To wyn the hflyng- off thair hewid, 
That wykkyt wyntir had thaim rewid.e 
And all gressys h-'gulh to spryng. 
In to that tyme the nobill king. 
With his flote, and a few menye.* 
Tlire hnndyr I trow thai niycht be. 
ts to the se, owte off Arane 
A Utill forouth,'" ewyn gane. 

'■ Thai rowit fast, with all thair mycht, 
Till 'bat apon thaim ft-11 the nychl, 
That woux myrk" ajwn gret maner, 
Swa that thai wyst nochl quhar thai wer. 
For thai na nedill had, na stane ; 
Bot rov^'it alwayis in till ane, 
Sterand all tyme apon the fyr. 
Tiiat thai saw brynnand lycht and schyr.!* 
It wes bot aaentur'3 thaim led : 
And they in schorl tyme sa thaim sped, 
That at the fyr arywyt thaj ; 
And went to land bot mar delay. 
And Culhbert, that has sene the fyr, 
Waa full ofTangyr, and off ire : 
For he durst nocht do it away ; 
And wes alsua dowtand ay 
That his lord suld pass to se. 
Tharfor thair cummyn waytit he; 
And met them at thair arywing. 
He wes wele sone broucht to the King 
That speryt at him how he had done. 
And he with sar hart tauld him sone. 
How that he fand nane weill luffand ; 
Bot all war fayis, that he fand ; 
And that the lord the Persy, 
With ner thre hundre in cumpany, 
Was in the castell thar besid, 
Fullfillyt off diiiipyt and prid. 
Bot ma than twa partis off his rowt 
War herberyt in the tonne without ; 
' And dyspytyt yow mar, Schir King, 
Than men may dispyt ony thing.' 
Than said the King, in full gret ire ; 
' Tratonr, quhy maid tliow than the fytV - 
' A ! Schyr,' said he, ' sa God me se t 
The fyr wes newyr maid for me. 
Na, or the nycht, I wyst it nocht ; 
Bot fra I wyst it, weill I thocht 
That ye, and haly your menye 
In by''' suld put yow to the se. 
For tlii I cum to mete yow her, 
To tell perel'.ys that may aper.* 

" The King wes off his spek angiy, 
And askyt his prywe men. in hy, 
Qnhat at thaim thoacht wes best to do 
Schyr Edward fryst answert thar to, 
Hys brodyr that wes swa hardy, 
And said ; ' I saw yow jekyrly 
Thar sail na perell, that may be, 
Dryve me eftsonysi^ to the ee. 
Myne anentur her tak will I, 
Q,uhethir it be esfuU or angry,'— 
' Brothyr,* he said 'sen thou will soa, 
It is gude that we samyn ta 
Dissese or ese, or payne or play, 
Eftyr as God will ws purway.^^ 

8 Bereaved.— 9 Men.— 10 Before.— 11 Dork.— 13 Clear.- 
—14 Haste.— 15 Soon after.- 16 Tref.are. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



491 



And •sen men sayis that the Persy 
Myn Jierttage will occupy ; 
And Ilia inenye sa ncr \V3 lyis. 
That W3 dispvtis inoiiy wyss ; 
Ga we ami wenge' Biiin ofTthe dispyte 
And that may we liaiffdone :ils3 tite ;a 
For thai ly traistly,' hut dreding 
Oft"ws, orolTour her cuiiimyng. 
And thonoht we s'-pand slew thaim all, 
ReprnlTtharot'na man sail. 
For wprrayonr na tors? suld ma. 
CXahelhir he mycht curcom his fa 
Throw strenth, or tlifow sutelti> ; 
Bot that gud r'aith f.y hahlyn he.' " 

Bar^our'h Bruce, Book iv. v. 1, 



Note 3 B. 



JVoaj aak you icfience that icondrous light, 
Whoae fairij trloip beguiled their sight ? 
It ne'er was known. — P. i51. 

'.he ioHowing are the words of an ingenious correspondentj 
« whoiT. I am obliged for much information respecting Turn- 
berrj' and its neighhorhood. "The only tradition now re- 
membered of the landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrick, re- 
lates to the fire seen by him from the Isle of Arran. It is still 
generally reported, and religiously believed by many, that 
this fire was really the work of supernatural power, unassisted 
by the hand of any mortal being ; and it is said, that, for sev- 
eral centuries, the flame rose yearly on the same hour of the 
•ame night of the year, on which the king first saw it from the 
turrets of Brodick Castle ; and some go so far as to say. that 
if the exact time were known, it would be still seen. That 
this superstitious notion is very ancient, is evident from the 
place where the fire is said to have appeared, being called the 
Bogles' Brae, beyond the remembrance of rhan. In support 
of this carious belief, it is said that the practice of burning 
heath for the improvement of land was then unknown; that 
aspunkie (Jack o'lanthorn) could not have been seen across 
the breadth of tlie Forth of Clyde, between Ayrshire and 
^iran ; and that the courier of Bruce was his kinsman, and 
never suspected of treachery." — Letter from Mr. Joseph Train, 
•f Newton ?tuart. author of an inge«iious Collection of Poems. 
■<Instrative of many ancient Tniditions in Galloway and Ayr- 
ihiie, Edinburgh, 1814. [Mr. Train made a journey into Ayr- 
ihire at Sir Walter Scott's request, on purpose to collect 
accurate information for the Note? to this poem ; and the 
reader will find more of the fruits of liis labors in Note 3 D. 
This is the same gentleman whose friendly assistance is go 
often acknowledged in the Notes and Introductions of the 
WMerle- Novels.] 



Note 3 C. 



They gnin*d the Chase, a wide domain 
f.eftfo'' the Castle's silvan reign. — P. 451. 
The Castle of Tumberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the 
property of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Lord Hailes 
mentions the following remarkable circumstance concerning 
Jie mode in wliich he became proprietor of it_: — "Martha, 
Countess of Carrick in her own right, the wife of Robert 
Brace, Ijonl of Annandale, bare him a son, afterwards Robert 
L (11th July, 1274). The circumstances of her marriage were 
ingolar : happening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, 
ibe became enamored of him, and with some violence led him 

1 Avi'nge.— i Quicktv.— S Confidently. 
Si» WklUiT Scotl baa mUread Mr. Tralu'a MS., which e*ve oot 



to her castle of Turnberry. A few days after she married him, 
without the knowledge of the relations of either parlv. anci 
without tlie reijuisite consent of the king. The king instantly 
seized her castle and whole cstatea : Slie afterwards atoned 
by a fine for lier feudal delinquency. Little did Atexandei 
foresee, that, from this union, the restorer of the Scottish 
monarchy was to arise." — .i^ mi n/s of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 180. 
The same obliging correspondent, whom I have quoted in tli8 
preceding note, gives me the following account of the preseiii 
state of the ruins of Turnberry : — " Turnberry Point is a rocl* 
projecting into the sea; the top of it is about eighteen leel 
above high-water mark. Upon this rook was built the casde. 
There is about twenty-five feet high of tlie wall next to t\v 
sea yet standing. Upon the land side the wall is only about 
four feet high ; the length has been sixty feet, and the breadth 
forty-five : It was surrounded by a ditch, but that is now near- 
ly filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between forty and 
^fty feet above the water, has a majestic appearance from the 
sea. There is not much local tradition in the vicinity con 
nected with Bruce or his history. In front, however, of thfi 
rock, upon Vvhich stands Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a 
romantic cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it is 
said Bruce and his followers concealed themselves immediately 
after landing, till they arranged matters for their farther en- 
terprises. Burns mentions it in the poem of Hallowe'en. The 
only place to the soutli of Turnberry worth mentioning, with 
reference to Brnce's history, is the Weary Nuik. a little ro- 
mantic green hill, where he and his party are said to have 
rested, after assaulting the castle." 

Around the Castle of Turnberry was a level plain of about 
two miles in exteat, forming the castle park. There could be 
nothing, I am informed, more beautiful than the copsewood 
and verdure of this extensive meadow, before it wa.s invadei 
by the ploughshare. 



Note 3 D. 



The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! — P. 455. 

I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that the 
Bruce, after his descent upon the coast of Ayrshire, actually 
gained possession of his maternal castle. But the tradition la 
not accurate. The fact is, that he was only strong enough to 
alarm and drive in the outposts of the English garrison, then 
commanded, not by Clifford, as assumed in the text, but by 
Percy. Neither was Clifford slain upon this occasion, though 
he had several skirmishes with Bruce. He fell afterwards Id 
the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, after alarming the castle 
of Turnberry, and surprising some part of the garrison, who 
were quartered without the walls of the fortress, retreated intc 
the mountainous part of Carrick, an3 there made himself so 
strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Turnberry, 
and at length the Caslle of Ayr. Many of his benefa^ions and 
royal gifts attest his attachment to the hereditary fo'bwers oi 
his house, in this part of the country. 

It is generally known that Bruce, in consequence of his dis* 
tresses after the battle of Methven, was affected by a scorbuluj 
disorder, which was then called a leprosy. It is said he expe 
rienced benefit from the use of a medicinal spring, about a 
mile north of the town of Ayr, called from that circumstanc* 
King's Ease.' The following is the tradition of the country 
collected by Mr. Train : — " After Robert ascended the throne 
he foundcu the priory of Dbminican monks, every one of whom 
was under the obligation of putting up to Heaven a prayei 
once every week-day, and twice in holydays for the recover) 
of the king ; and, after hisdeatli, these masses were conliuuea 
for the savir\g of hb soul. The ruins of this old monastery ai4 
now nearly level with the ground. Robert likew se caiue<i 



JTinff'ff £a*e, but ffing-'a C 
foundatiDn <leBcnb«d below, 
moke tbia corroctioD.— 183^ 



).v., i. e. Cata Regis, the name of the roy^ 
Mr. Trftin'i kindnev uublea tbs Editoi w 



492 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



houses to be bailt round the well - King's Case, for eight 
fepers, and allowed eight bolls of oatmeal, and £28 Scotch 
money, per annum, to each person. These donations were laid 
upon the lands of Fullarlon, and are now payable by the Duke 
of Portland. The farm of tihiels, in the neighborhood of Ayr, 
iifis to give, if requirerl. a certain quantity of straw for the 
h'pe'^' beds, and so much to thatch their houses annually. 
Eacli leprous person had a drinking-horn provided liim by the 
king, which continued to be hereditary in the house to which 
it was first granted. One of those identical horns, of very 
carious workmanship, was in the possession of the late Colonel 
FuUarton of that Ilk." • 

My correspondent proceeds to mention some curious rem- 
tints of antiquity i-jspecting this foundation. "In compli- 
ment 10 Sir V\'i!liam Wallace, the great deliverer of his conn- 
try, King Robert Rrnoe invested the descendants of that hero 
with ..he right of placing all tlie lepers upon the establishment 
of King's Case. This patronage continued in tlie family of 
Craigie, till it was sold along with the lands of the late Sir 
'"homas Wallace. The Burgh of Ayr then purchased the right 
jf apjilying the donations of King's Case to the support of the 
pooi^liouse of Ayr. The lepers' chaner-stone was a basaltic 
block, exactly the shape of a sheep's kidney, and weighing 
an Ayrshire boll of meal. The surface of this stone being 
as smooth as glass, lliere was not any other way of lifting it 
than by turning the hollow to the ground, there extending the 
arms along each side of the stone, and clasping the hands in 
the cavity. Young lads were always considered as deserving 
to be ranked among men, when they could lift the blue stone 
of (Ring's Case. Tt always lay beside tiiewell, till a few years 
ago, when some English dragoons encamped at that place 
wantonly broke it. since which the fragments have been kept 
by the fr.?emen of Preslwick in a place of security. There is 
one of these charter-stones at the village of Old Daily, in 
Carrick, which has become more celebrated by the following 
event, which happened only a few years ago: — The village 
of New Daily being now larger tlian the old place of tlie same 
name, the iiiliabitants insisted that the charter-stone should be 
removed from the old town to the new, but the people of Old 
Daily were unwilling to part with tlieir ancient right. De- 
mands and remonstrances were made on each sid" without 
effect, till at last man, woman, and child, of both villages, 
marciied out and by one desperate engagement put an end to a 
war. the commencement of which no person then living re- 
membered. Justice and victory, in this instance, being of the 
same party, tlie villagers of the old town of Daily now enjoy 
the pleasure of keeping the bluc-stane unmolested. Ideal 
privileges are ofte.i attached to some of these stones. In Gir- 
van, if a man can set his back against one of tlie above de- 
Fcription, he is supposed not liable to be arrested for debt, nor 
can cattle, it is imagined, be poinded as long as they are fas- 
tened to the same stone. That stones were often used a.s sym- 
bols to denote the right of possessing land, before the use of 
written documents became general in Scotland, is, I think, 
exceedingly probable. The charter-stone of Inverness is still 
kept with great care, set in a frame, and hooped with iron, at 
*he miirJet-place of that town. It is called by the inhabitants 
of that district Clack na Couddin. I think it is very likely 
<hat ""wrey has mentioned this stone in his jioem of Craig Pha- 
oerick This is only a conjecture, as I have never seen that 
worl'. While the fimoua marble chair was allowed to remain 
ti Scoon, it was cotsidered as tlie charter^tone of the kingdom 
Bf Scalland 



Note 3 E. 



*' Bring^ kere,^* he said, " the mazers four, 
Jl[y noble father $ loved of yore." — P. 455. 

These mazers were large drinking-cups, or goblets. Mention 
if them occut's hi a curiL>us inventory of the treasure and Jew- 



els of ting James III., which will be published, with othe( 
curious documents ."■f antiquity, by my friend, Mr. Thorny 
Thomson, D. Register of Scoil.ind. under the title of " A CoV 
lection of Inventories, and other Records of the Royal Wa«l 
robe, Jewel-House," &.c. I copy the passage in which mentior 
is made of the mazers, and also of a habiliment, called " Ki*^ 
Robert Bruce's serk." i. e. shirt, meaning, perhaps, his shin 
of mail; although no other arms are mentioned in the inven- 
tory. It might have been a relic of more sanctided description 
a penance sliirt perhaps. 

Extract from " Invcntarc of anc Parte of the Uotd end 
Silver conyeit and uiicoiujeity Jowdlis, and uthcr Stu^ 
yerteining to Umquhilc oure Soveranc Lords Fader, thai 
he had in Depois the Tyme of his Dcceis, and thai 
come to the Handis of oure Soveranc Lord that now ig 

M.CCCC.LXXXVIII," 

"Memorandum fundin in a bandit kist like a gardevianl.i 
in the fyrst the grete chenye"^ of gold, contenand sevin score 
sex linkis. 

Item, thre platis of silver. 

Item, tuelf salfatis.3 ^ 

Item, i'yl'tene discheis* ouregilt. 

Item, a grete gilt plate. 

Hem, twa grete bassingis!' ouregilt. 

Item. FOUR Masaris, called Kino Robert the Brocih, 

with a cover. 
Item, a grete cok maid of silver. 

Item, the hede of sil ver of ane of the coveris of masar- 
Item, a fare dialle.^ 
Item, twa kasis of knyffis.'' 
Item, a pare of auld kniffis. 
Item, takin be the smyth that opiniiit the lokkis, in gold fourly 

fiemyis. 
Item, in Inglys grolis'^ xxiiii, li. and the said silvei 

given again to the takarisof hym. 
Item, ressavit in the clossat of Davidis tour, ane haly wa'ter^fai 

of silver, twa boxis, a cageat tume, a glas with rois-water 

a dosoune of torchis. King Robert Brucis Serk.'* 

The real use of the nntiqaarian's studies is to bring the 
minute information which he collects to bear upon paints of 
history. For ej:ample, in the inventory 1 have Just quoted, 
there is given the contents of the black kist, or cliest. belang- 
ing to James III., which was his strong box, and contained a 
quantity of treasure, in money and jewels, surpassing what 
might have been at the period expected of " poor Scotland's 
gear." This illustrates and authenticates a titriking passage 
in the history of the house of Douglas, by Hume ot Goilscrofl. 
The last Earl of Douglas (of the elder branch) had been re- 
duced to monastic seclusion in tlie Abbey of Lindores, by James 
II. James III., in his distresses, would willingly have recalled 
him to public life, and made him his lieutenant. " But he," 
says Godscroft, " laden with years and old age, and weary of 
troubles, refused, saying-. Sir, you have keept mee, and your 
black coffer in Sterling, too long, neither of us can doe you 
any good : I, because my friends have foreakeu me, and mj 
followers and dependers are fallen from me, betaking thrm- 
seivps to other masters ; and your bl.ick trunk is too farre from 
yoo, and your enemies are between you and it: or (as other* ^ 
say) because tliere was in it a sort of black coyne, that the 
king had caused to be coyned by the advice of his courtiew; 
which moneyes (saith he) sir, if you had put out at the fiwt, 
the people would have taken it; and if you hail employed 
mee in due time, I might liave done yon service. But now 
there is none that will take notice of me, nor meddle with 



1 Gard-vin, or wine-cooler. — S Chain.— 3 SdllcetlnrB, ftncu'ntiy trie ol|]Ml 
of much curioii& workDitinfilup. — i DiAbea. — s Budna,— 6 Dial.— T Casei ol 
kmrei.— « English groatA. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



493 



roar money," — Hhme's History of the House of Douglas, 
h\. Edin. il)-14. p. i306. 



Note 3 F, 



jSrouse old friends, and gathe* jteie. -P. 455. 

As soon as ii was known m Kyle, »:iys sncient tradition, 
ihat Rooert Bruce had landed in Cairick, srith t.'ie intention 
if recovering the crown of Scotland, the Laird of Craigie, and 
forty-ciglil luen in liis immediate neighborhood, declared in 
favor of their legitimate prince. Bruce granted them a tract 
9t' land, still retained by the freemen of Newton to this day. 
The original charter was lost when the pestilence was raging 
■tAyr; hut it was renewed by one of the Jameses, and is dated 
It Faulkland. The freemen of Newton were formerly officers 
by rotation. The Provost of Ayr at one time was a freeman 
of Newton, and it happened to be his turn, while provost in 
Ayr. to be officer in Newton, both of which offices he dis- 
charged at the same time. 

The forest of Selkirk, or Ettrick, at this period, occupied all 
the district which retains that denomination, and embraced 
the neighboring dales of Tweeddale, and at least the Upper 
Ward of Clydesdale. All that tract was probably as waste as 
it is mountainous, and covered with the remains of the ancient 
Caledonian Forest, which is supposed to have stretched from 
Cheviot Hilla as far as Hamilton, and to have comprehended 
ever, a part of \yrshire. At the fatal battle of Falkirk, Sir 
John Stewart of Bonkill, brother to the j-teward of Scotland, 
eommanded the archers of Selkirk Forest, who fell around 
the dead body of their leader. The English historians have 
commemorated the tall and stately persons, as well as the 
nnswerving faith, of these foresters. Nor has their interesting 
fall escaped the notice of an elegant modern poetess, whose 
abject led her to treat of that calamitous ■engagement. 

" The glance of the mom had sparkled bright 
On their plumage green and tlieir actons light ; 
The bugle was strung at each hunter's side. 
As they had been bound to the chase to ride ; 
But the bugle is mate, and the shafts are spent, 
The arm unnerved and the bow unbent, 
And the tired forester is laid 
Far, far from the clustering greenwood shade I 
8ore have they toil'd — they are fallen asleep, 
And their slumber is heavy, and dull, and deep I 
When over their bones the grass shall wave. 
When the wild winds over their tombs shall rave, 
Memory shall lean on their graves, and tell 
How Selkirk's hunters bold around old Stewart fell !" 

Wallace, or the Fight of Falkirk [by Miss 
Holford], Lond. 4to. 1809, pp. 170-1. 



Note 3 G. 



IVken Bruce's banner kad victorious flowed, 

O^er I.oudouii's mountain, and m Ury's valf.. — P. 456. 

The first important advantage gained by Bruce after Und- 
og at Tunibprry, was over Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pem- 
roke, the same by whom he had been defeated near Meth- 
'cn They met as has been said, by appointment, at Lou- 
"Onhlll, ir tha west of -Scotland. Pembroke sustained a 
'tfeat; an-i fro n that lime Bruce was at tlie head of a con- 
I'lcrable flyin" army. Yet he was subsequently obliged to 
eireat into Aberdeenshire, and was there assailed by Comyn, 
!arl of Buchan, desirous to avenge the death of his relative, 
le Red Comyn, and supported by a body of Englis'i troops 

oder Philip de M'obrnv. Brucewasill at the time of \ scrof- 
'lous disorder, oo ^ook horse to meet his enemies, a 'loogh 



obliged to be supported on either aide. He was victorious, u&o 
it is said that the agitation of hi& spirits restored his health. 



Note 3 H. 



fVken English blood nft deluged Dongla -datc.—V. t5b, 

The " good Lord James of Douglas during these commo- 
tions, often took from the English his own castle of Dougla* 
but being unable to garrison it, contented himself willnl trojp 
isig the fortifications, and retiring into the modntains, _\^ 
reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been prooliesiet 
that how often soever Douglas Castle should be destrb ^ed, 
should always again rise more magnificent from lis r^ins 
Upon one of these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing 
all the store of provisions, which the English had laid up in 
his castle to be heaped together, bursting the wine and beer - 
casks among tlie wiieat and Hour, slaughtering the cattle upon 
the same spot, and upon the top of the whole cutting the throats 
of the English prisoners. This pleasantry of the " good Lord 
James" is commemorated under the name of the Douglas's 
Larder. A more pleasing tale of cliivalry is recorded by Gods- 
croft. — " By this means, and such other exploits, he so affright- 
ed the enemy, that it was counted a matter of great jeftpardie 
to keep this castle, which began to be called the ndventuroui 
(or hazardous) Castle of Douglas : whereupon Sir John Wal- 
ton being in suit of an English lady, she wrote to him, tha. 
when he had kept the adventurous Castle of Donglas seven 
years, then he might think himself worthy to be a suitor to her. 
Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it, 
and succeeded toThruswall, but lie ran the same fortune witt 
the rest that were before him. For Sir James, having first 
dressed an ambnscado near unto the place, he made fourteen 
of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with grass aa 
though it had been corn, which ^iiey carried in the wa> to 
Lanark, the chief market town in that county : so hoping to 
draw forth the (wptain by that bait, and either to take him or 
the castle, or both. Neither was this expectation frustrated, 
for the captain did bite, and came forth to have taken this vic- 
tual (as he supposed). But ere he could reach these carriers, 
Sir James, with his company, had gotten between the castle 
and him ; and these disguised carriers, seeing the captain fol 
lowing after them, did quickly cast off" their sacks, mounted 
themselves on horseback, and met ;.he captain with a sharp 
encounter, being so much the more amazed, as it was no- 
tooked for: wherefore, when he saw these carriers metamop- 
phosed into warriors, and ready to assault him, fearing that 
which was, that there was some train laid for them, he turned 
about to have rotired to his castle, but there he also met with 
his enemies ; between which two companies iie and his whole 
followers were slain, so that none escaped; the captain after- 
wards being searclied, they found (as is reported) his mis- 
tress's letter about him." — Haaie's History cf the House oj 
Douglas, fol. pp. 29,30.1 



Note 3 I. 

.^nd fiery Edward routed stout St John. — P. 45C. 

"John de St. John, with 15,000 hor'»eraen, had advanced 
to oppose the inroad of the-Scots. By a forced march be <*a* 
deavored to surprise them, but intelligence of his motions wai 
timeously received. The courage of Edward Bruce, ap| reach- 
ing to temerity, frequently enabled Iiini to achieve what mea 
of more judicious valor would never have attempicd. He o^ 
dered the infantry, and the meaner sort of his army, to mtrencli 
themselves in strong narrow ground. He himself, with fiftj 
horsemen well harnessed, issued forth under cover of a tliicl 

1 This IB the fousdulion of the &.uthol 'b loit romance, C<ulle Dangt* 
oua. — Ed. 



t94 



8C0TT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cnist, sarprifjfl J the English on their mar'jh, attacked and dis- 
persed thein. "' — Dalrvmplb's Jtnnalg of Scotland, i^nTnto, 
Edinburgh, 1779, p. 25. 



Note 3 K. 



ff firtK Rapaolpk'' 3 war-cry sweii'U Ihe so utkern gale. — P. 456, 

T^^'was Randolph, Bruce'e sister's son, a renowned Scottish 
f U'tff, was in the early part of his life not more remarkable for 
consistency than Bruce himself. He espoused his'nncle's 
parly when Bruce first assumed the crown, and was made 
prisoner at the fata, hattle of jMelhven. in which his relative's 
*)opes appeared to be ruined. Randolph accordingly not only 
submitted to the English, bat took an active part against 
Broce ; appeared in arms against him; and, in the skirmish 
where he was so closely pursued by the bloodhound, it is said 
Iiis nephew took his standard with his own hand. But Ran- 
dolph was afterwards made prisoner by Douglas in Tweeddale, 
and brought before King Robert. Some harsh language was 
exchanged between the uncle and nephew, and the latter was 
committed for a lime to close custody Afterwards, however, 
they were reconciled, and Randolph was created Earl of Mo- 
ray about 1312. After tliis period he eminently distinguished 
himself, Iiret by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and after- 
wards by many similar enterprises, conducted with equal 
courage and ability. 



Note 3 L. 



-Stirling's towers. 



Beleaguered by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce. — P. 456. 

When a long train of success, actively improved by Robert 
Bruce, had made him master of almost all bcotland, Stirling 
Castle continued to hold out. The care of the blockade was 
committed by the king to his brother Edward, who concluded 
a treaty with Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, that he should 
surrender llie forlres.'', if it were not succored by the King of 
England before St. John the Baptist's day. The King se- 
verely blamed his brotherfor the impolicy of a treaty, which 
gave time to the King of England to advance to the relief of 
the castle wilii all his assembled forces, and obliged himself 
either to meet them in battle with an inferior force, or to re- 
treat with dishonor. "Let all England come," answered 
the reckless Edward ; " we will fight them were tliey more." 
The consequence was, of course, that each kingdom mastered 
its strength for the expected battle; and as the space an;reed 
upon reached from Lent to Midsummer, full time was allowed 
for that purpose. 



Note 3 M. 



To summon prince and peer, 
M Berwick-hounds to meet their Liege. — P. 456. 

Tliere is printed in Rymer's P'ojdera the summons issued 
•ipon this occasion to the sheriff" of York ; and he motions 
eighteen other persons to whom similar ordinances were issued. 
It seems to respect the infantry alone, for it is entitled, De 
peditibas ad recussnm Castri de Stryveli/i a Scotis obscssi, 
vropcrare faciendis. Thie circumstance is also clear from the 
reasoning of the writ, wliich states : '• We have understood 
that onr Scottish enemies and rebels are endeavoring to collect 
aa strong a force as possible of infantry, in strong and marshy 
grounds, where the approach of cavalry would be difficuU, 
between uh and the castle of Stirling." It then sets forth 
V[owbrav's agreement to surrender the castle, if not relieved 



before St. John the I^aptist's day, and the king 9 detennin» 
tion, with divine grao' *o raise ihe siege. " Tlierefore," the 
summons further bears, to remove oursaid enemies and reb- 
els from such places as .ibove mentioned, it is necessary foi 
OS to have a strong force of infantry fit for arms." And ao- 
cordin"ly the shenlV of York is commanded to equip and 
send torth a body of four thousand infantry, to l-e assembled 
at Wcrk, upon the tenth day of June first, under pain >. ;b«ig 
roj al displeasune. &c. 



Note 3 N. 



And Cambria, but of late suudued. 

Sent forth her mountain-multitude. — P. 456. 

Edward the First, with the usual policy of a conqoofl^A 
employed the Welsh, whom he had subdued, to assist him in, 
his Scottish wars, for which their liabits. as mountaineen,' 
particularly fitted them. But this policy was not without its 
risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the Welsh quarrtUeri 
with the English men-at-arms, and after bloodshed on both 
parts, separated themselves from his army, and the feud be 
tween them, at so dangerous and critical a jnnclnre, was rec 
onciled with difficulty. Edward II. tbllowed his father's ei 
ample in this particular, and wi'.h no better success. Tin-) 
could not be brought to exert themselYes in the cause of ihcii 
conquerors. But they had an indifferent rewjird for their for 
hearance. Without arms, and clad only in scanty dresses ol 
linen cloth, they ap])cared naked in the eyes even of tlic Scot 
tish peasantry; and after the root of Bannockburn, wen 
massacred by them in great numbers, as they retired in coa 
fusion towards their own co'untry. They were under com 
mand of Sir Maurice de Berkeley, 



Note 3 0. 



JInd Connoght pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 
Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.—P. 456. 

There is in the Ftedera an invitation to Eth O'Connor, cbiej| 
of the Irish of Connaught, setting forth that the king 1 
about to move against his Scottish rebels, and therefore leJ 
questing the attendance of all the force he could muster, eitbfil 
commanded by himself in per=on, or by some nobleman of hif 
race. These auxiliaries were to be commanded by Richaitfl 
de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Similar mandates were issued tM 
the following Irish chiefs, whose names may astonish theDol 
learned, and amuse the antiquary. 

" Eth O Donnold, Duci Hibernicorum de Tycooil ; 

Deraod O Kalian, Duci Hibernicorum de Femelrew ; 
. Doneval O Neel, Duci Hibernicorum de Tryowyn; 

Neel .Macbreen, Duci Hibernicorum de Kynallewan; 

Eth Oftyn, Duci Hibernicorum de Turtery ; 

Ailmely Mac Anegns, Duci Hibernicorum de Onehagh." 

Neel O Hanlan, Duci Hibernicorum de Erthere ; 

B^en Mac Maliun, Duci Hibernicorum de Uriel ; 

Lauercagh Mae Wyr, Duci Hibernicorum de Lougherifli 

Gillys O Ra.^y, Unci Hibernicoiuni de Bresfeny ; 

Geff'rey O Fergy, Duci Hibernicorum de IVIontiragwil; 

Felyn O Honughur, Duci Hibernicorum dc Coimach ; 

Donetbuth O Bien, Duci Hibernicorum de Tothmund; 

Dermod Mac Arthy, Duci Hibernicoru;n de DessemoDod 

Denenol Carbragh ; 

Maur. Kenenagh \;ac Murgh ; 

Mui^liugh O Bryn ; 

David O Tothvill ; 

Dermod O Tonoghnr, Doflaly ; 

Fyn O Dymsy ; 



Soueitmth Mac (■illcphatrick ; 

Lyssagli O Mortli ; 

Uilbertus Ekclly, Duci Hib(;rnicoriini de Omaiiy ; 

Mqc Rtlielau ; 

Cmsiuu llclyn, Duci Ilibernicorum Midie." 

Rymer's Fadera, vol. iii. pp. 476. 477. 



Note 3 P. 



Their chief, Fitz-/.oais.—P. 458. 
Fitz-Lonis. or M.ic-Loui9, ollierwise called FuIIarton, is a 
Inniily of ancient descent in the Isle of Arran. Tliey are said 
10 be of French origin, as the name intimates. They attached 
themselves to Kriiee upon his first landing ; and Fergus Mac- 
Louis, or Fullarlon, received from the grateful monarch a 
charter, dated 26ih November, in the second year of his reign 
(1307), for the lands of Kilmichel, and others, which still re- 
main in this very ancient and respectable family. 



Note 3 Q. 

In bajtles four beneath their eye, 

The forces of King Robert lie— P. 458. 

The arrangements adopted by King Robert for the decisive 
battle of Baimockburn, are given very distinctly by Barbour, 
tnd form an edifying lesson to tacticians. Yet, till commented 
opon by Lord Hailes, this important passage of history has 
been generally and strangely misunderstood by historians. 1 
irill here endeavor to detail it fully. 

T%vo days before the battle, Bruce selected the field of action, 
snd took jio^t there with his army, consisting of about 30,000 
disciplintd men, and about half tiie number of disorderly attend- 
ant-* upon the camp. The ground was called tiie New Park of 
Stirling ; it was partly open, and partly broken by copses of 
wood and marshy ground. He divided his regular forces into 
four divisions. Three of these occupied a front line, separated 
Crom each other, yet sufficiently near for the purpose of com- 
monication. Tl»e fourth division formed a reserve. Tlie line 
lAleoded in a north-easterly din-ction from the brook of Ban- 
nock, which was so rug^jed and broken as to cover the right 
fllnk effectually, to the village of r^uint Ninians, probably in 
ihe line of the present road from Stirling to Kilsyth. Edward 
Bruce commanded the right wing, which was strengthened by 
aetfongbody of cavalry under Keith, the Maresclial of Scot- 
land, to whom was committed the important charge of attack- 
ing Uie English archers; Douglas, and the young Steward of 
Scotland, led the central wing; and Thomas Randolph, Earl 
of Moray, the left wing. The King himself commanded the 
fonrlh division, which lay in reserve behind the othere. The 
royal standard was pitched, according to tradition, in a atone, 
having a round hole for its reception, and thence called the 
Bore-«tone, It is still shown on the top of a small eminence, 
called BrockVbrae, to the southwest of Saint Ninians. His 
main body thus disposed. King Robert sent the lollowerFof the 
camp, filteen thousand and upwards in number, to the emi- 
nence in rear of his army, called from that circumstance the 
Oiilics* (i. ('. the servant^') Hill. 

The military advantages of this position were obvious. The 
Scottish left flank, protected by the brook of Bannock, could. 
not be turned ; or, if tliat attempt were made, a movement by 
Uie reserve might have covered il. Again, the English could 
aot pass the Scottish army, and move towards Stirling, without 
exposing Vieir flank to uc aiiacjieu while in march. 

If. on the other hand, the Scottish line had been drawn up 
Mtft and west, and facing to the southward, as affirmed by 

1 An nu:stjia le which (by Lhe way) could not have b«en rt-ndered, biid 
«i Iba Eogliik approached from the aoutheast; &iiic«, had their march 



Buchanan, and adopted by Mr. Nimmo, the anthitr of thfl 
History of Stirlingsliire, there appears nothing to have pre 
vented the English approaching upon the carse, or level grounc* 
from Falkirk, either from turning the Scottish left flank, oi 
from passing their position, if they preferred it, without coming 
to an action, and moving on to the relief of Slirlinp And tho 
Gillies' Hill, if this less probable hypothesis be adopted, would 
be situated, not in the rear, as allowed by all the historians 
but upon Uie left flank of Bruce'g army. The only objection 
to tlie hypothesis above laid down, is, that the left flank ol 
Brace's army was thereby exposed to a sally ironi the garri>on 
of Stirling. But, 1st, the gan'ison were bound to neutrality by 
terms of Mowbray's treaty ; and Barbour even seems to <-'■»• 
sure, as a breach of faith, some secret assistance which tliey 
rendered their countrymen upon the eve of battle, in placing 
temporary bridges of doors and spars over the pools of water in 
the carse, to enable them to advance to the charge. i -dly. Had 
this not been the case, the strength of the garrison was proba 
biy not sufficient to excite apprehension. 3dly, The advenie 
hypothesis leaves the rear^of the Scottish army as much ex 
posed to the Stirling garrison, as the left flank would be in the 
case supposed. 

It only remains to notice the nature of the ground in f'ont ol 
Brace's line of battle. Bemg part of a park, or chase, it was 
considerably interrupted with trees; and an e.\tensive marsh, 
still visible, in some places rendered it inaccessible, and in ah 
of difficult approach. More to the northward, where the natu- 
ral inipedimenis were fewer, Bruce fortified his position against 
cavalry, by digging a number of pita so close together, say* 
Barbour, aa to resemble the cells in a honey-comb. Tliej 
were a foot in breadth, and between two and three feet deep, 
many rovvy of them being placed one beliind.the other. They 
were slightly covered with brushwood and green sods, so a.s not 
to be obvious to aa impetuous enemy. 

All the :?cottish army were on foot, excepting a select body 
of cavalry stationed with Edward Bruce on the right wing, 
under the immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, tlie Mar- 
shal of Scotland, who were destined for the important service 
of charging and dispersing the English archers. 

Thus judiciously posted, in a situation fortified both by at* 
and nature, Bruce awaited the attack of the English. 



Note 3 R, 

Beyond, the Southern host appears. — P. 458. 

Upon the 23d June, 1314, the aiarm readied the Scottish 
army of the approach of tJie enemy. Douglas aud the Marshal 
were sent to reconnoitre with a body of cavalry : 

" And soon the great host have they seen, 
Where shields shining were so sheen, 
And basinets burnished bright, 
Tliat gave against the sun great light. 
They saw so fele- brawdyi.e^ baners, 
Standards and pennons and spears, 
And so fele knights upon steeds, 
All llaming in their weeds. 
And so fele bataills, and so broad. 
And too so great room as they rode. 
That the maist host, and the stoutest 
Of Christendom and the greatest, 
Should be abaysit for to see 
Tlieir foes into such quantity." 

The Bruce ■ ol. ii. p. In 

The two Scottish commanders were cautions in the accou i 
which they brought back to their camp. To the king in \ n 



been due north, tli 
and tho (^arrifloa. 



'. Sciiiuiih army muBt havfl txteo oetween t}i< ii 
1 Maay. 8 Displayed 



496 



• SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rate they toltl the formidabfe state of the enemy ; bat in poblic 
reported that tlie English were indeed a numerons host, but ill 
commanded, and worse disciplined. 



Note 3 S. 



With thtse the valiant of the Ir-ies 

Beneath their chieftains ranked their files. — P. 458. 

Tb« men of Argyle, the islanders, and the Highlanders in 
general, were ranked in the rear. They raust have been no- 
merous, for Bruce had reconciled himself with almost all their 
chieftains, excepting the obnoxious MacDougals of Lorn. 
The following deed, containing the submission of the potent 
Earl of Ross to the King, was never before publislied. It is 
dated in the third year of Robert's reign, that is, 1309. 

" ObLIGACIO CdMITIS ROSSEJJSIS PER HOMAGIUM FlDELI- 
TATEM ET SCRIPTUM. 

" Universis cliristi lidelibos ad quorum noticiam presentes 
fitere peruenerint Willielraus Comes de Ross salulera in domi- 
DO sempilernani. Q,uia magnificus princeps Dominus Robertas 
dei gracia Rex Scottorum Dominus meus ex innata sibi boni- 
tate, inspirataque clemencia, et gracia speciali remisit michi 
pure rancorem animi sui, et relaxaait ac condonauit michi om- 
nimodas traiisgressiones seu offensas contra ipsum et suos per 
me et nieos vsque ad confeccionem literarum presencinm per- 
pptratas : Et terras raeas et tenementa mea omnia graciose con- 
tcssit. Tit me nichilominus de terra de Dlngwal et ferncroskry 
'nfra comilatum de Suthyrland de benign a liberalitate sua heri- 
ditarie infeodare (Tarauit. Ego tantam principis beneuolenciam 
•jfficaciter attendens, et pro tot graciis michi factis, vicem sibi 

gratitadinis meis pro viribus de cetero digne 

vite cupiens exhibere. subicio et obligo me et heredes meos et 
homines meos vniuersos diuto Domino meo Regi per omnia 

. erga suam regiam dignitatem, quod eri- 

musde cetero fideles sibi et heredibus suis et fidele sibiseruicium 
auxilium et concilium contra omnes homi- 
nes et feminas qui vivere poterint aut mori, et super h Ego 

Willielmus pro me hominibus meis vni- 

nerais dicto domino meo Regi ■ manihus homagium 

sponte feci et super dei ewangelia sacramenlum prestiti 

.- In quorum omnium testimonium sigiUum menm, 

etsigilla Hugonis filii et jieredis et Joliannis filii mei vna cum 
BJgillis venerabilium patrum Dominorum Dauid et Thome Mo- 
raviensis et Rossensis dei gracia episcoporuni presenlibus hteris 
BOnt appeiisa. Acta scripta et data apud Aldern in Morania 
vltimo die mGnsis Oclobris, Anno Rcgni dicti domini nostri 
Eegis Roberti Tertio. Testibus venerabilibus patribus supra- 
dietis. Domino Bernardo Cancellario Regis, Dominis WiUJel- 
rao de Haya, Johanne de Strinelyn, Willielmo Wysman, Jo- 
banne de Ffenton, Dauid de Berkeley, et Waltero de Berke- 
^y militibus, magistro Waltero Heroc, Decano ecclesie Mora- 
nie, magistro Willielmo deCreswel eiusdem ecclesie precentore 
St muUis aliis nobilibus clericis et laicis dictis die et loco con- 
(iegaliQ." 

The copy of this curious document was supplied by my 
friend, Mr. Thomson, Deputy Register of Scotland, whose re- 
>»-arches into our ancient records are daily throwing new and 
important light upon the history of the country. 



Note 3 T. ^ 
The Jl'onarch rode along the van. — P. 459. 
The English %'angQard, commanded by the Earls of Glouces- 
«r and Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army upon the 

^ ComnuleA.— '1 tloste.— 3 Without shrlb king .--4 Spurred, — 5 line. 



evening of the 23d of June. Bruce wai then riding npon « 
little palfrey, in front of his foremost line, putting his host in 
order. It %vas then that the peisonal encounter took place be- 
twixt him and Sir Henry de Boliun. a gallant English knight, 
the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits of bolj 
armies. It is thus recorded by Barbour : — 

'* And qulien Glosyster and Herfurd war 
With'thair bataill, approchand ner, 
!!efore tliaim all thar come rydand, 
With helm on heid, and sper in hand 
Schyr Henry the Boune, the worthi, 
That wes a wyclit knycht, and a hardy : 
And to the Erie off Herfurd cusyne: 
Armyt in armys gud and fyne ; 
Come on a sted, a bow scliote ner, 
Befor all othyr tliat thar wer : 
And knew the King, for that he saw 
Him swa rang his men on raw , 
And by tlie cr<^)une. that wes set 
Alsua apon his bassynet. 
And towart liim lie went in by. 
And [quben] the King sua apcrt y 
Saw him cum, foiouth all his feris,' 
In hy^ till him the hors he steris. 
And quben Schyr Henry saw the King 
Cum on, for owtyn abaysiiig,3 
Till him he raid in full gret hy 
He tliouclit that he suld weill lychtly 
Wyn him, and haf him at his will, 
Sen he him horsyt saw sa ill. 
Sprcnt^ thai samyn in till a ling.Q 
Scliyr Henry myssit the noble King. 
And he, that in his sterapys stud, 
With the AX that wes hard and gud, 
With sa gift mayne<i rach' him a dynt. 
That nothyr hat, na helir, mycht stynl 
Tlie hewy' dnschc^ that 'le him gave, 
That ner the heid till the harynys clave. 
The hand ax scliaft fruschi:" in twa ; ^ 

And he doune to the erd gan ga J|) 

All flatlynys.'o for him faillyt mycht. 
This wes the fryst strak off the fyclit." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book viii. v. 684. 

The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the King upon ha 
temerity. He only answered, " I have broken my good battle* 
axe."— The English vanguard retreated after witnessing thil 
single combat. Probably their generals did not think it advisa. 
ble to hazard an attack while its unfavorable issue remained 
upon their minds. 



Note 3 U. 



JVhat train of dust, with trumpet sound, 
And glimmering spears, is wheeli.ig round 
Our leftward flank ?— 460. 

While the van of the English army advanced, a detached 
body attempted to relieve Stirling. Lord Hailes gives the foi 
lowing account of this manceuvrc and tlie result, which is ao* 
companied by circumstances highly cha-acteristic of the cbiv* 
"alrous manners of the age, and di-fplay^ t'-^t generosity which 
reconciles us even to their ferocity upon other occasions. 

Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who coinmocded the left 
wing of his army, to bo vigilant in preventing Lny advanced 
parties of the English fwni throwing succora inta the caetle 0> 
Stirling. 

" Eight hundred hois( men, commanded by Sir Robert CUf 

6 Strongth, or'brM.— 7 Heavy.— S Clash, -9 Broke.— 10 FUt. 



—I 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



491 



ford, were detached from the EngHsh army ; thiy made a cir- 
2nit by the low CTonnds to tho cast, and approached the castie. 
The King perceived their molioiis, and, coming up to Ran- 
dolph, angrily exclaimed, 'Thoughtless man! you have auf- 
'sreri the enemy to pass.' Randolph hasted to repair hi3 
fault, or pensh. As he advanced, the EngUsh cavalry wheeled 
to attack him. Randolph di^w up his troops in a circular 
form, witli their spears resting on the ground, and protended 
jn every side. At the first onset, Sir William Daynecourt, an 
English commander of distinguished note, was slain. The 
enemy, far superior in numbers to Randolph, environed him, 
and pressed hard on his little hand. Donfclassaw hisjeopanly, 
and refioesteil the King's permi^ion to go and succor him, 
' You shall not move from your ground,' Tied the King ; ' let 
Randolph extricate himself as he bes* may. I will not alter 
my order of battle, ami lose the advantage of n.7 positiop.' — 
* In truth,' replied Douglas, ' [ cannot stand by and see Ran- 
dolph perish ; and, therefoie, with your leave. I must aid 
him.' The King unwillingly eonsented, and Douglas flew to 
. the assistance of Iiis friend. \\ hilc approaching, he perceived 
that the English were falling into disorder, and that the pers*- 
verance of Randolph had prevailed over their impetuous cou[^ 
age. * Halt,' cried Douglas, ' llioi^e brave men have repulsed 
Uie enemy ; let d9 not diminish their giory by sharing it.' " — 
Dalrymplk's Annals of Scotland, 4lo. Edinburgh, 1779, 
np. 44, 45. 

Two large stones erected it the north end of the village of 
ifewhouse, about a quarter ot ? mile from the south part of 
Stirling, ascertain the place of this memorable skirmish. Tne 
iircumslance tends, were connnnatioii necessary, to support 
he opinion of Lord Hailes. tliat tht Scottish line had Stirling 
in its left flank. It will be remembered, that Randolph corn- 
Handed infantry, Daynecourt eavnlry. Supposing, therefore, 
iccording to the vulgar hypothesis. tJiat the Scottish line waa 
Irawn up, facing to the south, in the line of the brook of Ban- 
lock. and consequently that Randolph was stationed with Iiis 
efl flank re-ting upon Milnlown bog, it is morally impossible 
hat his infantry, moving from that position, with whatever 
elerity, could cot off from Stirling a body of cavalry who had 
Iready passed St. Ninians,i or, in other words, were already 
letween them and the town. Whereas, supposing Randolph's 
sft to have approached St. Ninians, the short movement to 
^ewhoosc could easily be executed, so aa to intercept theEng- 
ish in tiie manner describea. 



Note 3 V, 

Kesponstve from the Scottish host. 

Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were toss'd. — P. 461. 

There is an old tradition, that the well-known Scottish tune 
)f ** Hay. totii taitti," was Brnce's march at the battle of 
Bannockburn. The late Mr. Ritson, no granter of proposi- 
.ions. doubts whether the Scot* had any martial music, quotes 
Froissart's account of each soldier in tiie hoi-l bearing a little 
horn, on which, at the onset, they would make soch a horrible 
noise, as if all the devils of hell had been among them. He 
observes, that these Iioms are tlie only music mentioned by 
Barbour, and concludes, that it must remain a moot point 
whether Brace's army were cheered by the sound even of a 
•oUiary bagpipe. — Historical Essay prefixed to liitson^s 
Scottish Songs. — It may be observed in passing, that the 

' Birboiir mya expressly, they avoided the New Pnrk (where Bnice's 
irmy Uy), and bold " well Death the Kirk," which can oaly mean St. 
Ninians. 
? Togi'lher. 

3 SchUlrum. — This word hiia been varioialy limited or extended in it« 
agnificalion. In penoral, it aeema to iuiply n lnre« body of men drawn up 
■cry clojely together. But it has been limited to imply a round or circular 
■ody of men eo drawn up. 1 cimnot understand it with thi« limitation in 
t» preient com. The acbiltnun of the Scottish army at Falkirk waa on- 
63 



Scottish of this period certainly observed some nci&.tal car 
dence, even in winding their horns, since Bruce was at onci* 
recoyni/cd by his followers from his mode of blowing. Sen 
Note 2 T. on canto iv. But the tradition, true or false, ha* 
been the means of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyrics in 
the language, the celebrated wai^song of Burns, — " Soots, wha 
hae wi* Wallace bled." 



Note 3 W, 



.\h«? OHunrd, and in open view. 

The countless ranks of England drew. — P. 461. 

Upon the 24th of June, the English army advanc*! to Iht 
attack. The narrowness of llie Scoltisli front, and the nature 
of thf' ground, did not permit the.n to have the full advantage 
of their numbers, nor is it very easy to find out what was their 
proposed order of battle. The vanguard, however, appeared 
a distinct body, consisting of archers and spearmen on foot, 
and commanded, as already said, by the Earls of Gloucester 
and ilercfoid. Barbour, in one place, mentions that they 
formed nine battles or divisions; but from the following 
passage, it appears that tliere was no room or space for them 
to e-xtend themselves, so that, except the vanguard, the who)* 
army appeared to form cne solid and compact bodv ' 

" The English men, on eithpr party, 
That as angels shone brightly, 
Were not array'd on such manner : 
For all their battles samyn^ were 
In a scliiltrum.3 But whether it wa» 
Through the great straitness of the place 
That they were in, to bide fightJn;; ; 
Or that it was for abaysiiig ;< 
I wete not. But in a schiltriim 
It seemed tht^ were all and aome , 
)ut ta'en the vaward antfrly,^ 
riiat right with a great company, 
He tiieiii selwyn, arrayed were. 
Who h;id been by, might have seen then* 
That folk ourtake a mekill feild 
On breadth, where many a sliining shield. 
And many a burnished bright armour, 
And many a man of great valour, 
Mij^t in that great scliiltrum be seen : 
And many a bright banner and sheen.'* 

Barbour's Bruce, vol ii. p. lu 



Note 3 X. 

See where yon barefoot Abbot stands. 

And blesses them loith lifted hands. — F. 461 

" Maurice, abbot of Inchaflray, placing himself on an em* 
nence, celebrated mass in sight of the Scoilisii army. He then 
passed along the front barefooted, and bearing a cracifi.\ in hip 
hands, and exhorting the Scots, in a few and forcible wcrd'* 
to ronbat for their rights and their liberty. The Scots kneelec 
down. 'They yield,' cried Edward ; 'see, they implore iner 
cy.' — 'They do,' answered Ingelram de Umfraville, ' but no* 
ours. On that field they will be victorious, or die * *' -.dnnala 
of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 47. 

doubtcdly of a circular form, in order to resist the uttatka of JioEngliih 
cavalry, on whflteverquarter they might be charged. But it c'oeaoot ftp. 
pear how, or why, the English, advancing to the attack at Biituiockbiin^ 
ahoiild have arrayed themselves inn cin-ular form, Itieemi r>ore proba- 
ble, that, by Sckiltrum in the present case, Barbour meuiu to -ipresi tm 
irregular masa into which the English army waa romprewed I ' ll'e va- 
wieldineas of iu numbers, and the care le sen uu or igitorauco afxXx laat'en. 

4 Frightening, 

6 Aloie. 



*98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 T. 

Forth, Jifarshal, on the peasant foe ! 
IVeHl tame the terrors of their bow, 

And cut the bow-string loose! — P. 462. 
The English archers commenced the attack with theii tisnal 
ira^ery and dexterity. But against a force, whose importance 
ne had learned by fatal experience, Bruce was provided. A 
linall but select body of cavalry were detached from the right, 
onder command of Sir Robert Keith. They rounded, as I 
Miiiceive, the marsh called Milntown bog, and, keeping the 
Inn ground, charged the left flank and rear of the English 
cchers. As the bowmen bad no spears nor long weapons fit 
M defend themselves against horse, they were instantly thrown 
nio disorder, and spread through the whole English array a 
eonfrision from whicli they never fairly recovered. 

' The Inglis arclieris schot sa fast, 
That mycht thair schot haff ony last 
It had bene hard to Scoltis men. 
Bot King Robert, that wele gan ken' 
That thair aroheriswar peralonss, 
And thair schot ryebt hard and grewonss, 
Ordanyt, foroutha the assemble, 
Hys marschell with a gret menye, 
Fyve Iiundre armyt in to stele, 
That DC lycht horss war horsyt welle, 
For to pryk^ air.ang the arclieris ; 
And swa assaile thaim with thair speria. 
Thai thai na layser haiff to schute. ' 

This marschell that Ik of mute, 'i 
That Schyr Robert of Keyth was cauld. 

As Ik befor Iier has yow lauld, 
Quhen he saw the bataillis sua 

Assembill, and to gidder ga, 

And saw the arclieris schoyt stoutly ; 

W'itii all tliaim ofi' his cnmpany, 

In hy apon thaim gan lie rid ; 

And our tok thaim at a sid : 

And ruscbyt amang thaim saradly, 

Stekand thaim sa dispitously, 

And in sic fusoun" berand doun. 

And slayand thaim. for owtyn ransoun ;' 

That thai thaim scalyt^^ euirilkaiie.9 

And fra that tyme forth thar wes nane 

That ai^emblyt schot to ma.io 

Quhen Scottis archeris saw that thai sua 

Warrehutyt.il thai woux hardy. 

And with all thair mycht schot egrely 

Amang the horss men, that thar raid ; 

And woundis wid to thaim thai maid ; 

And slew of thaim a full gret dele." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book is. v. 25J8. 

Although the success of this manceuvre was evident, it is 
rery remarkable that the Scottish generals do not appear to 
have profited by the lesson. Almost every srbseqncnt battle 
vhich tlicy lost against England, was decided hy the archers, 
ro whom the close and compact array of the Scottish phalanx 
fttfordoft an exposed and unresisting mark- The oloody batttfe 
uf Halioonn-hill. fouglit scarce twenty years afterwards, was 
to completely gained by the archers, that the English are said 
10 have lost only one knjght, one esquire, and a few foot-sol- 
■Hers. At the battle of Neville's Cross, in 1346, where David 
11. was defeated and made prisoner, John de Graham, observ- 
■ng tiie lo-^s which the Scots sustained from the English bow- 
men, offered to charge and disperse them, if a hundred men-at- 
arms were put under his command. " But, to confess the 
ttuth,'' says Fordon, " he could not procure a single horseman 

\ Know.— 2 Diyoined from tho main body —3 Spur.— 4 That I speak 
f, — 5 Set apon their Rank.-* Numbers.— 7 Ransom. --8 DisperBc'd.— 
.Kvery one. — 10 Make. — 11 Dnvcu back. 



for tlie service proposed,'* Of such little use is espenence 
war, where its results are opposed by habit or prejudice. 



Note 3 Z. 



Eack braggart chvrl could boast before, 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric tore.'— P. 463. 
Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish proverb, " wheieby 
they give the whole praise of shooting honestly to Englishmen 
saying thus, ' that every English archer beareth under his gir 
dl^ twenty-four Scotfes.' Indeed Toxophihis says before, anrt 
truly of the Scottish nation, ' The Scottes surely be good men 
of warre in theyre owne feates as can be; but as for shoot- 
inge'. they can neitlier use it to any profite. nor yet challenge i» 
for any praise." — Works of Ascham, edited by Bennct, 4to 
p. 110. 

It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient English historirtn, 
that the "good Lord James of Douglas" dreaded the superi- 
ority of the English archers so much, that when he made any 
of tbem prisoner, he gave him the option of losing tlie forefin- 
ger of his right hand, or his right eye, either species of muti'i- 
tion rendering liim incapable to use the bow. I have roiilaid 
Uie reference to this singular passage. 



Note 4 A. 



Down ! down ! irt headlong overthrow. 
Horseman mid horse, the foremost go. — P. 4C2. 

It is generally alleged by historians, that the English raen-al 
arras fell into the hidden snare which Bnice had prepared fol 
them. Barbour does not mention the circumstance. Accord 
ing to his account,- Randolph, seeing the slaughter made by 
the cavalry on the rigiit wing among the archers, advanced 
courageously against the main body of the English, and en- 
tered into close combat with tiiem. Douglas and Sluart, who 
commanded the Scottish centre, led their division airo to the 
charge, and tlie battle becoming general along the wliote line, 
was obstinately maintained on both sides for a long space of 
time ; the Scottish archers doing great execution among ths 
English men-at-arms, after tiie bowmen of England were dls- 



Note 4 R 



And steeds that shriek in agony.— P. 462. 

I have been told that this line requires an explanatory note , 
and, indeed, those who witness tiie silent patience with which 
horses submit to the most cruel usage, may be permitted to 
doubt, that, in moments of *udden and intolerable anguish, 
they otter a most mtdancholy cry. Lord Erskine. m a speech 
made in the House of Lords, upon a bill for enforcing huma- 
nity towards animals, noticed this remarl able fact, in language 
which I will not mutilate by attempting to repeat it. It wa< 
my fortune, upon one occasion, to hear a horse, in a nioniepl 
of agony, utter a thrilling scream, which I still consider tba 
most melancholy sound I ever heard. 



Note 4 C. 



Lord of the Isles, my trust tn thee i 

Is firm as Ailsa Ruck : i 

Httsh on with Highland sword a-id tarf^p. 
I, with my Cnrrick spearmen cn^^r^^e.—V. 464. 

When tlie engagement between the main bodies had Ibs« 
some time, Bruce made a decisive movement, by bringing al ' 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



499 



Am Scottish reserve. It is traditiotially sold, that at this cri- 
lis, he addressed the Lord of the Isles in a phrase used as a 
leotto by some of liis Descendants, *' My trnst 19 constant in 
tbee." Barbour intimates, that the reserve "assembled on 
one field/' that if, on the same line with the Scottish forces 
already engaged ; wliich loads Lord Ilailes to conjecture that 
the Scottish ranks must have been much lluimed by (slaughter, 
lince, in that circamscribed ground, there was room for tlie 
eserve to fall into the line. But the advance of tlie Scottish 
eavalr/ must have contributed a good deal to form the va- 
•>vicv occupied by the reserve. 



Note 4 D. 



TV arms they jlewy — axe, club, or spear, — 
jind mimic ensijrns high they rear. — P. 464. 

The followers of the Scottish camp observed, from the Gil- 
lies* Hill in the rear, the impression produced upon the English 
»rmy by the bringing np of the Scottish reserve, and, prompted 
oy the enthusiasm of the moment, or the desire of plunder, 
assumed, in a tomultuary manner, such arms as they found 
Oeare^t, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and showed 
themselves like a new army advancing to battle. 

" Yomen. and swanys.i and pitaill,3 
That in the Park yemyt wictaill.s 
War left ; qnhen tliai wyst but lesing,* 
That thair lordis, with fell fechtyng, 
On lliair fayis assemblyt wer ; 
Ane off thai m selwyn^ that war thar 
Capitane of thaim all thai maid. 
And schetis, that war sumedele^ brad, 
Thai festnyt in steid off baneris, 
Apon lang treys and speris : 
And said that thai wald se the fyebt ; 
And help thair lordis at thair mycht. 
Q,uhen her till all assentyt wer, 
In a rout assemblit er ;' 
Fyflene thowsand thai war. or ma. 
And than in gret hy gan thai ga, 
With thair baneris. all in a rout. 
As thai had men bene styth^ and stout. 
Thai come, with all that a^sembl^, 
Rycht quhill thai mycht the bataill se : 
Than all at anys thai gave a cry, 
' Sla ! sla ! Apon thaim hastily !' " 

Barbocr's Bruce, Book ix. v. 410. 

Tlie unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, 
rompleted the confusion which already prevailed among the 
English, who fled in every direction, and were pursued with 
immense slaughter. The brook of Bannock, according to 
Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of men and horses, 
that it might have been passed dry-shod. The followers of 
the Scottish camp fell apon the disheartened fugitives, and 
added to the confusion and slaughter. Many were driven 
loto the Foilh, anil perished there, which, by the way, could 
hardly have happened, had the armies been drawn np easl 
and West : since, in that case, to "el at the river, the English 
fngilives must have fled through the victorious army. About 
a short mile from the field of battle is a place called the 
Bloody Folds. Here the Earl of Gloucester is said to have 
vadQ a stand, and died gallantiv at the head of his own mili- 
4iiy tenants and vassals. He wai much regretted by both 
adea ; and it is said the Scottish would gladly have saved his 

''■'', but, neglecting to wear his surcoat with armorial bear- 

1 Swoini — 5 Rabble.— 3 Kept the proviajoiu. — 4 Lying. — 5 Selvoe. — 
BooMwhut •I Are.— 6 Stiff. 1 



ings over his armor, he fell anknown, after hLi norae had been 
stabbed with spears. 

Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, contrived to 
conceal himself during Uie fury of the pursuit, and when it 
was somewhat slackened, approached King Robert, " Whose 
prisoner are yon. Sir Marmaduke 1" said Bruce, to whom he 
was personally known. " Your^, air." answered the knight 
" I receive yon," answered the king, and, treating him with 
the utmoQl courtesy, loaded him with gifts, a ■ ' 'Iismissed him 
without ransom.' The other prisoners were all well treated. 
There might be policy in this, as Bruce would naturally wish 
to acquire the good opinion of the English barons, who were 
at this time at great variance with their king. But it also well 
accords with his high chivalrous character. 



KoTE 4 E. 



01 give their hapless prince his due. — P. 464. 

Edward II.. acconling to the best authorities, showed, in 
the fatal field of Bannockbnrn, pereonal gallantry not un- 
worthy of his great sire and greater son. He remained or the 
field till forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, when an waa 
lost. He then rode to the Cattle of Stirling, and demanded 
admittance ; but the governor, remonstrating upon the impru- 
dence of shutting himself up in tliat fortress, which must so 
soon surrender, he assembled around his person five hundred 
men-at-arms, and, avoiding the field of battle and the victo 
rioQS army, fled towards Linlithgow, pursued by Douglas with 
about sixty horse. They were augmented by Sir Lawrence 
Abernethy with twenty more, whom Douglas met in the Tor- 
wood upon tlieir way to join the English army, and whom he 
easily persuaded to desert the defeated monarch, and to assist 
in the pursuit. They hang upon Edward's flight as far as 
Dunbar, too few in number to assail him with effect, but enough 
to harass his retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant 
behind, was instantly slain or made prisoner, Edward's igno- 
minious flight terminated at Dunb;ir, where the Earl of March, 
who still professed allegiance to him, " received him full 
gently." From thence, the monarch of so great an empire, 
and the late commander of so gallant and nomerous an army, 
escaped to Baniboroogh in a fishing vessel. 

Bruce, as will appear from the following document, lost no 
time in directing the thunders of Parliamentary censure against 
such part of his subjects as did not return to their natural all^ 
giance after the battle of Bannockburn. 

ApVD M0NASTERIU.M DE Cambl'skenneth, 

%'I DIE NOVEMBRt5, M,CCC,XIV. 

Judicium Reditum apnd Kambnskinct contra omnes illos gm 
tunc fucrunt contra jidcm et paxem Domini Regis. 

Anno gracie millesimo rin.ef.jAi*.<o qnarto decimo sexto die 
Novembris tenente parliamentum sunm Excel lentissimo pnu* 
cipe Domino Roberto Dei gracia Rege Scottorum Illustn It. 
monasterio de Cambuskyneth concordatl.m fuit finnliler Ju- 
dicatum [ac supi-rj hoc statatum de Conci'io el Assensu E|»i^- 
coporum et ceterorom PreUtorum Coniilum Baronum ei alio- 
rum nobilinm regni Scocie nee non et tocius communitatis 
regni predicti quod omnes qui contra fitlem et pacem dicti 
domini regis in hello sen alibi mortui sunt [vel qui die] to die 
ad pacem ejus et fidem non venerant licet sepias vocati ul le- 
gitime (ixpectati fuissent de terns ct tenementJs et onini alio 
statu infra regnom Scocie perpetuo siin exheredati et hal'-ac- 
tur de cetero lanquara inimici Regis el Regni :ib omni venai- 
cacione juris hereditarii vel juris altcnus cujuscunque in po*- 
ternm pro se et heredibua sais in pcrpelunm privali Ad pei^ 
petuaro igitut rei memoriam et evidentum probacionem hujui 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rudicii et Statati dgilla Episcoporum et aliornra Prelatorum 
fcec non et comilnm Baroiium ac ceterorum nobilium dicti 
Reo-.. xeseoti ordinacioni Judicio et statuto saiit appensa. 

6igillnm Domini Regii 

igillnm WiUelmi Episcopi Sancli Andrea 
Sigillom Roberti Episcopi Glascueosis 
Sigillum WiUelmi Episcopi DaakeldenaU 

. . . Episcop. 

. . . Episcopi 

. . . Episcopi 

Sigillom Alani Episcopi Sodoreosis 
Sigillum Johannis Episcojii Brechynensb 
Sigillum Andree Episcopi Ergadiensis 
Sigillum Frechardi Episcopi CathaDeniin 
Sigillum Abbatis de Scona 
Sigillom Abbatis de Calco 
Sigillum Abbatis de Abirbrothok 
' Sigillum Abbatis de Sancta Croce 
Sigillum Abbatis de Londoris 
Sigillum Abbatis de Newbotill 
Sigillom Abbatis de Cupro 
Sigillum Abbatis de Paslet 
Sigillum Ab'jatis de Dunfermelyn 
Sigillum Abbatis de Lincluden 
Sigillum Abbatis de Insula Missarom 
Sigillom Abbatis de Sancto Cotomba 
Sigillum Abbatis de Deer 
Sigillom Abbatis de Dulce Corde 
Sigillum Prioris de Coldingliame 
Sigillum Prioris de Rostynot 
Sigillom Prioris Sancle Andree 
Sigillum Prioris de Pittinwem 
Sigillum Prioris de Insula de Lochlevin 
Sigillom Senescalli Scocie 
Sigillum Willelmi Comitis de Ros 

Sigillum Gilberii de la Haya Constabularii Scocie 

Sigillum Rooerti de Keth Mariscalli Scocie 

Sigillum Hugonis de Ros 

Sigillum Jacobi de Duglas 

Sigillum Johannis de Sancto Claro 

Sigillum Thome de Ros 

Sigillum Alexandri de Settone 

Sigillum Walteri Haliburtone 

Sigillum Davidis de Balfour * 

Sigillom Duncani de Wallays 

Sigillum Thome de Dischingtone 

Sigillum Andree de Moravia 

Sigillom Archibaldi de Betan 

Sigillum Ranolplii de Lyill 

Sigillom Malcomi de Balfour 

Sigillom Normanni de Lesley 

Sigillom Nigelli de Campo bello 

Sigillum Morni de Masco Campc 



Note 4 F. 

^or for D£ Argentine alone, 

Througk J^intan^s church these torches shone, 

JJnd rose the death-prayer^ s awful tone. — P. 465. 

The remarkable cirtomstances attending the death of De 
(igentine have been already noticed (Note L). Besides this 

1 Togetb«r. S R«i, or gilded. 

% fThe extract! from Barbour in this edition of Sir Walter Scott's poome 



renowned warrior, there fell many representatives of th* 
noblest hooses in England, which never sustained a more 
bloody and disastrous defeat. Barbour says that two hundred 
pairs of gilded spurs were taken from the field of battle ; and 
that some were left the author can bear witness, who has in 
his possession a curious antique spar, dn^r up in the moraaa 
not long since. 

" It wes forsuth a gret feriy, 
To se samyn' sa fele dede lie. 
Twa hondre payr of spuris reid,^ 
War tane of knichtis that war deid." 

I am now to take my leave of Barbour, oot withoot a siiicera 
wish that the public may encourage the undertaking of my 
friend Dr. Jamieson, wlio has issued proposals for publishing 
an accurate edition of his poem, and of blind Harry's Wal- 
lace.3 The only good edition of The Bruce was published by 
Mr. Pinkerton, in 3 vols., in 1790 ; and, tlie learned editor 
having had no personal access to consult the manuscript, it is 
not without errors ; and it has besides become scarce. 01 
Wallace there is no tolerable edition ; yet these two poema do 
no small honor to the early state of Scottish poetry, and The 
Broce 8 justly regarded as contaioing authentic historical 
facts. 

The following list of the slain at Bannockbum, extracted 
from the continuator of Trivet's Annals, will show the extent 
of the national calamity. 

List of the Si.ain. 



Knights and Knights Ban- 
nerets, 
Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Glou- 
cester, 
Robert de Clifford, " 
Payan Tybetot, 
William Le Mareschal, 
John Comyn, 
William de Vescey, 
John de Montfort, 
Nicolas de Hasteleigh, 
William Dayncourt, 
iEgidius de Argenteyne, 
Edmond Comyn, 
John Lovel (the rich), 
Edmund de Hastynge, 
Milo do Stapleton, 



Simon Ward, 
Robert de Felton, 
Michael Poyning, 
Edmund Maulley. 

Knights. 
Henry de Bonn, 
Thomas de Ufford, 
John de Elsingfelde, 
John de Harcourt, 
Walter de Hakelut. 
Philip de Courtenay, 
Hugo de Siales, 
Radulph de Beaucliarop 
John de Penbrigge, 
With 33 others of the si 
rank, not named. 



Prisoners. 
Barons and Baronets. Antony de Lucy. 

Henry de Boon, Earl of Here- Radolph de Camys, 



ford, 

Lord John Giffard, 
William de Latimer, 
Maorice de Berkeley, 
Ingelram de Unifraville, 
Marmaduke de Twenge, 
John de Wyletone, 
Robert de Maolee, 
Henry Fitz-Hogh, 
Thomas de Gray, 
Waller de Beauchamp, 
Richard de Charon, 
John de Wevelmton 
Robert de Nevil, 
John de Segrave, 
Gilbert Peeche, 
John de Clavering, 



John ae Evere, 
Andrew.de Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas de Berkeley, 
The son of Roger Tyrrel 
Anselm de Ulareschal, 
Giles de Beauchamp 
John de Cyfrewast, 
John Bluwet, 
Roger Corbet. 
Gilbert de Boon, 
Bartholomew de Eneleld, 
Thomas de Ferrers, [ton 

Radulph and Thomas Bott« 
John and Nicliolas de Ku]| 
stone (brothers), 



have bet-n unifoiinly corrected by the tort of Dr. Jamieaoii's Bnice,pift 
liahed, along with BliDd HaiTj-'a Wallace, Edin. 1820, 2 voU ilo.—ED.l 



I 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



601 



Wiilium Lovel,. 
Henry iie,VViIeton. 
Baldwin lie FrcviU, 
John tie Cliveiloii,' 
Ailoraor lu Zouchc. 
John de Mcrewode, 
John MauA-.s 



Tliomas and Odo Lele Erce- 

tickcne, 
Robert Bcaii[#l (iheEon), 
John Maiitravera (the son), 
William and William Giffard, 
and 34 otiier knights, not 
named by the historian. 



And in aurn there were sUm, .iiong with the Earl of Glonces- 
ler, (orty-tvvo barons and bannerets. The namber of earls, 
barons, and bannerets made cajitive, was twenty-two, and 
ojty-eight knights. Many clerks and esqnires were also there 
fJun or tak«n. Roger de Northborge, keeper of the kin^' 

! Bapvo*^ Clibtdr 3 lituU. 



signet (Custos Tarsia Domini Regis), was made prisonoi 
with his two clerks, Roger de Wakenfelde and Thomas da 
Switon, unon wtiicli tlte king causL-d a seal to be made, and 
entitled it nis privy seal, to distinguish the same from the signet 
so lost. The Earl of Hereford was exchanged against Bruce's 
qaeen, who had been detained in captivity ever since the year 
1306. The Targ-ia, or signet, was restored to England through 
the intercession of Ralph de Monthemier, ancestor of Lord 
Moira, who is said to have found favor in the eyes of the Scot- 
tish king. — Contittuation of Trivet's Jlnnals, Halt's edit 
Oxford, 1712, vol. ii. p. 14. 

Soch were the immediate consequences of the Field orBan* 
nnckh'irn. Its more remote effects, in completely establisbiag 
the national independence of Scotland, afford a boDndlav fiMi 
for BpeoolatiaB. 



S:i)£ JtcU of Waterloo: 



A POEM.' 



** Thongh Valoia braved young Edward's gentle hand, 
And Albert rosh'd on Henry's way-wom band, 
With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renown'd, 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long tliey look'd, 
Nor Andley'a squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd, — 
They saw their standard fall, and left tlieir monarch bound.'* 

ASENSIDI. 



HER GRACE 

THE 



DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON. 
PSIUCESS OF ■WATERLOO, 

&C. &C. &0. 

r«E FOLLOWING VEESBS 
ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCHIBED 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be a)me apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was composed hastily, and during m 
thoTt tour upon the Continent, when the Author's labors were tiable to frequent interruption ; but ili 
heit apology is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. 
Abbotsfoed, 1815. 



9II)£ iftelir of tUater.oo. 



Jaib. Brussels, thou art far behind. 
Though, lingermg on the moming wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
Peal'd over orchard and canal. 
With voice prolong'd and measured fall, 

From proud St. Michael's tower ; 
Thy wood, daik Soignies, holds us now,' 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

' Published by Constable 8t Co. in October, 1815. 8vo. 5s. 
• '• The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remilant of the 
ml >f Ardennes famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immor- ' 



For many a league around. 
With birch and diirksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen. 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Sterna planted close by stems defy 
The adventurous foot — the curious eye 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves, 
StreVd on the blighted ground, receives 

Nor Sim, nor air, nor i ain. 
No opening glade dawns Jn our way, 
No streamlet, glancing to the ray, 

tal in Shakspeare's * As you Like it.* It is also celebrated n 
Tacitus as b,jing the spot of successful defence by the GenoaJH 
against the Roman encroachments." — Byron. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. • 50? 


^ Our woodland path lias cross'd ; 


Yet one mile on, yon shatter'd hedge 


ind the straiglit causeway which we tread. 


Crests the soft liiU whose long smootli riflge 


I'rolongs a line of dull arcaile, 


Looks oil the field below, 


Unvarying thi-ough the unvaried shade 


And suiks so gently on the dale, 


Until in ilistauco lost. 


That not the folds of Beauty's veil 




In easier curves can flow. 


IL 


Brief space from thence, the ground again 


A brighter, livelier scene succeeds ;' 


' Ascending slowly from the plahi. 


In groups the scattering wood recedes, 


Forms an opposing screen, 


Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, 


Which, with its crest of upland ground, 


And coru-tields, glance between ; 


Shuts the horizon all around. 


The peasant, at his labor bUthe, 


The soften'd vale between 


Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe :' — 


Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; 


But when these ears were green. 


Not the most timid miud need dread 


Placed close within destruction's scope, 


To give her snow-white palfrey head 


Full Utile was that rustic's hope 


Ou that wide stubble-ground f 


Their ripening to have seen 1 


Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush, ai'e there. 


And, lo, a luimlet and its fane : — 


Her coin-se to intercept or scare, 


Let not the gazer with disdain 


Nor fosse nor fence are foiiud, 


Their aixhiteeture view ; 


Save where, from out her shatter'd bowers. 


For yonder rude ungraceful slu-ine. 


Rise Hougomont'a fUsmantled towers' 


And disproportiou'd spire are thine,' 




Immortal Waterloo !' 


IV. 




Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene 


III. 


Can tell of that wliich late hath been? 


Fear not the heat, though fiiU and high 


A stranger might reply, 


The sun has scorch'd the autumn sky. 


" The bare extent of stubble-pl^in 


And scarce a forest strjiggler now 


Seems lately lighten'd of its gram ; 


To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; 


And yonder sable tracks remain 


These lields have seen a hotter day 


Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, 


Than e'er wjis tired by sunny ray.' 


When harvest-home was nigh.* 


" Southward from Brussels lies the field of oiooa. 


His childless sovereign. Heaven denied an heir, 


Some three hours' journey for a well-girt man ; 


And Europe mourn'd in blood the frustrate prayer." 


A horseman, who in baste pursued his road, 


SOUTUEY. 


Would reach it as the second hour began. 


To the original chapel of the Marquis of Castanaza has now 


The way is tlirough a forest deep and wide, 


been added a building of considerable extent, the whole inte- 


Extending many a mile on either side. 


rior of which is filled with monumental iiiscriptiiAs for the 




heroes who fell in the battle. 


'■ No cheerful woodland this of antic trees, 


6 The MS. has not this couplet. 


With thickets varied and with sunny glade ; 


8 "As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene ol 


Look where he will, tlie weary traveller sees 


some great action, though tins may be 'iiere imagination. 1 


One gloomy, tliick, impenetrable shade 


have viewed with attention, those of Pla a, Troy, Mantinea. 


Of tall straight trunks, which move before his sight, 


Leuctra, Chjeronea, and Marathon ; ;i d the field around 


'Vith interchange of lines of long green light. 


Mont Ht. Jean and Hougomont appear- lo wmhi lit;!** but i 


■ 


better c^u^e, and that indefinable but i upressive halo wJiieb 


' Here, where the woods receding from the road 


the lapse of ages throws around a com rated sj)0t, to vie in 


Have left on either hand an open space 


interest with any or all of these, except, | >.rhaps, the last men 


For fields and gardens, and for man's abode. 


tioned."— Byron. 


Stands Waterloo ; a little lowly place. 
Obscure till now, when it hath ri«en to fame. 


' MS.—" Save where, \ . J fire-scatned bowers smonjc, 
' the \ 


And given the victory its English name." 


Rise the rent towers of Hongonr.om 


Southisy's Pilgrimage to tVaterloo. 


e " Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust, 


• See Appendi.x, Note A. 
» MS. — " Let not the strairger with disdain 
Its misproportions view ; 

Yon ! ""■,"'>' ''°""':| ! ungraceful shrine. 


Nor column iropliied for triumphal show ? 
None : But the moral's truth tells sim]der so, 
As the ground was before, tlius let it be ; — 
How that red rain hatli made the harvest grow ' 
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, 


f avvkwani and i 
And yor.der humble spire, are thine.*' 


Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory V 

BYBrw 


• " What time the second Carlos ruled in Spain, 
Last oftlip Austrian line by fate decreed. 




" Was it a soothing or a mournful thought. 


Here Castanaza rear'd a votive lane, 


Amid this scene of slaughter as we stood, 


Praying the patron saints to bless with seed 


Where armies had with recent fury foogbt 



504 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



On these broad spots of trampled ground, 


Death hover'd o'er the maddening rout, 


Perchance the rustics danced such round 


And, in the thrilling battle-shout. 


As Tenders loved to draw ; 


Sent for the bloody banquet out 


And where the earth seems scorch'd by flame, 


A summons of his own. 


I'o dj-ess the homely feast they came, 


Through rolUng smoke the Demon's eye 


And toil'd the kerchief 'd village dame 


Could weU each destined guest espy, 


Around her fire of straw." 


Well could his ear in ecstasy 




Distinguish every tone 


V. 


That fiU'd the chorus of the fray— 


Si) -Jeera'st tinti — so each mortal deems. 


From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 


' )f that which is from that which seems : — 


From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 


But other harvest here, 


From the wild clang that mark'd their way,- 


'lli.an that which peasant's scythe demands, 


Down to the dying groan, 


Was gather'd in by sterner hands. 


And the last sob of life's decay. 


Witli bayonet, blade, and-epear. 


When breath was all but flown. 


.\'o vulgar crop was tlieirs to reap. 




.N'o stinted harvest thin and cheap ! 


VIII. 


Heroes before, each fatal sweep 


Feast on, stern foe of mortal life. 


Fell thick as ripen'd gi-ain ; 


Feast on ! — but tliink not that a strife, 


And ere the darkening of the day. 


With such promiscuous carnage rife, 


Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay 


Protracted space may last ; 


The ghastly harvest of the fray. 


The deadly tug of war at length 


The corpses of the slain.' 


Must Unfits find in human strength. 




And cease when these are past. 


VI. 


Vain hope !-^that morn's o'erclouded sim 


Ay, look again — that line, so black 


Heard the wild shout of fight begun 


And trampled, marks the bivouac. 


Ere he attain'd his height. 


Ton deep-graved ruts the artillery's track. 


And tlirough the war-smoke, volumed high. 


' So often lost and won ; 


StiU peals that unremitted cry. 


And close beside, tlie harden'd mud 


Though now he stoops to night. 


Still sliows where, fetlock -deep in blood. 


For ten long hours of doubt and dread, 


The fierce dragoon, througli battle's flood. 


Fresh succors from the extended head 


Dash'd the liot war-horse oa 


Of either hill the contest fed ; 


These spots of excavation tell 


StUl down the slope they di'ew. 


The ravage of the bursting shell — 


The charge of columns paused not. 


And fecl'st thou not the tainted steam. 


Nor ceased the stonn of shell and shot ; 


That reeks against the sultry beam. 


For all that war could do 


From yonder trenched mound ? 


Of skill and force was proved that day, 


'I"he pestilential fumes declare 


And turn'd not yet the doubtful fray 


That Carnage has replenisli'd there 


On bloody Waterloo. 


Her gjU'ii i-house profound. 


IX. 


VII. 


Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were tlwM 


Far other harvest-home and feast. 


When ceaseless from the distant line 


Than claims the boor from scythe released. 


Continued tliunders came I 


On these scorch'd fields were known ; 


Each burglier held his breath, to hear 


Te marfe how gentle Nature still patsoed 


And friend and foe, within the general tomb. 


4er quiet eourse, as if she took no care 


Equal had been their lot ; one fatal day 


For what her nohlesl work had suffer'd ther«. 


For all. . . one labor, . . and one place of rest 




They found within their common parent's breast. 


•* The pears had npen'd on the garden wall ; 




Those leaves wliich on the antumnal earth were spread, 


" The passing seasons had not yet effaced 


The trees, though pierced and scared with manya hall, 


The stamp of numerous hoofs impress'd by ftrce 


Had only in tlieir natural season shed ; 


Of cavalry, whose path might still be traced. 


Flowers were in seed, whose buds to swell began 


Yet Nature everywhere resumed her course ; 


When such wild havoc here was made hy man." 


Low pansies to the sun their purple gave. 


SOUTHEY. 


And the soft poppy blossom'd on the grave." 


" Earth had received into her silent womb 


Soornii 


Hersiaoghter'd creatures ;- horse and man they lay, 


2 See Appendix, Note B. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



501 



Thsae forerunners' of havuc near, 


On came the whhlwind — steel-gleams broke 


Of rapine and of flame. 


Like lightning tlu-ough the rolling smoke ; 


What ghastly sights were tluue to meet, 


The war was waked anew, 


When rolling'' through thy stately street, 


Three himdred cannon-mouths roar'd loud. 


The wounded show'd their mioigled plight' 


And from their tlu-oats, with flash and cloud, 


In token of the unfinish'd fight, 


Their showers of iron threw 


And from each anguish-laden wain 


Beneath their fire, in full career. 


The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain !• 


Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier, 


How often in the distant drum 


The lancer couch'd his rutliloss spear, 


HeaiJ'st thou the fell Invader come, 


And hun-ying as to havoc near. 


WTiile Ruji sliouiing to his band. 


The cohorts' eagles flew. 


Shook liigh her torch and gory brand 1 — 


In one dark torrent, broad and strong, 


Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand. 


The advancing onset roll'd along. 


Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand 


Forth haibinger'd by fierce acclaim. 


Points to liis prey in vain. 


That, from the slu-oud of smoke and flame. 


While maddening in liis eager mood. 


Peal'd wildly the imperial name. 


And all unwont to be withstood. 




He fires the fight again. 


xn. 




But on the British heart were lost 


X. 


The terrors of the charging host ; 


On 1 On !" was still his stem exclaim ; 


For not an eye the storm that view'd 


" Confront the battery's jaws of flame I 


Changed its proud glance of fortitude, 


Rush on the levell'd gun i^ 


Nor was one forward footstep sttud. 


My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance I 


As dropp'd the dying and the dead.' 


Each Hulau forward with his lance. 


Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, 


My Guard — my Chosen — charge for France, 


Fast they renew'd each serried square ; 


France and Napoleon !" 


And on the wounded and the slain 


Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout, 


Closed their diminish'd files again. 


Greeting the mandate which sent out 


Till from their line scarce spears' lengths throe 


ITieir bravest and their best to dare 


Emergmg fi-om the smoke they see 


Tlie fate their leader shunn'd to share.' 


Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — 


But Hl, liis country's sword and sliield. 


Then waked their fire at once ! 


Still in the battle-front reveal'd. 


Each musketeer's revolving knell. 


Where danger fiercest swept the field. 


As fast, as regularly fell, 


Came like a beam of light, 


As when they practise to display 


In action prompt, in sentence brief — 


Their discipline on festal d.ay. 


" Soldiers, stand firm," exclaiin'd the Chief, 


Then down went helm and lance, 


" England shaU tell the fight !'" 


Down were the eagle banners sent. 




Down reeling steeds and riders went. 


XI. 


Corslets were pierced, and pennons ren4 ; 


On came the wliirlwind — like the last 


And, to augmeut the fray. 


But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 


Wheel'd full against their staggering flanka 


MS — " Harbingers." 


Was festering, and along the crowded ways, 


MS — " Srreaming." 


Hour after hour was heard the incessant sound 


Ms.—" Blooily plight." 


Of wheels, which o'er the rough and stony road 


Witiiin tliose walls there linger'd at that hoar, 


Convey'd their living agonizing load ! 


Many a brave soldier on the bed of pain, 
1 'aom aid of human art should ne'er restore 

To see his country and tiia friends again ; 
And many a victim of that fell debate. 
Whose life yet waver'd in the scales of fate. 


•' Hearts little to the melting mood inclined, 

Grew sick to see their sntferings ; and the thought 
Still comes with horror to the shoddering mind 

Of those sad days, when Belgian ears were taagbl 
The British soldier's cry. half groan, hall prayer, 


" Othere in wagons borne abroad I saw, 


Breathed when his pain is more than he can bear." 


Albeit recovering, still a mournful sight ; 


SOUTHET. 


Languid and helpless, some were stretch'd on straw. 


^ MS. " his stem exclaim ; 


Some more advanced, sustain'd themselves upright, 


* Where fails the sword make way by flame I 


And with bold eye and careless front, methonght. 


Recoil not from the cannon's aim ; 


Seem'd to set wounds and death again at naaght. 


Confront them and they're won.' " 




See Appendix, Note C. ' Ibid. Note D. i Ibid. Note H 


iVhat bid it been, '.heo, in the recent days 


8 MS. — " Nor was one forward footstep stopp'd. 


Of that great triamph. when the open wonod 


. ThoQgh close beside a comrade dropp'd ' 



506 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced tlieir resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — 
As pUes the smith his clanging trade/ 
Against the cuirass rang the blade -^ 
And wliilr amid theh close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way,' 
And wliile amid their scatter'd band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Recoil'd iu common rout and fear, 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier. 
Horsemen :ind foot — a mingled host, 
Their leaders fall'n their standards lost. 

XIII. 

Then, Wellington ! thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destmy — 

The British host had stood 
That mom gamst charge of sword and lance* 
As their own ocean rocks hold stance, 
But when thy voice had said, " Advance !" 

They were their ocean's flood. — 
Thou, whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wi-ought thy host this hour of shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bandf. will bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide ? 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levell'd steel,' 

' See Appendix, Note F. 

3 '* I heard the broadswords' deadly clang. 

As if an hundred anvils rang I" Lady of the Lake. 

' MS. — " Beneath that storm, in fall career, 

Rut^h'd on tlie ponderous cuirassier, 

™, , \ came with levell'd i „„. 

Tlie lancer \ , > spear, 

( couch d his latal > 

Sworn j ^^^"^ i to do or die ; 

But not an instant would they bear 

The \ ^•^°"'*^'^ j of each serried square, 
( vollies ) 

They halt, they turn, they fly ! 

Not even their chosen brook to feel 

The British shock of levell'd steel ' 

Enough that through their close array 

The well-plied cannon tore their way ; 

Enough that 'mid their broken band 

The linrsemen plied the bloody brand, 

Recoil'd," &c. 

• "The cuirassiers continued their dreadful onset, and rode 
ap to the squares in the full confidence, apparently, of sweep- 
ing every thing before the impetaosity of their charge. Tlieir 
onset and reception was tike a furious ocean pouring itself 
against a chain of insulated rocks. The British square stood 
nnmoved, and never gave fire until the cavalry were wilhin 
ten yards, when men rolled one way, horses galloped anotlier, 
ind the cuirassiers were in every instance driven back." — Life 
<tf Bonajmrte^ vol. \\. p. 12. 

5 See Appendix, Note G. 

• MS. — " Or can thy memory fail to quote. 

Heard to thy cost, the vengeful note 
Of Prussia's trumpet tone?" 
" ' We observe a certain degree of similitade in some pas- 



Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam afar. 
And fresher thunders wake the war, 

And other standards tly ? — 
Think not that in yon columns, file 
Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle— 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill). 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussia's triuupet tone ? — * 
What yet remains \ — shall it be, thine 
To head the reUcs of thy hne 

In one dread effort more \—r 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved,*' 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Chieftain, who, of yore, 
Ambition's dizzy paths essay'd, 
And with the gladiators' aid 

For empire onterprised — 
He stood the cast his rashness play'd, 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own blade 
And on the field he lost was laid, 

Abhon-'d — but not despised.* 

XIV. 

But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought, — 

sages of Mr. Scott's present work, to the compositions of Lo«. 
Byron, and particularly his Lordship's Ode to Bonaparte ; anu 
we thiuk that whoever peruses ' Tlie Field of Waterloo,' with 
that Ode iu his recollection, will be struck with lliis new re« 
semblance. We allude principally to such passages as thai 
which begins, 

' The Roman lore thy leiscre loved,' &c. 
and to such tines as, 

' Now, secst thou aught in this loved scene, 
Can tell of that which late hath been V 
or, 

' So deem'st thou — so each mortal deems, 
Of that which is, from that which seems ;' 

lines, by the way, of which we cannot express any very great 
admiration. This sort of influence, however, over even the 
principal writers of the day (whether they are conscious of the 
influence or notj. is one of the surest *est3 of genius, and one 
of the proudest tributes \vhich it leceives." — Monthhj Review. 
8 " When the engagement was ended, it evidently appeared 
with what undaunted spirit and resolution Catiline's army had 
been fired ; for the body of every one was fouml on that very 
spot which, during the battle, he had occupied ; tliose only ei* 
cepted who were forced from iheir posts by the Prietorian co- 
hort ; and even lliey, though they fell a little out of theil 
ranks, were all wounded before. Catiline himself was found, 
far from his own men. amidst the dead bodies of the enemy, 
breathing a little, with an air of that fierceness still in his face 
which he had when alive. Finally, in all his army there was 
not so much as one free citizen taken prisoner, either in the en- 
gagement or in flight ; for they spared their own lives as little 
as those of the enemy. The army of the republic obtained the 
victory, indeed, but it was neither a cheap nor a joyful one, for 
their bravest men were either slain in battle or dangerously 
wounded. As there were many, too, who weut to view thi 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 501 


Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, 


XVL 


Though twice ten thousand men liave died 


List — frequent to the hurrying rout. 


Ou this eventful day, 


The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 


To gild the miUtary fame 


Tells, that upon their broken rear 


Which thou, fur Ufe, in traffic tame 


Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 


Wilt barter thus away. 


So fell a shriek was none. 


Shall future ages tell this tale 


When Beresina's icy flood 


Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 


Redden'd and thaw'd with flame and bkod ' 


And art thou He of Lodi's bridge, 


And, pressing on thy desperate way. 


Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge 1 


Raised oft and long their wild hurra. 


Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, ' 


The children of the Don. 


That, swell'd by winter storm and 


Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 


shower. 


So ominous, when, all bereft 


Rolls down iu turbulence of power, 


Of aid, the valiant Polack left — ' 


A torrent fierce and wide ; 


*Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave* 


Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 


In Leipsic's corpse-encumber'd wave. 


Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, 


Fate, in those various perils past. 


Whose channel shows display'd 


Reserved thee still some future cast , 


The wrecks of its impetuous course. 


On the dread die thou now hast thrown. 


But not one symptom of the force 


Hangs not a single field alone. 


By which these wrecks were made ! 


Nor one campaign — thy martial famo. 




Thy empire, dynasty, and name. 


XV. 


Have felt the final stroke ; 


Spm- on thy way ! — since now thine ear 


And now, o'er thy devoted head, 


■ Has brook'd thy yeterans' wish to hear. 


The last stern vial's wrath is shed, 


Who, as thy flight they eyed. 


The last dread seal is broVf ' 


Exclaim'd, — while tears of anguish came. 




Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and 


XVIL 


shame, — 


Since live thou wilt — refuse not now 


" 0, that he had but died !"' 


Before these demagogues to bow, 


But yet, to sum this hour of Ul, 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate. 


Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill, 


Who shall thy once imperial fate 


Back on yon broken ranks — 


Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 


Upon whose wild confusion gleams 


Or shall we say, thou stoop' st less low 


The moon, as on the troubled streams 


In seeking refuge from the foe. 


When rivers break their banks. 


Against whose heart, in prosperous life. 


And, to the ruin'd peasant's eye. 


Thine hand hath ever held the knife ! 


Objects half seen roll swiftly by. 


Such homage hath been paid 


Down the red current hurl'd — 


By Roman and by Grecian vpice. 


So mingle baimer, wain, and gun. 


And there were honor in the choice. 


Where the tumultuous flight rolls ou 


If it were freely made. 


Of warriors, who, when morn begun,' 


Then safely come — in one so low, - 


Defied a banded world. 


So lost, — we caimot own a foe ; 


Ittil, either out of cariosity or a desire of plunder, in turning over 


^ MS. — " Where in one tide of terror run 


the dead bodies, some found a friend, some a relation, and some 


The warriors that, when morn begun 


1 gucs* ; otliers there were liliewise who discovered their ene- 


3 MS. — " So ominous a shriek was none, 


■IM ; so that, th.ough tlie whole army, there appeared a mis- 


Not even when Beresina's flood 


.'KM of gladness and sorrow, joy and mourning."— Sallust. 


Wag thawed by streams of tepid blood. ' 


'The MS. adds, 


* For an account of the death of Poniatowski at LeipAic, -m 


* That pang survived, refuse not then 


Sir Walter Scott's Life of Bonaparte, vol. vii. p. 401. 


To humble thee before the men. 


* MS. — " Not such were neard, when, all bereft 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 


Of aid, the valiant Polack left- 


Who shall thy once imperial fate 


Ay, left by thee — found gallant grave.'- 


Make wordy theme of vain debate. 


" I who with faith unshaken from the flrst, 


And chatfer for thy crown ; 


Even when the tyrant seem'd to touch the sklRS 


As usurers wont, who suck the all ' 


Had look'd to see the higli blown bubble baiBl, 


Of the fool-hardy prodigal, 


And for a fall conspicuous as his rise, 


When on the giddy dice's fall 


Even in that faith had look'd not for defeat 


His latest hope has flown. 


So swift, so overwhelming, so complete." 


j Dot yet, to sum,*' Sec. 


SotrrBEY. 



.08 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Though dear experience bid us end, 


And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, 


In thee we ne'er Ciui luul a friend. — 


Ne'er sheathed unless witli victory !" 


Come, howsoe'er — but do not hide 




Close in thy heart that germ of pride, 


XX. 


Erewhile, by gifted bard espied,' 


Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart 


That " yet imperial hope ;"" 


Ere from the field of fame we part ■* 


Think not that for a fresh rebound, 


Triumph and Sorrow border near. 


To raise ambition from the groimd, 


And joy oft melts into a tear. 


We yield thee means or scope. 


Alas ! what links of love that morn 


In safety come — but ne'er again 


Has War's rude hand asunder torn! 


Hold type of independent reign; 


For ne'er was field so sternly fought. 


No islet caUs thee lord. 


And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 


We leave thee no confederate band, 


Here piled in common slaughter sleep 


No symbol of thy lost command, 


Those whom affection long shall weep : 


To be a dagger in the hand 


Here rests the sire, that ne'er shaU strain 


From which we wrench'd the sword. 


His orphans to his heart agam ; 




The son, whom, on liis native shore, 


XVIII. 


The parent's voice shall bless no more ; 


Yet, even in yon sequester'd spot, 


The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd 


May worthier conquest be thy lot 


His blushing consort to liis breast ; 


Than yet thy hfe has known ; 


The husband, whom through many a year 


Conquest, unbought by blood or harm, 


Long love and mutual faith endear. 


That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, 


Thou canst not name one tender tie, 


A triumph all thine own. 


But here dissolved its relics he ! 


Such waits thee when thou shalt control 


! when thou see'st some mourner's veil 


Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, 


Shroud her thin form and visage pale. 


That marr'd thy prosperous scene : — 


Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears 


Hear tliis — from no unmoved heart. 


Stream when the stricken drum she hears- 


Which sighs, compai^mg what thou akt 


Or see'st how manher grief, suppress'd. 


With what thou migut'st have been I* 


Is laboring in a father's breast, — 




With no enquiry vain pursue 


XIX 


The cause, but think on Waterloo ! 


Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew'd 




Bankrupt a nation's gi-atitude, 


XXL 


To thine own noble heart must owe 


Period of honor as of woes, i 


More than the meed she can bestow. 


What bright careers 'twas thine to close 1— j 


For not a people's just acclaim. 


Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names ' 


Not the fuU hail of Europe's fame. 


To Briton's memory, and to Fame's, j 


Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree. 


Laid there theh last immortal claims ! 


The ducal rank, the garter'd knee, 


Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 


Not these such pure deUght afford 


Redoubted Picton's soul of fire — 


As that, when hanging up thy sword. 


Saw'st in the mingled carnage he 


Well may'st thou think, " This honest steel 


All that of PoNsoNBY coidd die — 


Was ever drawn for pubUc weal; 


De Lancet change Love's bridal-wreath, 


MS " but do not hide 


And now thou art a nameless thing ; |' 


Once more that secret germ of pride, 


So abject— yet alive 1 ^ 


Which erst yon gifted bard espied." 


le this the man of thousand thrones, |' 


" The Desolater desolate I 


Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones, , 


The Victor overtnrowL 


And can he thus survive ? 


The Arbiter of others' fate 


Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, i 


A Suppliant for his own 1 


Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far." 


Is it some yet imperial hope. 


BvRON's Ode to Jfapoltm 


That with such change can calmly copa 1 


1 • We left the field of battle in such mood 


Or dread of death alone? 


As human hearts from thence should bear away , 


To die a prince — or live a slave— 


And, rousing thus, our purposed route pursued, 


Thy choice is most ignobly brave?" 


Which still through scenes of recent bloodshed la; 


Byron's Ode to J^apatwu. 


Where Prussia late, with strong and stem delight, 


" ' 'Tis done — but yesterday a King 1 


Hong on her fated foes to persecute their flight." 


And arm'd with Kings to strive — 


SODTBIT 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



50& 



For laurels from the hand of Death — ' 

Saw'st j^allant Miller's^ failiiit^ eye 
Still beut where Albion's banners fly, 
And Camekon,' in the shock of steel, 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Gordon,* 'mid the strife. 
Pall wliile he watch'd his leader's life. — 
Ah ! though her guardi;m angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field. 
Fate not the less her power made known, 
rhrough liis friends' hearts to pierce his own I 

XXII. 

Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay 1 
Who may your names, your numbers, say ) 
■What high-strung harp, what lofty line, 
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign. 
From high-born chiefs of martial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowUer name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day. 
From your cold couch of swamp smd clay. 
To fill, before the sim was low. 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep. 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep. 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave. 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Wlio fought with "Wellington ! 

XXIII. 
Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted face 
Wears desolation's withering trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain, 
With every mark of martial wrong. 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont 1° . 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 



' The Poet's friend, Colonel Sir William De Lancey, mar- 
ned the beautiful daughter of Sir James Hall, Bart., in April 
1815. and received his mortal wound on the 18th of June, 
dee Captain B. Hall's affecting narrative in the firal series of 
hJB " Fragments of Voyages and Travels." vol. ii. p. 369. 

' Colonel Miller, of the Goarxls — son to Sir William Miller, 
Lo.'i Glenlee. When mortally wonnded in the attack on the 
Boil de Bossu, lie di-sired to see the colors of the regiment 
once more ere he died They were waved over his head, and 
the expiring oflicecdecjared himself satisfied. 

* ' C-alonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distinguished 
n Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action 
It Qaatre Bras (16th June, 1815), while leading the 92d or 
'3ordon Highlanders, to charge a liody of cavalry, supported by 
nfantry." — Paul's Lcttera, p. 91. 

* Colonel the Honorable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to 
he Eirl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar o»". the spot 
rfaere he fell by the side of the Duke of Wellington. 

* '* Beyond these points the fight extended not, — 

Small theatre (or sach a tragedy ! 
^ts breath scarce more, from eastern Popelot 



The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Though on thy shatter'd beec'nes fell 
The blended rage of shot aud shell. 
Though from thy blacken'd por^^ils t'^ni, 
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mopm 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in the roUs of fame ? 
Yes — Agincourt may be forgot. 
And Cressy be an unknown spot, * 

And Blenheim's name be new ; 
But still in story and iu song, 
For many an age reinember'd long, 
Shall live the towers of Hougomont, 

And Field' of Waterloo. 



CONCLUSION. 
Stern tide of hiunan Time ! that know'st not res^ 
But, sweeping fi-om the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has equal rooni 
For the gay bark where Pleastire's streamen 

sport. 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom. 
The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, 
Still wafting onward all to one dai'k silent port ;— 

Stem tide of Time ! through what mysterious 
change [driven 1 

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been 
For ne'er before, vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven. 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. 
Such fearful strife as that where we have 

striven. 
Succeeding ages ne'er again .shall know, [flow I 
Until the awful term when Tliou shalt cease to 



To where the groves of Hougomont on high 
Rear in the west their venerable head, 
And cover with their shade the countless dead 

" But wouldst thoQ tre.ad this celebrated ground, 
And trace with understanding eyes a scare 
Above all other fields of war renown'd. 

From western Hougomont thy way lygin ', 
There was our strength on that side and there first 
In all its force, the storm of battle burst ' 

tSODTHEY 

Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses --" So impon 
ant a battle, perhaps, was never before fought vri'.nin so sma.l 
an extent of ground. I computed the distance between Hou- 
gomont and Popelot at three miles ; in a stniight line it might 
probably not exceed two and a half. Our guide was ver^ 
much displeased at the name which the battle had obtained 
in England, — ' Why call it the brittle of Waterloo ?' lie said; 
* Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Sainte, call it Popelot— 
tmv thing but Waterloo.' " — Pil^rimai^e to If'atertoo 



510 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Well hast thou stood, my Country 1 — the brave 
fight [ill ; 

Hast wull maintain'd tlu*ough good report and 
In thy just cause and in thy native might, 
And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still ; 
Wliether the banded pro-wess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world against thee stood array'd, 
Or when, with better views and freer will. 
Beside thee Exu"ope's noblest drew the blade, 
Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid — though slowly rose, 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of 

fame, 
While lite the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ;^ 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, 
And Maida's myi-tles gleam'd beneath its ray, 
Wliere first the soldier, stung with generous 

shame, 
Rivall'd the heroes of the wat'ry way, [away. 
And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach 

> MS. — " On the broad ocean first its lustre came." 

2 In the Life of Sir W. Scott, vol. v., pp. 99-104, the reader 
will find a curious record of minute alterations on this poem, 
suggested, while it was proceeding through the press, by the 
irinter and the bookseller, with the author's good-natured 
'eplies, sometimes adopting, sometimes rejecting what was 
jToposed. 

3 " * The Field of Waterloo' was published before the end 
of October, in 8vo ; the profits of the first edition being the 
author's contribution \jj^ the fund raised for the relief of fche 
v'jiows and children of the soldiers slain in the battle. This 
piece appears to have disappointed those most disposed to sym- 
pathize with the author's views ;iiid feelings. The descent 
■s indeed heavy from his Bannockbum to his Waterloo: the 
presence, or all but visible reality of what his dreams chei^ 
ished, seems to liave overawed his imagination, and tamed it 
into a weak pomposity of movement. The burst of pure na- 
tive enthusiasm npon the Scottisk heroes that fell around the 
Duke of Wellington's person, bears, however, the broadest 
.narks ol ' The Mighty Miustrel :'— 

' Saw gallant Miller's fading eye 

Still bent wltere Albion's standards fly. 
And Cameron, in the sliock of steel, 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel,' &c. — 

tad thiB IB far from being the only redeeming passage. There 



Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, 
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe, 
And rescued innocence from overthrow. 
And trampled down, like him, tyranni: Tr^-ht. 
And to the gazing world may'st proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, 
Who quell'd devoming pride, and vindicitod right 

Yet 'mid the confidence of just reno^m, 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down : 
'Tis not alone the heart with valor fired, 
The discipline so dreaded and admired, 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; 
- — Such may by fanae be lured, by gold be hired— 
'Tis constancy in the good cause alone, 
Best justifies the meed thy vaUant sons have won. 



END OF THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.' 

is one. indeed, in which he illustrates what he then thonghl 
Buonaparte's poorness ol spirit in adversity, which alwayi 
struck me as pre-eminently characteristic of Scott's manner 
of interweaving, both in prose and verse, the moral energiei 
with analogous natural description, and combining tliOQght 
with imagery ; — 

' Or is tiiy soul like mountain tide, 
That swell'd by winter storm and shower, 
Rolls down in turbulence of power, ' 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor. 

Whose channel shows display'd 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made 1' 

" The poem was the first upon a subject likely to besaffl 
ciently hackneyed ; and, having the advantage of coming onl 
in a small cheap form — (prudently imitated from Murray's in 
novation with the tales of Byron, which was the deathblow 
to the system of ver^e in quarto) — it attained rapidly a raeas" 
ure of circulation above wliat had been reacheil either bj 
Rokeby or the Lord of the Isles." — LocKllART — Life 9i 
Scott, vol. V. pp 1(16-107 



APPENDIX TO THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



51a 



APPENDIX. 



NCTE A- 
TA* ^easn* ,, r his labot blithe, 
Pitts ^he ht jW I staff and shortened aeytke.—V. 503. 
V'At reaper in Fi.iihIpr carries in his left hand a stick witli 
a iron hook, wiiJi which he collects as nioch grain as he can 
Ci.at one sweep v.ith a short scythe, which he hoKis in his 
^^lt hand. They carry on this double process with great 
pint and dniterity. 



Note B. 

Pale Brussels! then what thougfits were thine. — P. 504. 

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had 
TPomised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours' plun- 
der of the city of Brussels. 



Note C. 
•' On .' On /*■ was still his stern exclatm. — P. 505. 

The charac'^ri'jc obstinacy of Napoleon was never more 
. lully displaced > .n in what we may be permitted to hope 
.will prove t' e 'if. of his fields. He would listen to no ad- 
, vice, an-^ all *v o*" no obstacles. An eye-witness has given 
the follow ,.g ^psount of his demeanor towards the end of the 
act: an .— 

*• It was le-iT seven o'clock ; Bonaparte, who till then had 
remained opon the ridge of the hill whence he could best 
behold what passed, contemplated with a stern countenance, 
the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that ol'itacles 
•ecnied to multiply, the more bis obstinacy seemed to ii ■ 
cre^*»e. He became indignant at these nnforesecn difficul 
lies; ami, far from fearing to push to extremities aTi army 
whose confidence in him' was boundless, he ceased not to 
noiir down fresh troops, and to give order* to march forwaitl — 
to charge with the bayonet — to carry by slorm. He was 
repeatedly itil'ormed. from different points, that the day went 
against him, and that the troops seempil to he disordered ; to 
,which he only replied, — ' En-avant ! En-avunt .'' 
, "One general sent to inform the Emperor that he was in a 
position which lie could not maintain, because it was com- 
manded by a battery, and reqaested to know, at the same 
^irrip, in what way he should protect his division from the 
iBDrderons fire of the English artillery. 'Let him storm the 
1. «ttery,* replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aiile- 
jle-camp who brought the mes^iage." — Relation de ta Jiattaille 
\ie Mont-St-Jean. Par 'it Temoin Oculaire. Paris. 1815, 
t» • 51 



Note D. 

The fate their leader shunn'd to share.—?. .*i05. 
It has been reported that Bona|)arte charged at the head of 
m guards, at the hist period of this dreadful contlict. This, 
•owever, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow 
art of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a 
Barter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte. one of the 
■oiots mo-it fiercely dispnted. Here he harangued the guards, 
nd intbrmed them that his preceding operations barl destroyed 
be British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to 
upport trie fire of the artillery, which they were to attack 
rah the bayonet. This exhortation was received w-ith snonts 
* Vive Kmpereiir, which '"ere hej"« over all our Ii^e anl 



l«d to an idea that Napoleon was charging in pemon. But tn« 
guards were led on by Ney ; nor did Bonaparte approacr 
nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, 
which tlie rising banks on each side rendereli secure from all 
such balls as did not come in a straight line. He vvitnessea 
the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, par- 
ticularly from an observatory which had been placed there by 
the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the pur- 
pose of surveying the country.' It is not meant to infer from 
these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that nu-morable 
occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage ; on the con- 
trary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind 
during the whole action. But it is no less true tliat report has 
erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valor for re- 
covery of the battle; and it is remarkable, that during tha 
whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, 
whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal 
attendants escaped unhurt. 



Note E. 

England shall tell the fight !~V. 505. 

In riding op to a regiment which was hard pressed, the Dokd 

called to the men, " Soldiers, we must never be bealii — what 

will they say in England ?" It is needless to say how this ap 

peal was answered. 



Note F. 
Jis plies the .<smith his clanging trade. — P. 506. 
A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sonn* 
which took place immediately upon the British cavalry min- 
gling with those of the enemy, to "a thousand tinkers at 
work mtndi/ig pots and kettles.^' 



Note G. 



The British~kock of levellasteel.—V. 506. 
No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French 
troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperia' 
Guard.i, in particular, brinlly stood till the British were withi* 
thirty yards of them, allliongh the French author, alread] 
qnoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, 
" The Guards never yield — they die." Tlie same author has 
covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed 
the Britiaii position, with redoubts and retrenchments which 
never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many 
respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was proba- 
bly deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch whicn roa 
along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising 
this work, that the writer mentions the Chateau of Houga 
mont to have been carried by the French, although it was re* 
olutely and successfully defended during the whole action. 
The enemy, indeed, possessed tlicmselvcs of the wood by 
which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the houso it- 
sflf ; but the British (a detachment of the Guards, under the 
command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwanls of Colonel 
Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by theii 
desperate resistance, the po^t which covered the reinrn of tba 
Duke of Wellington's right flank. 

1 Thr mistakes oonec- ruing tliis o'Dscivatory hftvti been niiitiiAl. Tba 
En^lisli supposed it was erected for tlm use of Bonaparte : v\^ a Frenck 
wnt"r pffimu it wv "OT'njctod by the Diike of Wclliogtoa. 



.S12 



SCOTT'S POKTICAL WORKS. 



I^arolb tl)e IDauntUss 



A POEM.' IN SIX CANTOS. 



" Upon another occasloiiy^ says Sir Walter, " I sent up another of these trifles, which, like scIwoIboi,s'' 
kites, served to show hoio the wind of popular taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that oj 
a rude minstrel, or Scald, in opposition to * The Bridal of Triermain^ which was designed to belong rather 
to the Italian school. This new figitive piece was called ^Harold the Dauntless ;' and I am still aston 
ished at my having committed the gross error of selecting the very na'ine which Lord Byron had made so 
famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. James Hogg, had published^ 
about tlie same time, a work called the ' Poetic Mirror,' containing imitatioiis of the principal living 
poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, which bore such a resemblance to * Harold 
tlie DauntlcssJ that there was no discovering the original from the imitation; and I believe that many 
who took the trouble of thinking upon the subject, were rather of opinion that my ingeiiious friend loca 
the true, andiiot the fictitious Simon Purer — Introduction to the Lord of the Isles. 1830* 



i^arolb tl)c JDauntlcsa. 



INTRODUCTION. 

/ 1 There is a mood of mind, "we all have known 
Ou drowsy eve, or dark and Ifcw'ring day, 
When the tired spirits lose their spri^ditly tone, 
And naught can chase the Mngering hours awayj 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. 
And wisilom holds his steadier torch in vain, 
Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain. 

For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell 
of pain ? 



' Publisliefl by Constable and Co., January, 1817, in ISmo. 
73. 6d. 

'^"Within less than a month, ihe Black Dwarf and Old 
Mortality were followed by 'Harold lUe Dauntless, by the au- 
thor of the Bridal of Triermain.' This poem had been, it ap- 
pears, begun several years back ; nay, part of it h-^d been ac- 
tually printed before the appearance of Childe Harold, though 
tliat circumstance had escaped tiie aotlior's remembrance when 
be penned, in 1830, his Introduction to the Lord of the Isles; 
for he there says, ' I am still astonished at my having commit- 
ted the gross error of selecting the very name which Lord By- 
ron nad matle so famous.' The volume was published by 
Uestna Constable, and had, in tnose booliselters* phrase, ' con- 



The jolly sportsman knows such dreariliood, 
When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn wliich threats the heath 

cock's brood ; 
Of such, in summer's drought, the anglers plain, 
Who hope the soft mild southern sho-wer in vain 
But, more than all, the discontented fair, 
Whom father stern, and sterner amit, restrain 
From county-ball, or race occurring rare. 
While all her friends aroimd their vestments 
prepare. 






1 



Ennui ! — or, as our mothers call'd thee, Spleen I 
To tliee we owe full many a rare device ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, 
The roUing billiard-ball, the rattling dice, 



siderable success.* It has never, however, been placed on • ' 
level with Triermain ; and, though it contains many vigorOM ' 
pictures, and splendid verses, and here and there some happy 
humor, the confusion and harsli transitions of tlie fable, and i 
the dim rudeness of character and niannere, seem sufficient tc , 
account for this inferiority in public favor. It is not surprising 
tliat the author should liave redoubled his aversion to the notion 
of any more serious performances in verse. He had seized on 
an instrument of wider compass, and which, handled with 
whatever rapidity, seemed to reveal at every louch treasure* 
that bad hitherto slept unconsciously within him. He had 
ihrown off his fetters, and might well go forth rejoicing in the 
native elasticity of his strength." — Life of Scott, vol. i. p. 181. 



CANTO I. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



519 



The tuming-latlie for framing gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotch'd pallet thou mayst clai;n, 
Retort and ;ur-punij>, tlireatening frogs and 

mice 
(Murders disguised by philosophic name), 
And much of trifling grave and much of buxom 

game. 

Tlien of the book.s, to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, uever read but once ; — 
But not of such the tale f:ur Edgeworth wrote, 
That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, 
Dehcious dreams inspiring by his note, 
Wliat tinje to Indolence his harp he strung ; — 
01 might my lay be rauk'd that happier list 



Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study-fire to trim, 
And con right vacantly some idle tale, 
Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim, 
And doubtful slumber half suppUes the 

theme ; 
While antique shapes of knight and giant gi'im, 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, 
nd the Romancer's tale becomes the Reader's 
^ dream. 

Tis thus my malady I well may bear. 

Albeit outstretch'd, Uke Pope's own Paridel, 

Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 

And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
, _ In old romaunts of errantry that tell. 

Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 

Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell. 

Of Genii, TaUsman, and broad- wing'd Roc, 
llliough taste may blush and frown, and sober rea- 
son mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; 
The wliich, as things unfitting graver thought. 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few survive — and proudly let me say, 
1 Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his 

frown; 
They well may serve to while an hour away. 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown, 
mn Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops 

it down. 



The dry hnmor, and sort of half Spenserian cast of these, 

5Tell as all the other intrbdoctory stanzas in the poenn, we 

tik excellent, and scarcely outdone hy any thing of the kind 

'know of; and there are few parts, taken separately, that 

6.5 



j^arolb tl)c DauiitUas. 



OANTO FIRST 



List to the valorous deeds that were done 

By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son . 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain, [main 

And roved with his Norsemen the land ard tho 
Woe to the realms wliich he coasted ! for 1 here 
Was sliedding of blood, and rending of hair, 
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest, 
Gatheruig of ravens and wolves to the feast : 
When he hoisted his standard black, 
Before him was battle, behind him wrack. 
And he burn'd the churches, that heatl>en Dane, 
To light his band to their barks again. 



On Erin's shores was his outrage known. 

The winds of France had Iiis banners blown 

Little was there to plunder, yet still 

His pirates had foray'd on Scottish liill : ' 

But upon merry England's coast 

More frequent he sail'd, for he won the most. 

So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 

If a sail but gleam'd white 'gainst the welkin blut. 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. 

Burghers hasten'd to man the wall. 

Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape. 

Beacons were lighted on headland and cape. 

Bells were toU'd out, and aye as they rung 

Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung, 

" Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from tire. 

From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's ire " 

in. 

He hked the wealth of fail" England so well, 

Tliat he sought hi her bosom as native to dwelL 

He enter'd the Huiiiber in fearful hour. 

And disembark'd with his Danisli j)0\vei. 

Three Earl.-* came agauist him with all their trau» 

Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 

Count WitUdnd left the Humber's rich strand. 

And he wasted aad warr'd in Nortliumberlai... 

But the Saxon King was a she in age, 

Weak in battle, in coui^cil sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 

Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 

And the Count took upon him the peaceable styla 

Of a vassal and Uegemau of Britain's broad isle. 



have not something attractive to the lover of nataral poetry 
while any one page will show how extremely Wee it is to IK» 
manner of Seott.*' — Blackwood's Magaiine 19n 



614 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAMTO L 



IV. 
Time will rust the sharpest sword, 
Time will consume the strongest cord ; 
That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal »nn and nerve must feel. 
Of the Danish band, <phom Count Witikind led, 
Many wax'd aged, and many were dead ; 
Himself found his armor full weighty to bear. 
Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoajy his hair ; 
Be liand on a staff, when his step went abroad. 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. 
As he grew feebler, his wilduess ceased. 
He made himself peace with prelate and priest,^ 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head, 
Patiently Hsted the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and gi'ave, 
"Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 

V. 

" Tliou hast murder'd, robb'd, and spoii'd, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil'd ; 
Priests didst thou slay, and churches burn, 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipp'd, with fiendish rite. 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into Ught : 
! while life and space are given, 
Turn thee yet., and think of He.aven !" 
That stern old heathen liis head he raised, 
And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; 
" Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 
My laith I will leave, and I'll cleave unto thine." 

VI. 
Broad lands, he gave him on Tyne'and Wear, 
To be held of the chiu-ch by bridle and spear ; 
Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part, 
To better his will, and to soften liis heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man. 
Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 
The high church of Durham is dress'd for the day, 
The clergy are rank'd in their solemn array : 
Tliere came the Comit, in a bear-skin warm. 
Leaning on Hilda his concubine's arm. 
He kiieel'd before Saint Cuthbert's shrine. 
With patience unwonted at rites divine ; 
He abjured the gods of heathen race, ■ 
And he bent his head at the font of grace. 
But ouch was the grisly old pros-jlyte's look, 
TlidJ the priest who baptized him grew pale and 

shook ; 
And the old monks mutier'd beneath their hood, 
" Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good !" 

VIL 

Op tlien arose that grira convertite. 
Homeward he hied him when ended the rite 
Tile Prelate in honor will with liim ride. 
And least ii i his castle on Ty ne's fair side 



Banners and banderols danced in the wind, 
Monks rode before them, and speai-men behind ; 
Cnward they pass'd, tiU fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tynti ; 
And full in front did that fortress lower, 
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower 
At the castle gate was young Harold there, 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 

vin. 

Young Harold was fear'd fur his hardihood,' 

His strength of frame, and his fury of mood. 

Rude he was and wild to behold. 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, 

Cap of vair nor rich array. 

Such as should grace that festal day : 

His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced. 

Uncover'd his head, and his sandal unlaced • 

His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, 

And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy glow 

A Danish club in his hand he bore. 

The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; 

At his back a she- wolf, arfd her wolf-cubs twain, 

In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 

Rude was the greeting his father he made, 

None to the Bishop, — wliile thus he said : — 

IX. 

" Wliat priest-led Iiypocrite art thou. 
With thy humbled look and thy mouldsh brow, 
Like a shavehng who studies to cheat his vow? 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known. 
Royal Eric's fearless son, 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord, 
Who won his bride by the axe and sword , 
Fi-om the shiine of St. Peter the chalice who to«n ' 
And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skdll, i 
Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull ? 
Then ye worshipp'd witli rites that to war-gods 
belong, [strong; 

With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the 
And now, in thine age to dotage sunk. 
Wilt thou patter thy crmies to a shaven monk,- 
Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair, — 
Fasting and scourge, hke a slave, wilt thou bear' 
Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour ? 
Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! 
Each Scald's liigh harp shall blast thy fame, 
And thy son will refuse thee a father's name T 

X. 
Iref j wax'd old Witikind's look, 
His faltermg voice with fury shook; — 
" Hear me, Harold of harden'd heart I 
Stubborn and wilful e"ver thou wert. 
Thine outrage insane I command thee to ceaM. 






UANTO I. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



51A 



Fear ray wrath and remain at peace : — 
Just is the debt of repentance Tve paid, 
Kichly the cliurch has a recompense made, 
And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my 

bhide, 
But reekoniiii^ to none of my actions I owe, 
And least to my son such accoimting will show. 
Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 
Who uc er from thy cliildliood knew reason or ruth i 
Hence 1 to the wolf and the bear in her den; 
These are thy mates, and not rational men." 

XI. 

Grimly smiled Haiold, and coldly repUeo. 

" We must honor our su-es, if we fear when thej 

chide. 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons hare made, 
I was rock'd in a buckler and fed from a blade ; 
An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had 

broke out •, 
In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip. 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 
'Tis thou know'st not truth, that ha.st barter'd in eld, 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors 

held. [plain, — 

When this wolf," — and the carcass he flung on the 
"Shall awake and give food to her nm'slings again, 
The face of his father will Harold review ; 
Till then, aged Jieathen, young Christian, adieu !" 

XII. 
Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast, 
As through the pageant the heathen pass'd. 
A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung. 
Laid liis hand on the pommel, and mto it sprung. 
Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 
When the holy sign on the earth was tin-own ! 
The fierce old Count unsheathed iiis brand, 
But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. 
** Let liim pass free ! — Heaven knows its hour, — 
But he must own repentance's power. 
Pray and weep, and penance bear. 
Ere he hold hmd by the Tyne and the Wear." 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 
Young- Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's soa 

xni. 

High was the feastingr m Wititind's hall, 
Revell'd priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; 
And e'en the good Bishop was fain to endure 
The scandal, which time and instruction might cure : 
It were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to re- 

str.oin, 
in his wine .and his wassail, a half-christen'd Dane, 
rhe mead flow'd around, and the ale was drain'd 

dry, 
■ Vild wa8 the laughter, the song, and the cry ; 



With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Noi-weyan, and Fioi^ 
Till man after nuin the contention gave o'er, 
Outstreteli'd on the rushes that strew'd the hali 
floor ; ,[rout, 

And the tempest within, having ceased its wild 
Gave place to the tempest that thunlor'd without 

XIV 

Apart from the wassail, in turret alone. 

Lay flaxen-hair'd Gunnai', old Ermengarde's son , 

In the train of Lord Harold that Page was th< 

fu'st, 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master should 

roam, 
Unlioused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plaslung of rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and 

pane ; 
" And oh !" said the Page, " on the slielterless wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward, and 

wild, [cliild, — 

He endured me because I was Ermengai'de'a 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun. 
In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidde:, I run , 
I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the 

Wear : [breatli, 

For my mother's command, with her last p;irting 
Bade me follow her nursling in hfe and to death. 

* XV. 

" It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain, 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! 
Accursed by the Church, and expell'd by liis sire. 
Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire, 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless en 

dure ? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! 
Whate'er comes o(*Gunnar, he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his 

spear ; [treao. 

Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturb'd by liij 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead ; 
" Ungrateful and bestial !" his auger broke forth, 
" To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of thf 

North ! [stora 

And you, ye cowl'd priests, who have plenty ih 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.' 

XVL 

Then, lieeding full little of ban or of curse, 
He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse : 
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has miss'd 
His mantle, deep fun'd from the cape to the wrisi 
The Seneschals keys from his belt he lias ta'en 



616 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



CANTO 1 



(Well drencli'd or that eve was old Hildebrand's 

brain). 
To the stable-yai'd he made his way, 
And mounted the Bisliop's palii'ey gay, 
Castle and hamlet beliind him has cast, 
Anvl right on his way to the moorland has pass'd. 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 
A weather so wUd at so rash a pace ; 
So long ill snorted, so loud he neigh'd. 
There answer'd a steed that was bound beside. 
And the red flash of lightning show'd there where 

lay 
His master. Lord Harold, outstretch'd on the clay. 

- XVII. 
Tip he started, and thimder'd out, " Stand 1" 
And raised the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxen-hair'd Gumiar liis purpose told, 
Show'd the palfrey and proflfer'd the gold. 
" Back, back, and home, thou simple boy I 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not mark'd thee wail and cry 
Wlieu thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade ankle-deep through foeman's blood. 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below. 
And man on earth, more hateful still, 
The very foxmtain-head of ill ? 
Desperate of life, and careless of death. 
Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe. 
Such must thou be with me to roam, 
4nd such thou canst not be — -back, and home !" 

% 

xvin. 

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough, [brow, 

As he he:u-d the harsh voice and beheld the dark 

And half he repented his purpose and vow. 

But now to draw back were bootless shame. 

And he loved his master, so urged his claim : 

" Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak, 

Bear with me a while for old Efmengarde's sake ; 

Nor deem so Ughtly of Gunnar's faith, 

As to fear he would* break it for peril of death. 

Have I not risk'd it to fetch thee tliis gold, 

riiis surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? 

And, did I bear a baser mind, 

Wliat lot remains if I stay behind ? 

The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath, 

\ dungeon, and a shameful death." 

XIX 

With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 
The Page, then tui-n'd hia head aside ; 



"It may be worthy of notice, that io Harold the Dannt- 
K}33 there is a wise and good Eustace, as ii the Monasterr, and 
a Prior of Jorvanx. who is robbed (antr^ stanza xvi.) as in 



And either a tear did his eyelash stain. 

Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 

" Art thou an outcast, then ?" quoth he ; 

" The meeter page to follow me." 

'Twere bootless to tell what climes they sought, 

Ventures acliieved, and battles fought ; 

How oft with few, how oft alone, 

Fierce Harold's arm the field liath won. 

Men swore his eye, that flash'd so red 

When each other glance was quench'd with dreat^ 

Bore oft a hght of deadly flame. 

That ne'er from mortal courage came. 

These Hmbs so strong, that mood so stern. 

That loved the couch of heath and fern, 

Afjir from hamlet, tower, and town, 

More than to rest gn driven down ; 

That stubborn frame, that sullen mood, 

Men deem'd mu.st come of aught but good , 

And they whisper'd, the great Master Fiend waj 

at one 
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witildnd'e son 

XX. 

Years after years had gone and fled, 

The good old Prelate lies lapp'd in lead ; 

In thf chapel still is shown 

His sculptured form on a marble stone. 

With statf and ring and scapulaire, 

And folded hands in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cutlibert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow ; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break, or whatever woulf 

bend ; 
And now hath he clothed him in cope and in pall, 
And the Chapter of Durham has mot at liis c;dL 
" And hear ye not, brethren," the proud Bishoj 

said, [dead I 

" That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind's 
All his gold and liis goods hath he given 
To holy Church for the love of Heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry with stipend and 

dole, [soiil 

Tliat priests and that beadsmen may pray for hif 
Harold his son is wandering abroad, 
Dreaded by man and abhorr'd by God ; 
Meet it is not, that such should heir [Wear 

The lands of the church on the Tyne and tin 
And at her pleasur^ her hallow'd hands 
May now resmne these wealthy lands." 

XXL 
Answer'd good Eustace,' a canon old, — ' 

" Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold ; 

Ivanhoe.'*— Adolphos' Letters on the Author of fFaverU§ 
1822, p. 281. 



r 



CANTO II. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



511 



Ever Renown blows a note of fame, 


In vapory folds, o'er the landscape strays, 


And a note of four, when she sounds liis name : 


And half involves the woodland maze, 


Much of bloodshed .■md much of scathe 


Like an early widow's veil. 


Have been their lot who have waked his wrath. 


Where wimpling tissue from tlie gaze 


Leave him these lauds and lordships still. 


The form half hides, and half betrays. 


Heaven in its horn- may change liis will ; 


Of beauty wan and pale. 


But if reft of gold, and of living bare. 




An evil counsellor is despair." 


IIL 


Mcie had he said, but the Prelate" frown*d. 


Fair Metelill was a woodland maid. 


And murmur'd liis brethren who sate around. 


Her father a rover of greenwood shade. 


And with one consent have they given their doom, 


By forest statutes undismayed, 


That the Church should the lands of Saint Cuth- 


Who lived by bow and quiver ; ^ 


bert resume. 


Well known was Wulfstime's archery, 


^0 wiU'd the Prelate ; mid canon and dean 


By merry Tyne both on moor and lea. 


fiave to his judgment their loud amea 


Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, 




Well beside Stanhope's wildwood tree, 




And well on Ganlesse river. 




Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland 






game. 




More known and more fear'd was the wizard 


(iorollr tl)c ?iDauutl£S0. 


fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the Outlaw's dame ; 




Fear'd when she frown'd was her eye of flamo. 


UANTO SECOND. 


More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd; 




For then, 'twas said, more fatal true 




To its dread aim her spell-glance flew. 


I. 


Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 


Tis merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay, — 


Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft. 


In the gladsome month of lively May, 




When the wild birds' song on steim and epray 


IV. 


Invites to forest bower ; 


Tet had tliis fierce and dreaded pan 


Then rears the ash his airy crest. 


So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; 


Then shines the birch in silver vest. 


None brighter crown'd the bed. 


And the beech in glistening leaves is drest. 


In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince. 


And dark between shows the oak's proud breast. 


Nor hath, perchance, a loveUer since 


Like a chieftain's frowning tower ; 


In this fair isle been bred. 


Though a thousand branches jom then- screen, 


And naught of fraud, or ire, or iU, 


Tet the broken sunbeams glance between. 


Was known to gentle MeteUU, — 


And tip the leaves with lighter green. 


A simple maiden she ; 


With brighter tints the flower : 


_The spells in dimpled smile that lie, 


Dull is the heart that loves not then 


And a downcast blush, and the darts that flj 


The deep recess of the wildwood glen. 


With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, 


Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den, 


Were her arms and witchery. 


When the sun is in his power. 


So young, so simple was she yet. 




She scarce could cliildhood's joys forget 


11. 


And still she loved, in secret set 


Less merry, perchance, is the fadmg leaf 


Beneath the greenwood tree. 


That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf. 


To plait the rushy coronet. 


When the greenwood loses the name ; 


And braid with flowers her locks of jet, 


Silent is then the forest bound. 


As when in infancy ; — 


Save the redbreast's note, imd the rustling sound 


Yet could that heart, so simple, prow> 


Of fiost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, 


The early dawn of stealing love : 


Or the deep-mouth'd cry of the distant hound 


Ah ! gentle maid, beware 1 


That opens on his game : 


The power who, now so mild a guest, 


Tet then, too, I love the forest wide. 


Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 


Whether the sun in splendor ride. 


To the calm pleasures of thy breast. 


And gild its many-color'd side ; 


Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest. 


Or whether he soft and silvery haze, 


Let none his empire dhar«. 



t 



618 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto a. ' 


V. 


vni. 


One morn, in kirtle green array'd. 


Secured within his powerful hold, 


Deep in the wood the maiden stray'd. 


To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 


And, where a fountain sprung. 


Was all the maiden might ; 


She sate her down, unseen, to thread 


And " Oh ! forgive," she faintly said. 


The scarlet berry's miniic braid, 


" The terrors of a simple maid. 


And while the beads she strung. 


If thou art mortal wight ! 


^iike the bUthe lark, whose carol gay 


But if — of such strange tales are told — 


Gives a good Riorrow to the day, 


Unearthly warrior of the wold. 


So lightsomely she sung. 


Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. 




My mother, Jutta, knows the spell. 


'VI. 


At noon and midnight pleasing well 




The disembodied ear; 


.Song. 


Oh ! let her powerful charms atone 


"LoED Wn-LiAM was born in gilded bower, 


For aught my rashness may have done, 


The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; 


And cease thy grasp of fear." 


Yet better loves Lord William now 


Then laugh'd the Knight — his laughter's soimd 


To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow ; 


Half in the hollow helmet drown'd ; 


Ajid William has lived where ladies 


His barred visor then he raised. 


fair 


/ And steady on the maiden gazed. 


With gawds and jewels deck their hair, 


He smooth'd his brows, as best he might, 


Tet better loves the dew-di'ops still 


To the dread calm of autumn night. 


That pearl the locks of Metehli 


When sinks the tempest roar ; 




Tet still the cautious fishers eye 


" The pious Palmer loves, I wis, 


. The cloud.s, and fear the gloomy sky, 


Saint Cuthbert's hallow'd beads to kiss ; 


And haul their barks on shore. 


But I, though simple girl I be. 




Might have such homage paid to me ; 


IX. 


For did Lord William see me suit 


" Damsel," he said, " be wise, and leam 


This necklace of the bramble's fruit. 


Matters of weight and deep concern : 


He fain — but must not have his will — 


From distant realms I come, 


Would kiss the beads of MeteUU. 


And, wanderer long, at length have pUirai'd 




In this my native Northern land 


" My nurse has told me many a tale, 


To seek myself a home. 


How vows of love are weak and frail ; 


Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 


My mother says that courtly youth 


She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 


By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 


No lordly dame for me ; 


What should they mean ? it cannot be. 


Myself am something rough of mood. 


That such a warning's meant for me, 


And feel the fire of royal blood, 


For naught — oh ! naught of fraud or ill 


And therefore do not hold it good 


Can WdUam mean to MeteUll !" 


To match in my degree. 




Tlien, since coy maidens say my face 


vn. 


Is harsh, my form devoid of grace, 


Sudden she stops — and starts to feel 


For a fair lineage to provide, 


i. weighty hand, a glove of steel, 


'Tis meet that my selected bride 


' t; pon her slulnldng shoulders laid ; 


In hneaments be fair ; 


I'onrful she turn'd, and saw, dismay'd, 


I love tliine well — till now I ne'er 


A Knight in plate and mail arr.ay'd, 


Look'd patient on a face of fear, 


His crest and bearing worn and fray'd, 


But now that tremulous sob and tear 


His smxoat soil'd and riven. 


Become thy beauty rare. 


Form'd like that giant race of yore. 


One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not I — 


Whose long-continued crimes outwore 


And now go seek thy parents' cot, 


The suffenmce of Heaven. 


And say, a bridegroom soon I come, 


Stern accents made liis pleasure known, 


To woo my love, and bear her home." 


Though then he used his gentlest tone : 


t 


" Maiden," he said, " sing forth thy 


X. 


glee. 


Home sprung the maid without a ])an8e,. 


Start not — sing-on — it pleases me." 


As leveret 'scaped from greyhound s jaw» 



CANio II. HAROLD THE 


* 

DAUNTLESS. . 6l» 


But still she lock'd, howe'er distress' d. 


XIII. 


The secret in her bodiug breast ; 


Appall'd a whUe the parents stood. 


Dreading her sii-e, who oft forbade 


Then changed their fear to angry mood. 


Her sW^ps should stray to distant glade. 


And foremost fell their words of ill 


Night ciime — to her accu^tom'd nook 


On miresisting MetcUll : 


Her distaff aged Jutta took, 


Was she not caution'd and forbid. 


And by the lamp's imperfect glow, 


Forewarn'd, implored, accused and cUid, 


Kough Wulfstane trimm'd his shafts and 


And must slie stdl to greenwood roam, 


bow. 


To marshal such misfortune home ? 


Sudden and clamorous, from the groimd 


" Hence, minion — to tliy chamber hence — 


UDstarted slumbering brach and hound ; 


There prudence learn, and penitence.'* 


Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, 


She went — her lonely couch to steep 


And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, 


In tears wliich absent lovers weep ;* 


When open flew the yielding door. 


Or if she gain'd a troubled sleep, 


And that grim WaiTior press'd the floor. 


Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 


XI. 


And terror of her feverish dream. 


" All peace be here — What ! none repUes ? 


XIV. 


Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 


Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 


'Tis I— thjit Maid hath told my tale,— 


Upon each other bent their ire ; 


Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 


" A woodsman thou, and liast a spear, 


It recks not — it is I demand 


And conldst tliou such an msult bear ?" 


Fair Metelill in marriage b.and ; 


Sullen he said, " A m.-in contends 


Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 


With men, a witch with sprites and fiends 


Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame." 


Not to mere mortal wight belong 


Tlie parents sought each other's eye.s, 


Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. 


With awe, resentment, and surprise : 


But thou — is tliis thy promise fair. 


Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began • ■ 


That your Lord WilUam, wealthy heir 


The stranger's size and thewes to scan ; 


To Ukick, Baron of Wit ton-le- Wear, 


But as he scann'd, his courage sunk. 


Should Metelill to altar bear ? 


And from unequal strife he shrunli, 


Do aU the spells thou boast'st as thme 


Then forth, to bhght and blemish, fliea 


Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, 


The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ; 


His grain in autimin's storms to steep. 


Yet, fat;d howsoe'er, the spell 


Or thorough fog and fen to' sweep, ' 


On Harold innocently fell ! 


And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep! 


And disappointment and amaze 


Is such mean mischief worth the fame 


Were in the witch's wilder'd gaze. 


Of sorceress and witch's name ? 




Fame, which with all men's wish conspire^ 


XII. 


With thy deserts and my desires. 


But soon the wit of woman woke, 


To daum thy corpse to penal fires? 


And to the Warrior mild .she Spoke : 


Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! ai^ int! 


•' Her child was all too young." — " A toy. 


What now shall put thy schemes in joint? 


Tlie refuge of a maiden coy." — 


What save this trusty arrow's point. 


Again, " A powerful baron's heir 


From the dark dingle when it flies, 


Claims in her heart an interest fau-." — 


And he who meets it gasps a:.! dies." 


" A trifle — wliisper m his ear, 


» 


That Harold is a suitor here !" — 


XV. 


Baflled at length she sought delay : 


Stem she repUed, " I will not wage 


" Would not the Knight till morning stay S 


War with thy folly or thy rage ; 


Late was the hour — he there might rest 


But ere the morrow's sun be low. 


Till morn, then- lodge's honor'd guest." 


Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt kno-w. 


Such were her words, — her craft might 


If I can venge me on a foe. 


cast, 


Believe the while, that whatsoe'er 


Her honor'd guest should sleep his last : 


I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, 


I " No, not to-night — but soon," he swore, 


It is not Harold's destiny 


"Ho would return, nor leave them more." 


The death of pilfer'd deer to die. 


The tlu-eshold then his huge stride crost, 


But he, and thou, and yon pale moon 


Ajid soon he vas in darkness lost. 


(That shall be yet more paUid soon 



»20 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto « , 


Before she sink beliind the dell), 


The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, 


Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 


And bristUng hair and quaking limb 


What Jutta knows of charm or spell." 


Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 


Thus mutteriDg, to the door she bent 


Those who view his form shall die I 


Her waj ward steps, and forth she went, 


Lo 1 I stoop and veil my head ; 


And left alone the moody sire, 


Thou who ridest the tempest dread, 


To cherish or to slake liis ire 


Shaking hill and rending oak — 


XVI. 


Spare me 1 spare me ! Zernebock. 


Fai faster than belong'd to age 


" He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 


Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 


Thy votaress at her need repay ? 


A priest has met her as she pasa'd, 


Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ! — 


And cross'd himself and stood aghast : 


Let others on thy mood attend 


She traced a hamlet — not a cur 


With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms 


His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; 


Are necromantic words and charms ; 


By crouch, by trembling, and by groan. 


Mine is the spell, that utter'd once. 


They made her hated presence known ! 


Shall wake Thy Master from his trance. 


But when she trode the sable fell. 


Shake his red mansion-house of pain. 


Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 


And burst his seven-times-twisted chain I— 


For far was heard the fox's yell. 


So ! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke ? 


The black-cock waked and faintly crew, 


I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 


Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew : 




Wliere o'er the cataract the oak 


xvrii. 


Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 


" Daughter of dust," the Deep Voice aaia, 


The mountain-cat, which sought Iiis prey, 


— Shook wliile it spoke the vale for dread, 


Glared, scream'd, and started from her way 


Rock'd on the base that massive stone. 


Such music cheer'd her journey lone 


The Evil Deity to own, — 


To the deep dell and rocking stone ; 


" Daughter of dust ! not mine the power 


There, with uuhallow'd hymn of praise^ 


Tliou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 


She called a God of heathen days. 


'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife 




Wiiged for his soul and for his life. 


XVIL 


And fam would we the combat wm, i 


« Knliocntfon. 


And snatch him in his hour of sin. 
There is a star now rising red, 


'From thy Pomeranian throne. 


That threats liim with an influence, dread : 


' Hewn in rock of living stone. 


Woman, thine arts of mahce whet, 


Where, to thy godhead faithful yet. 


To use the space before it set. 


Bend Esthouian, Finn, and Lett, 


Involve him with the chm-ch in strife, 


And their swords in vengeance whet, 


Push on advent m"ous chance his Ufe ; 


That shall maKe tliine altars wet, 


Oiu-self will in ^he hour of need, 


Wet and rea f r ages more 


As best we may thy counsels speed." 


With the Christians' hated gore, — 


So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues ronna 


Hear me ! Sovereign of the Rock, 


Each hamlet started at the sound ; 


Hear me ! mighty Zeruebock 1 


But slept again, as slowly died 


. 


Its thunders on the hill's blown side. 


" Mightiest of the mighty known. 




Here thy wonders have been shown ; 


XIX 


llundred tribes in various tongue 


" And is this all," said Jutta stern, 


Oft have here thy praises sung : 


" That thou canst teach and I can loam i 


Down that stone with Runic seam'd. 


Hence I to the lui'o of fog and waste, 


Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd 1 


There fittest is thine uxfluence placed, 


Now one woman comes alone. 


Thou powerless, sluggish Deity 1 


And but wets it with her own. 


But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 


The last, the feeblest of thy flock, — 


Agam before so poor a god." 


Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! 


She struck the altar with her rod ; 




Slight was the touch, as when at need 


" Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast cold 


A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; 


Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 


But to the blow the stone gave place, 



OANTO III. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



521 



And, starting from its balanced base, 


11 


RoU'd thundering down the moonlight dell, — 


Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams 


Re-echo'd moorland, rock, and fell ; 


danced, 


Into the moonliglit tarn it dash'd, 


Betraying it beneath the woodhiud bank, 


ITieir shores the sounding surges lash'd, 


And fidr between the Gothic turrets glanced 


And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; 


Broad hglits, and shadows i^'' on front and flank, 


But on tliat lidie, so dark and lone, 


Wliere tower and buttress ros^t in martial ranl^ 


Placid and i):de the moonbeam shone 


Antl girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 


A« Jutta liieJ her home 


And from their cuxuit peal'd o'er bush and bani 




The matin bell with summons long and deep, 




And echo answer'd still with long resounding sweej 


Cjarolir tl)£ Pauntlesa. 


III. 

Tlie morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awaken'd rountf, 




As if in revelry ; 


CANTO THIRD. 


Afar the bugles' clanging sound 




Call'd to the chase the lagging hound ; 
The gale breathed soft and fi-ee, 




I. 


And seem'd to linger on its way 



Gray towers of Durham ! there was once a time 
I view'd your battlements with such vague hope, 
As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e'en then c.ime within fancy's scope 
A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on tlie venerable hall. 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — 
And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all.' 

Well yet I love thy mix'd and massive piles, 
Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam these venerable aisles, 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees"' happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack everj' crypt and hallow'd spot, 
And from obUvion rend the spoils they yield. 
Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly 
shield. , 

Vain is the wish — since other cares demand 
Each v.icant hour, and in another cHme ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand, 
Wliich tells the wonder of tliine earlier time; 
Ai d fain its numbers would I now command 
Tc p,ijnt the beauties of that d.awning fair, 

I When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Wpon the western heights of Beaurepaire, 

S*w Saxon Eadmei^'s towers begirt by winding 
Weai-. 



In this stanza occora one of many touches by which, in 
tie introductory passages of Harold the Danntless as of Trier- 
oain, Sir Walter Scott betrays his baJf-porpose of identifying 
he author with liis friend William Erskine. That gentleman, 
be son ol" an EpisLopalian clergyman, a stanch churuhnian, 
nd a man of the gentlest 1 »bits. if he did not in early life de- 
i4ll to follow the paternal profession, might easily be sap- 
lie 



To catch fresh odors from the spray, 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So Ught and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveai, 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal. 
It melted Harold's heart of steel. 
And, hardly wotting why, 
He dotf'd his helmet's gloomy pride, 
And hung it on a tree beside, 

Laitl mace and falcliion by, 
And on the greensward sate him down, 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Relax'd his rugged brow — 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask. 

Were wise to ask it now. 

IV. 
His place beside young Gtmnar took, 
And mark'd his master's softening look. 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
Tlie gloom of stormy thoughts subside. 
And cautious watch'd the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent's billows sluink. 
The timid pilgrim on the bruik 
Waits long to see them wave and sink, 

Ere he dare brave the ford. 
And often, after doubtful pause, 
His step advances or withdraws : 

posed to have nonrished such an intention — one which no out 
could ever have dreamt of ascribing at any period of his day* 
to Sir Walter Scott himself. 

3 Robert Surtees of Mainsforlh, E3(|., F. S. A., authol u 
" The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of ik.ir 
nam," 3 vols- foUo, 1816-20-S3 



52? aOOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m. 


Fearful to move the slumbering ire 


" What cares disturb the mighty des.d ' 


Of his steru lord, thus stood the squire, 


Each honor 'd rite was duly paid ■, 


Till Harold raised his eye, 


No dariug hand thy htlm unhaced, 


That glanced as when athwart the shroud 


Thy sword, thy shifald, were near thee plarad,— 


Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 


Thy'fimty couch no tear profaned. 


The bui-sting sunbeams fly. 


Without, with hostile blood was stain'd ; 




Within, 'twas hned with moss and fern.— 


V. 


rhen rest thee. Dweller of the Caii-n i— 


" Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 


; 


Offspring of prophetess and bard 1 


" He may rest not : from realms ular 


Take haip, and greet this lovely prime' 


CDme voice of battle and of war. 


With some high strain of Runic rhyme, 


Of conquest wrought with blooiij haad 


Strong, deep, but powerful ' Peal it 


On Carmel's dhffs and Jordaiis strand, 


roimd 


When Odin's warlike son could daunt 


Like that l*id btU's sonorous sound, 


The turban'd race of Termagaunt. " 


Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 




Of bird and bugle hail the day. 


VII. 


Such was my grandsb'e Erics sport. 


" Peace," said the Knight, " the noble Scald 


Wlien dawn gleam'd on his martial court. 


Our warlike fathers' deeds recall'd. 


Heymai- the Scald, with harp's high sound. 


But never strove to soothe the son 


Sunmion'd the chiefs who slept ai'ouud ; 


With tales of what himself had done. 


Coucli'd on the spoils of wolf and bear. 


At Odin's board the bard sits high 


Tliey roused hke hons from their lair. 


Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery ; 


Then rush'd in emulation forth 


But highest he whose daring lay 


To enhance the glories of the North. — 


Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 


Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 


With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed 


Wbere is thy shadowy resting-place ? 


His master's looks, and naught replied — 


In wild Valhalla hast tliou quaff'd 


But well that smile his master led 


From foemau's skull metheglin draught, 


To construe what he left unsaid. 


Oi wanderest where thy cairn was piled 


" Is it to me, thou timid youth. 


To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? 


Thou feiir'st to speak unwelcome truth! 


Or have the milder Christians given 


My soul no more thy censure grieves 


Thy refuge in then- peaceful heaven ? 


Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves 


Where'er thou art, to thee are known 


Say on — and yet — beware the rude 


Our toils endured, our trophies won. 


And wUd distemper of my blood ; 


Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes." 


Loth were I that mine ire should wrong 


He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose. 


The youth that bore my shield so long. 




And who, in service constant still. 


VL 


Tliough weak in frame, art strung in will' — 


.Song. 


" Oh !" quoth tlie page, " even there depend 


My counsel — there my warning tends — 


■ Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy 


Oft seems as of my master's breast 


i'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, 


Some demon were the sudden guest ; 


Jrimson foam the beach o'erspread, 


Then at the fir^t misconstrued word 


rke heath was dyed with darker red, 


His hand is on the mace and sword, 


When o'er Eric, Inguar's son. 


From her firm seat his wisdom driven. 


Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 


His Ufe to countless dangers given. — 


Singing wild the war-song stern. 


! would that Guimar could suffice 


' Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn 1' 


To be the fiend's last sacrifice. 




So that, when glutted with my gore. 


•' Where eddying currents foam and boU 


He fled and tempted thee no more !" 


By Bersa's burgh and Grajmsay's isle. 




The seaman sees a martial form 


vni. 


Half-mingled with the mist .and storm. 


Then waved liis hand, and shook his hew 


In anxious awe he bears away 


The impiitient Diine, wliile thus he said 


To moor his bark in Stromna's bay. 


"Pre fane not, youth — it is not thin 5 


;Vnd murmurs from the bounding stem. 


To judge the spirit of our line — 


Rest thee, Drreller of the Cairn !' 


The bold Berserkar's rage divine. 



rANTO ni. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



52S 



Tliroii£jh whose inspiring, deeds are wrought 
Past human strength and human thought. 
Wlien full upon his gloomy soul 
Tlie champion feels the influence roll, 
He swuns the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Heeds not the depth; nor plumbs the fall — 
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes ; 
Tlieir spears he holds like wither'd reeds, 
Tlieir mail hke maiden's- silken weeds; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive. 
Take countless wounds, and j'et survive. 
Then rush the eagles to liis cry • 

Of slaughter and of victoiy, — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin'a bowl, 
Deep drmks liis sword, — deep drinks his 

soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, 
And conches till he's man agen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb. 
When 'gins that rage to overbrim — 
Thou know'st when I am moved, and why ; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine eye. 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, 
Regard thy safety and be mute ; 
But else speak boldly out whate'er 
Ifi fitting tliat a knight should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has powCT 
Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charm'd away ; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
m of thy speech whate'er the theme." 

IX. 
As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead, 
And, cautious in the midst to steer. 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; 
3o, lest on dangerous ground he swerved, 
The Page his master's brow observed. 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
Hie hand o'er the melodious strmg. 
And to his moody breast apply 
The sootliing charm of harmony, 
While liinted half, and half exprest, 
Thx3 warning song convey'd the rest. — 

Sonfl. 
1. 
•Ill fares the bark with tackle riven, 
And ill when on the breakers driven, — 
111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 
But worse when on her helm the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command. 



" Dl fares the fainting Palmer, placed 

'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's waste, — 

111 when the scorching sun is high, 

And the expected font is di-y, — 

Worse when liis guide o'er sand and heath, 

The baibarous Copt, has plann'd his death 

3. 

" 111 fares the Knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of his helm bereft, — 
111 when his steed to earth is flung. 
Or from his grasp his falchlrn wrung ; 
But worse, if instant ruin token. 
When he lists rede by woman spoken." — 



" How now, fond boy ? — Canst thou think ill 
Said Harold, " of fair Metelill ?"— 
" She may be fair," the Page replied, 

As thi'ough the strings be ranged, — 
" She may be fair ; but yet," he cried, 

And then the strain he changed, 

' Sonfl. 

1. 
" She may be fair," he sang, " but yet 

Far fiiirer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet. 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one day I may be. 
My heart should own no foreign charma,— 

A Danish maid for me. 



" I love my fathers' northern land, 

'Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe.' 
I love to mark the lingering sun. 

From Denmai-k loth to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright. 
To cheer the short-lived sunnier night 

A path of ruddy glow. 



" But most the northern maid 1 love. 

With breast like Denmark's snow 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine. 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of eunny glow ; 
And .sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue, 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 



r- 



D24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANIO I» 



" 'Tis hers the manly sports to love 

Tliat southern maidens fear. 
To bend the bow by stre;un and grove, 

And lift tlie hunter's spear. 
She can her chosen champion's flight 

With eye undazzled see, 
Clasp, him victorious fi'om the strife. 
Or on Ms corpse yield up her life, — 

A Danish maid for me 1" 

XI. 

Then smiled the Dane — " Thou canst so well 
The virtues of our maidens tell, 
Half could T wish my choice had been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, 
And lofty soul ; — yet wliat of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill ?" — 
"Nothing on her,'" young Gunnai' said, 
" But her base sh-e's ignoble trade. 
Her mother, too — the general fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name, 
And in her gray ej'e is a flame 
Art caimot liide, nor fear can tanf* — 
rhat sordid woodman's peasant cot 
Twice have tliine honor'd footsteps sought, 
And twice return'd with such ill rede 
4.8 sent thee on some desperate deed." — 

XII. 

" Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said. 

He that comes suitor to a maid. 

Ere link'd in marriage, should provide 

Lands and a dwelling for his bride — 

My father's, by the Tyne and Wear, 

I have reclaim'd." — " 0, all too dear. 

And all too dangerous the prize. 

E'en were it won," young Gunnar cries ; — 

" And then this Jutta's fresh device. 

That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 

From Durham's priests a boon to gain. 

When thou hast left theu- vassals slain 

In their own halls !" — Flasli'd Harold's eye. 

Thunder''' liis voice — " F;ilse Page, you lie I 

The castle, haU and tower, is mine, 

Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 

Tlia wild-cat will defend his den, 

Fights for her nest the timid wren; 

And tiiink'st thou I'U forego my right 

' *' Nothing on her," is the reading of the interleaved copy 
*l 1831^" Oq her naught,'* in all the former editions. 

3 " All ia hnsh'd, and still as deatli — 'tis dreadful I 
How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
Whose ancient pillars rear tlieir marble heads 
To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof. 
By its own weight made stedfast and immovable, 
liOokirig tranquillity ! It «[rilies an awe 
A-ud terror on ray aching si^ht. The tombs 



For dread of monk or moDKidh knijrht ? — 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the Bishop's toticlape cell. 
Thither will I, in u,anuei due, 
As Jutta bade, luy claim to sue ; 
And, if to right n^e Ihey are loth, 
I'hen woe to church and chapter both !" 
Now shift tnbscene, and let the curtain fall, 
And oiu- best entry J)e Saint Cuthbert's hall. 



1 



^arolb tlje Ilanntlcss. 



CANTO FOUKTH. 



Full many a bard hath stmg the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof^ 
O'er-canop3'ing shrine au4 gorgeous tomb. 
Carved screen, and altar ghmmering far aloofc 
And blending with the shade-^-a matchless prod i 
Of high devotion, which hath now wax'd cold f 
y*et legends say, that Luxury's brute lioof 
Intruded oft witliin such sacred fold, [of old.' i 
Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in lii? fane 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route 
Of our rude neighbors whilome deign'd to come, ! 
UncalTd, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
To cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own, 
But spared the martyr'd saint and storied tomb 
Though papal muacles had graced the stone, 
And though the aisles still loved the organ's aw«l 
ling tone. 

And deem not, though tis now my part to paintf 
A Prelate sway'd by love of power and gold, 
That all wlio wore the mitre of our Saint 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I hold ; 
Since both in modern times and days of old 
It sate on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told: 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such (if fame speak truth) the honor'd Bar 
rington.* 

And monumental caves of deatU look cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart." 

Consrkve's jMourning Bride, Act ii. l?ceuej. 

See also Joanna Baillie's." De Montfort," Acts iv. and t 

s See, in the Apocryphal Books, " The History of Beiaii| 

the Dragon." 

■> Sec, for the lives of Bishop Matthew and Bishop Mortoi! 
here alloded to, Mr. Surtces's History of the Bishopric of Dui 
ham : the venerable Shute Barrington, their honored suocesso i 
ever a kind friend of SU- Walter Scott, died in 1626. 



CANTO IV. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



628 



IL 

Bu now to earlier and to ruder times, 

As subject meet, I tune my rugged rliymes, 

Telling how fairly the chapter was met, 

And rood and books in seemly order set ; 

Huge brass-clasp'd volumes, which the hand 

Of studious priesv but rarely scann'd. 

Now on fair carved desk display 'd, 

'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 

O'erhead with many a scutcheon graced, 

And quaint devices interlaced, 

A labyrinth of crossing rows, 

The roof in lessening arches shows ; 

Beneath its shade placed proud and high. 

With footstool and witli canopy. 

Sate Aldingar, — and prelate ne'er 

More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert's chair ; 

Canons and deacons were placed below. 

In due degree and lengthen'd row. 

UnmoTed and silent each sat there. 

Like image in liis oaken chair ; 

Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirr'd. 

Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 

And of their eyes severe alone 

The twinkle show'd they were not stone. 

ni. 

The Prelate was to speech address'd. 
Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; 
But ere his voice was heard — without 
Arose a wild tumultuous shout. 
Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear. 
Such as in crowded streets we hear 
Hailing the flames, that, bursting out,. 
I Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 
Shook oaken door and iron band. 
Till oak and iron both gave way, 
Clash'd the long bolts, the hinges bray, 
,lnd, ere upon angel or saint they can call, 
Hands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the hall. 

IV. 
Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood, 
Vom Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 
or here stands Count Harold, old Witikind's son, 
ome to sue for the lands which his ancestors 
won." [^ye, 

he Prelate look'd round him with sore troubled 
nwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; 
Tiile each Canon and Deacon who heard the 

, Dane speak, 

; o be safely at home would have fasted a week : — 
hen Aldingar roused him, and answer'd again, 
n>ou suest for a boon which thou canst not ob- 
tain ; 
le Cliurch hath no fiefs for an unchristen'd Dane. 
lY father was wise, and his treasure hath given. 



Thiit the priests of a chantry might hymn him U 

heaven; [due, 

And the fiefs wliich whilome he possess'd as his 
Have lapsed to the Church, and been granted 

anew 
To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's bless'd banner to 

bear, [Wear 

When the bands of the North come to foray the 
Then disturb not our conclave with wrimgUng oi 

blame, [came." 

But in peace and in patience pass hence- ai ve 

V. 
Loud laugh'd the stern Pagan, — " They're free from 

the care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, - 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, 
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead. — 
Ho, Gunnar l^the tokens ;" — and, sever'd anew 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shudder'd with terror both Canon ;md Monk, 
They knew the glazed eye and the coontenance 

, shrunk, 
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, 
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. 
There was not a churchman or priest that was ther^ 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook him ia 

prayer. 

VI. 
Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear : 
" Was this the hand should your banner bear, 
Was that the head should wear the casque 
In battle at the Church's task ? 
Was it to such you gave the place 
Of Harold with the heavy mace ? 
Find me between the Wear and Tyne 
A knight will wield this club of mine,— 
Give liim my fiefs, and I will say 
There's wit beneath the cowl of gray." 
He raised it, rough with many a stain. 
Caught from crush'd skull and spouting bralu . 
He wheel'd it that it slu-illy sung. 
And the aisles echo'd as it swung, 
Tlien dasli'd it down with sheer descent. 
And spUt King Osric's monument. — 
" How like ye tliis music ? How trow ye the hanu 
That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land I 
No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree. 
And Saint Cuthbert inspu-e you, a saint if he be. 
Ten strides through your cliancel, ten strokes m 

your bell. 
And again I am with you — grave fathers, farewell." 

VII. 
He tum'd from their presenc;, he cla,sh'd the oal 
door. 



526 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANIO n 



And tho clang of liis stride died away on the floor ; 
Ab'd Ids head from his bosom the Prelate uprears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ghost disappeaj'S. 
'^ Ye priests of Saint Cuthbeil, now give me your 

rede, 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need 1 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, 
The language, the look, and the laugh were hi? 

own. 
In the bounds of SainI Cuthberi there is not a 

knight 
Dale confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death to deny." 

VIII. 
On ven'son and malmsie that morning had fed 
ITie Cellarer Vinsauf — 'twas thus that he said : — 
" Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fair, and the wine be 

I^our'd high : 
If he's mortal he drinks, — if he drinks, he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our towers." 
This man had a laughing eye, « 

Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; 
A beaker's depth he well could drain, 
Revel, sport, and jest amain — 
The haunch of the deer imd the grape's bright dye 
Never bard loved them better than I ; 
But sooner than Vinsauf fiU'd me my wine, 
Pass'd me his jest, and hiugh'd at mine. 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bourdeaux 

the vine, 
With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine 
On an oaken cake and a draught of the Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn the leech spoke next — he knew 
Each plaut that loves the sun and dew, 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Doniiuion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw him by pale moonbeam 
Gathering such herbs by bank and stream, 
Deem'd liis thin form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. — 
" Vinsauf, thy wine," he said, " hath power. 
Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower ; 
Yet three drops from tliis flask of mine. 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine. 
Shall give him prison under ground 
More dart, more n.arrow, more profound. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold have — 
A dog's death and a heathen's grave." 
I have lain on a sick man's bed, 
Watcluijg for hours for the leech's tread. 
As if I deem'd that his presence alone 
Were of power to bid my pain begone ; 
' have listed his words of eimfort given 



As if to oracles from heaven ; 
I have counted his steps from my chamber dour, 
And bless'd them when they were heard no more 
But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch should 

nigh, 
My choice were, by leech-craft unaided, to die. 

X. 

" Such service done in fervent zeal, 

The Church may pai'don and conceaJ," 

The doubtful Prelate said, " but ne'er 

The counsel ere the act should hear. — 

Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now. 

The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; 

Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 

Are still to mystic learning lent ; — 

Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 

Thou well mayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd the Prior — " 'Tis wisdom's use 

Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; 

Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask, 

Shape for the gi.int gigantic task ; 

Let us see how a step so sounding can tread 

In paths of darkness, danger, and di'ead ; 

He may not, he wiU not, impugn om" decree. i 

That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; 

And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the Strol^ 

Our wilds have adventure might cumber them 

long — [no more ^ 

The Castle of Seven Shields" " Kind Anselm, 

The step of the Pagan approaches the door." . 

The churchmen were hush'd. — In his mantle of skill. 
With liis maCe on his shoulder. Count Harold strodti 

in. 
There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye, 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. 
" Ho I Bishop," he, said, " dost thou grant me my 

claun ? 
Or must I assert it by falchion and flame ?" — 

XII. 
"On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop replied, 
In accents which trembled, " we may not decide. 
Until proof of your strength and your valor w« 

saw — 
'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law."— 
" And would you, Sh Prel.ate, have HaroM niati 

sport [coiu-t ! 

For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in thj ; 
S^y what shall he do ? — From the ahrine shall hi 

, tear 
The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in air, j 
And through the long chancel make Cuthbert takvj 

wing, [sling?"- j 

With the speed of a bullet dismiss'd from th j 
" Nay, spare such probation," the Cellarer said, j 



CANru rv. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



52» 



• From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall 

be read* 
W'hil ? the wine sparkles liigh m the goblet of gold, 
Ami the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told ; 
And thyself gallant Harold, shall, healing it, tell 
Thii ibe Bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings, 

meant well." 

XIII. 

lAiud revell'dthe guests, and the goblets loud rang. 
But louder the niinstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul. 
E'en when verging to fury, own'd music's control, 
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye. 
And often untasted the goblet pass'd by ; 
"["ban wine, or than wassail, to him was more dear 
The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear; 
And the Bishop that day might of Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 
STJc Clastic of tijc Scbcn SJi'clDs. 

A BALLAD. 

The Druid Urien had daughters seven. 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven ; 
So fair their forms and so high their fame. 
That seven proud kings for their suitors came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair, and unpruned were their 
nails ; [lame, 

From Strath-Clwyae wv Ewain, and Ewain was 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was himchback'd from youth ; 
DuJimail of Cumbria had never a tooth; 
But Ailolf nf Biunbrougii, Northumberland's heir. 
Was gay and was gallant, was young and T^as fan'. 

There .was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one 

would have 
For husband King Adolf, the g.allant and brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows, 
When the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch-fiend 

arose ! 

He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil — 
Thiy swore to the foe they would work by liis will. 

, A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
*Nfw hearken my spell," said the Outcast of 

I heavea 

" Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, 

' " The word ' peril' is continu.illy naed as a verb by Ijotii 
! •lilen:- 

■ ' Nor peril ao«tht tor me agen.' 

/.a/ltj cf the Lake. Canto ii. etaiiza 26. 
1 periU'd tht s the helpless child.' 

Lord oj Uit Isles. Canto v. stanza 10. 



Anu for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right .sh;dl be feeble, the wrong shal^ 

have power. 
And there shall ye dwell with your pai-amour." 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the wold, 
And the rhymes which they chanted mast never 

be told ; 
And as the black wool from the distatf they sped. 
With blood frc-..- their bosom they moisten'd tiip 
, thread. 

[gleam, 
As hght danced the spindles beneath the cold 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream — 
The seven towers ascended like rnist from the 

ground. 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surroimd. 

Witliin that dread castle seven monarchs were wed. 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red, 
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's bed. 

" Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done, 
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, 
Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do. 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless toa' 

Well chanced it that Adplf the night when he wed 
Had confess'd and had sain'd him ere boune to his 
bed ; [drew 

He sprung from the couch and his broadsword he 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal'd. 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield ; 
To the cells of Sahit Dunstaii then wended his way 
And died in liis cloister An anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stow'd. 
The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad. 
Whoever .shall gue.sten these chambers within. 
From curfew till matins, that treasm-e .shall win. 

But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old 
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold. 
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain. 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the rye 
Before the rude Scots shall Nortluimbcrland fly. 
And the flint cUfts of Bambro' shall melt in the sun 
Before that adventure be perill'd and won.' 

' Were the blood of all my ancestors in my veins, I woDld 
have perilled it in this quarrel.' — Wavertey. 

' I wer« andescrvin'j his grace, did I not peril it for his goo<^ 
— Ivnnhoe. , 

fitc. &c." — .-VooLPHrs' setters on the Aathffr of Waverie^ 



828 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. «anto v 


XV. 


And at his master asKd the timid Page, 


' And IS this my probation ?" wild Harold he said, 


" What is the emblem that a bard shou'd spy 


•' Within a lone castle to press a lone bed ? — 


In that rude rock and its green canopy !" 


'iood even, my Lord Bishop,— Saint Cuthbert to 


And Harold s.aid, " LUce to the 'helmet brave 


borrow, [row." 


Of warrior slain in fight it seems to Ue, 


I'lic Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-mor- 


And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wava 




Not all unlike the plume his lady's favor gave." — 
" Ai, no 1" replied the Page ; " the ill-starr'd 1ot« 




fiarolb tlje JBaitutlcss. 


Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove, 




And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 


CANTO FIFTH. 




Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the 
scathe 




L 


Of the red Ughtning rends both tree and stone, 


Denmark's sage comiier to her princely youth. 


So fares it with her unrequited faith, — 


Granting liis cloud an ouzel or a whale,' 


Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge death."— 


Spoke, thougli unwittingly, a partial truth ; 




For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 


in. 


The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale, 


"Thou art a fond fantastic boy," i 


Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, 


Harold replied, " to females coy. 


Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 


Yet prating still of love ; 


VVTiicli Fantsay with pencil wild portrays. 


Even so amid the clash of war 


Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser's 


I know thou lovest to keep afar. 


gaze. 


Though destined by thy evil star 




With one hke me to rove, 1 


JNor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 


Whose business aud whose joys are found 


Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; 


Upon the bloody battle-ground. 


For not with unsubstantial hues alone. 


Tet, foolish trembler as thou art. 


Caught from the varying surge, or vacant 


Thou hast a nook of my rude heart. 


heaven. 


And thou and I will never part ; — 


From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin. 


Harold would wrap the world in flame 


She lunns her pictures : on the earth, as air. 


Ere injury on Gimnar came I" 


Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; 




And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 


IV. 


But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the 


The grateful Page made no reply. 


sliare. 


But turn'd to Heaven his gentle eye. 




And clasp'd his hands, as one who said. 


n. 


" My toils — my wandermgs are o'erpaid 1" 


Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 


Then in a gayer, Ughter strain. 


Hugh Menevllle, the adventure of thy lay ; 


CompeU'd himself to speech again ; 


(iunuar pursued liis steps in faith and love. 


And, as they flow'd along. 


Ever companion of liis master's way. 


His words took cadence soft and slow, 


Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 


And hquid, Uke dissolving snow. 


From the adjoining cU(f had made descent, — 


They melted into song. 


A barren mass — yet with her drooping spray 




Had a young birch-tree crown'd its battlement. 


V. 


fwistiug her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw 


" What though through fields of carnage widi , 


' and rent. 


I may not follow Harold's stride. 




Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 


This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought 


Lord Harold's feats can see ! 


engage 


And dearer than the couch of pride. 


Tin Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye, 


Ue loves the bed of gray wolf's hide. 


1 " Hamlet. Do yon see yonder cloud, that's almost in ehafle 


Pol. It is backed like a weasel. , ' 


'"acamel? 


Ham. Or, Uke a whale 1 


Polonius. Ey the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed I 


Pol. Very like a whale." 


Ham. Metliinks, it is like a weasel. 


Hamllt. I 



CANTO V. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



529 



When slumbering by Lord Harold's side 


. . \ 

The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 


In forest, firld, or lea." — 


In this thine hour, yet tinn and hear 


VI. 

•Break oflf!" said Harold, in a tone 


For Ufe is brief and judgment near." 


IX. 


Where liurrr ami surprise were shown, 


Then ceased Tlie ■\'oice. — The Dane replied 


With some slight touch of fear, — 


In tones where awe and inborn pride 


" Break off, we are not here alone ; 


For mastery strove, — " In vain ye chide 


A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 


The wolf for ravaging the flock. 


By cowl, and statf, and mautle known, 


Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 


My monitor is near. 


I am as they — my Dani.sh strain 


Now mark him, Guunar, heedfully ; 


Sends streams of frre through every vein. 


He pauses by the blighted tree — 


Amid thy realms of goule and ghost. 


Dost see liini, youtli ? — Thou couldst not see 


Say, is the feme of Eric lost. 


When in the vale of Gahlee 


Or WitLkind's the Waster, known 


I first beheld his form. 


Wliere fame or spoil was to be won ; 


Nor when we met that other while 


"Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore 


In Ccphalonia's rocky isle. 


They left not black with flame ?— 


Before tKe fearful storm, — 


He was my sire, — and, sprung of him, 


Dost see him now ?' — The Piige, distraught 


That rover merciless and grim. 


With terror, answer'd, " I see naught, 


Can I be soft and tame ? [uu*. 


And there is naught to see, 


Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid 


Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down 


I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made 


Upon the path a shadow brown. 


me." 


That, like a pilgiira's dusky gown, 




Waves with the waving tree." 


X. 




The Phantom groan'd; — the mountain siuwk 


VII. 


around. 


Count Harold gazed u]otii the oak 


The fawn and wild-doe .started at the sound. 


As if his eyestrings would have broke. 


The gorse and fern did wildly round them wa-rt- 


And then resolvedly said, — 


As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. 


" Be what it will yon phantom gray — 


" All thou hast said is truth — Yet on the head 


Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 


Of that bad sire let not the charge be hiid. 


That for their shadows from his way 


That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace. 


Count Harold turn'd dismay'd : 


From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — 


m speak him, though liis accents fill 


Relentless in liis avarice and u-e. 


My heart with that imwonted thrill 


Churches and towns he gave to sword and fii» 


Wliich Tulgar minds call fear.' 


Shed blood like water, wasted every land. 


I will subdue it !" — Forth he strode. 


Like the destroying angel's burning brand ; 


Pausetl where the blighted oak-tree show'd 


FuHiU'd whate'er of ill might be invented. 


Its sable shadow on the road. 


Yes — all these things he did — he did, but h< 


And, folding on bis bosom broad 


REPENTED ! 


His arms, said, " Speak — I hear." 


Perchance it is part of his punishment stiU, 




That his offspring pursues his example of ill. 


vin. 


But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next 


The Deep Voice' said, " wild of will, 


shake thee, [thee • 


Furious thy purpose to fulfil — 


Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awakt 


Heart-sear'd and unrepentant still. 


If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever. 


How long, Harold, shaU thy tread 


The gate of repentance shall ope for thee nevee !' — 


Disturb the, slumbers of the dead? 




Each step in thy wdd way thou raakest. 


XL 


The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 


" He is gone," said Lord Harold, and gazed as hf 


And shout in triumph o'er thy path 


spoke ; 


' " rii speak to it, thoogh hell itself shoald gape.'* 


Thou aged carle, so stern and gray 1 


Hamlet 


— — — — 




' Know'st thon not nae V the Deep Voice cried." 


* " Whv sit' St tlioL by that ruin'd hall, 
67 


Waverlty J^Qvels — Antiquary, vol. v. i», l*** 



530 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



* There 13 naught on the path but the shade of the 

oak. 
He is gone, whose strange presence my feelhig 

oppress'd, [breast. 

Xiike the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's 
My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread, 
And cold dews drop from my brow and my 

head. — 
Ho ! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave ; 
He said that three drops would recall from the 

grjive. [has power, 

For the first time Count Harold owns leech-craft 
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower !" 
The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had 

mi'd [distillVl— 

With the juice of wild roots that his art had 
So baneful their influence on all that had breath, 
One di-op had been phrensy, and two had been 

death. 
Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubilee shrill. 
And music and clamor were heard on the hill. 
And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er 

stone, 
riie train of a brid.al came blithesomely on ; 
There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, 

and still 
Tlie burden was, " Joy to the fair Metelill !" 

XII. 
Harold might see from his high stance, 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled throng, 
Measuring theu steps to bridal song 

Aud bridal minstrelsy ; 
And ever when the bhthesome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout. 
Redoubling echoes roU'd about. 
While echoing cave and chfl' sent out 

The answering symphony 
Of all those miniic notes which dw3ll 
In hollow rock and sounding dell 

XIII. 

Joy shook his torch above tlie band, 
Uy many a vai-ious passion fann'd; — 
A a elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed 
Gentle, or stormy, or refined, 
Joy takes the colors of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure but unrepress'd. 
He fired the bridegr. flm's g,aUant breast : 
More feebly strove with maiden fear, 
Yet stiU joy ghmmer'd through the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows 
Like dew-drop on the budding rose ; 
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile declared 
Vbc glee that selfish avarice shared, 



And pleased revenge and malice high 

Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. 

On d.angerous ^adventure sped, 

The witch deem'd Harold with the dead, 

For thus that morn her Demon said : 

" If, ere the set of sun be tied 

Tlie knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride, 

The Dane shall have no power of ill 

O'er William and o'er Metelill." 

And the pleased witch made answer, " Then 

Must Harold have pass'd from tlie paths <k 

men ! 
Evil repose may his spu-it have, — 
May hemlock and mandrake find root in hie 

grave, — 
May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams il 

dismay. 
And his waking be worse at the answering day.' 

XIV. 
Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when .Joy is brimming highest. 
Of Sorrow and Misfortune Highest, 
Of Terror with her ague cheek, 
And lurking Danger, sages speak : — 
These haunt each path, but chief they lay 
Their snares beside the priim'ose way. — 
Thus fomid that bridal bimd their path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
TrenibUng beneath Ills maddening mood, 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was hke the doom of death 
Spoke o'er theu- heads that pass'd beneath 
His destuied victims might not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye, — 
The frown of rage that writhed his face, — 
The Mp that foam'd hke boar's m chase ; — 
But all could see — and, seeing, .all 
Bore back to sliuu the threaten'd fall — 
The fragment which tlicir giant foe 
Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw. 

• XV. 
Backward they bore ; — yet are there two 

For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William knew 

Ere his good blade was bai'e ; 
And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, 
But ere the silken cord he drew. 
As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew 

That ruin through the air 1 
Full on the outlaw's front it came. 
And all that late had human name. 
And human face, and human frame 
That lived, and moved, and had free wiU 
To choose the path of good or ill. 

Is to its reckoning goue ; . 



CANTO T. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



63; 



And naught of Wulfstane rests behind, 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Half-buried in the Jintcil clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 
Of mingled flesh and boue ! 

XVI. 
As from tlie bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain. 
Three bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train ; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
The noble falcon darc-i the tight, 

But dares the light in vain. 
So fought the bridegroom ; from Ills hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand. 
Its gUttering fragments strew the sand. 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! talce noble William's part, 
And molt that yet uiuuelted lieai't, 
Or, ere his bridal hour depait. 

The hapless bridegroom's slain ! 

XVII. 
Count Harold's phrensied rage is liigh, 
There is a death-fire in his eye, 
Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd. 
His teeth are set, Ids hand is clench'd. 
The foam upon his lip is white. 
His deadly arm is up to smite ! 
But, as the mace aloft he swung, 
To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung, 
Around his master's knees he clung. 

And cried, " In mercy spare ! 
U, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis lie foretold is here, — 

Grant mercy, — or despair !" 
Tliis word suspended Harold's mood, 
Tet still with arm^upr.aised he stood. 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
"0 mark thee with the blessed rood," 
The Page unplored ; " Speak word of good, 
Besist the fiend, or be ^ubtlued !" 

He sign'd the cross divine — 
Inataut liis eye hath human hght, 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; 
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, 
rhe fatal mace sinks gently down, 



He turns and strides away : 
Vet oft, like revellers who leave 
Uufiuisli'd feast, looks back to grieve, 
As if repenting the reprieve 
He granted to his prey- 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given. 
And tierce Witikind's son made one step towardi 
heaven. 

XVIIl. 
But though his dreaded footsteps part 
Death is behind and shakes his dart; 
Lortl William on the plain is lying. 
Beside him Metelill seems dying ! — 
Bring odors — essences in haste — 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pom-ing it for those she loves — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. 
For when tlu'ee drops the hag had tasted. 

So dismal- was her yell. 
Each bird of evil omen woke, 
The raven gave liis fatal croak, 
And shriek'd the night-crow from the 

oak. 
The screech-owl from the thicket broke, 

And flutter'd down the dell I 
So fearful was the sound and stern. 
Tile slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell, 
The fo.x and famish'd wolf repUed 
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side) 
From mountain head to mountain head 
The unhallow'd sounds around were .sped ; 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 

XIX. 
Such Was the scene of blood and woes. 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of MeteliU ; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill, 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The ICing of Splendor walks abroad ; 
So, when this cloud had pass'd away. 
Bright w.is [he noontide of their day, 
And aU serene its setting ray. 

' See a note o" the Lord of Uie IbJcs, Canto v. it. 31 •• 454 
amU. 



532 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Varolii tl)e JUauntkss. 



N T O SIXTH. 



I. 

Weli do I hope that this my mmstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from Bouthern fields, 
Wliether iu tilbury, barouche, or mail, 
To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To McneviUe's high lay, — No towers are seen 
0» the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds. 
And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with 
green, [been. 

Is naught remains to tell of what may tliere have 

And yet grave authors, with the no small waste 
Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 
By Rouuxn bands, to curb the invading Scot. 
Hutcliinson, Horsley, Camden, I might quote, 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things forgot. 
Refer still to the origiu of evil, [fiend the Devil. 
And for then- master-mason choose that master- 

II. 

Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering 

gaze. 
When evening dew was on the heather flowers, 
Aiid the last sunbeams made the mountain 

blaze. 
And tinged 'the b.^ttlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinking down. — 
Illumined thus, the Dauntless Dane sm'veys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal 

frown, [renown. 

And on their blazons traced liigh marks of old 

A wolf N*rth Wales had on his armor-coat, 
And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag ; 
Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem was a stranded 

boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag ; 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag ; 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cros.s — such signs were borne 
Ppon these antique shields, all wasted now and 



III. 
I'hese scaim d. Count Harold sought the castle- 
door. 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 



Yet till that hour adventurous kniglit forbore 
Tlie unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed warders in array. 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay. 
Cast spells across the gate, and bair'd the onward 
way. 

Vani now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank 
The feebly-fasten'd gate was inward push'd, 
And, as it oped, through that emblazon'd rank 
Of anC.que shields, the wind of evening rush'd 
With sound most like a groan, and then wa« 

hush'd. 
Is none who on such spot such soimds could heaf 
But to liis heart the blood had faster rush'd ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear-- 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear 

IV. 
Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger show'd ; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As through their precincts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and 

broad. 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall m wliieh a king might make abode. 
And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in wliich a king might 
' he. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 
Deck'd stood the taile. in each gorgeous hall , 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween, 
Since date of that uuhaUow'd festival 
Flagons, and ewers, and standnig cups, were all 
Of tarnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear, 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, [sear— 
And tapestry clothed the walls with fi'.agmenta 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. 



In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson cm'tain o'er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were Bung 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread, [stone, 
Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head ; 
Wliile grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them tlu'owu. 
The wearer's fleshless skuU, alike with dust be- 
strewn. 

For these were they who, drunken with delight 
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, 



CANTO VI. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



dSt 



For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread 
Of human life are all so closely twined. 
That till the shears of Fate the texture shred, 
The close succession caimot be disjoin'd, 
N'oi dare we, fiom one hour, judge that which comes 
behind. 

VI. 
But wliere the work of vengeance had been done, 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton. 
Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For tliis lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying ; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as kiU'd in act of flying.' 

The stern Dane smiled tliis charnel-house to see,— 
For liis chafed thought return'd to Metelill ; — 
And " Well," he said, " hath woman's perfidy. 
Empty as air, as water volatile. 
Been here avenged — The origin of ill 
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine 

saith ; 
Nor deem I, Gunuar, that thy minstrel skill 
Can show example where a woman's breath 
Hath made a true-love tow, and, tempted, kept 

her faith." 

VII. 
The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd. 
And hia half filling eyes he dried, 
And said, " The theme I should but wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song 
(Our .Scalds have said, in dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power). 
Else could I tell of woman's faith, 
Defj'ing danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith, — as diamond stone 
Pure and unflaw'd, — her love unknown. 
And uiu'equited; — firm and pure, ' 

Her stainless faith could all endure ; 
From clime to clime, — from place to place, — 
Through want, and danger, and disgrace, 
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. — 
AH this she did, and guerdon none 
Required, .save that her burial-stone 
Should make at length the secret known, 
• Thus hath a faithful woman done.' — 

1 " In an invention like this we are hardly to look for prob- 
Ihi'itieg. bat all these preparations and ornaments are not qnite 
-onsistent with the state of society two hundred years before 
the Danish Invasion, as far as we ktiow any thing of it. In 
these matters, however, the author is never very BcropuIouB, 
«od has too little regarded nrouriety in the m^ :or cilcumstan- 



Not in each breast such truth is laid. 
But Eivir was a Danish maid." — 

VIII. 
" Thou art a wild enthusiast," said 
Cotmt Harold, " for thy Danish maid ■ 
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Hers were a faith to rest upuu. 
But Eivu' sleeps beneath lier stone. 
And all resembling lier ;vre gone. 
What maid e'er show'd such constancy 
In plighted faitli, like thuie to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shall* 
FiiUs thickly round, nor be dismay'd 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we ; our little day 
O'erspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be tlxou laid, 
Thy couch upon my mantle made. 
That thou mayst think, should fear invade. 

Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couch'd they in that dread abode 
Untd the beams of dawning glow'd. 

IX. 
An alter'd man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawu unclose — 

There's trouble in his eyes, 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 

" My page," he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page." — No more 
He utter'd till the castle door 
Tliey cross'd — but there he paused and said, 
" My wildness hath awaked the dead — 

Disturb'd the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on high. 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky, 
And in her cavern'd gulfs could spy 

The central place of doom ; 
And there before my mortal eye 
Souls of the dead came flitting by, 
Whom fien(ls, with many a fiendish ciy. 

Bore to that evil den ! 
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain 
Was wilder'd, as the elvish train, 
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain 

Those who had late been men. 

X. 

" With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there, 

ces : thus Harold is clad in a kind of armor not worn until SODM 
hundred years after the era of the poem, and many of Ui« 
scenes described, like that last quoted (stanziis iv. v. vi.^, b» 
long even to a still later period. At least thit; defect is not «a 
imitation of Mr, Scott, who. being a skilfol antiquary, is ex- 
tremely careful as to niceties of this sort." — Critical Revicm 



634 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VJ 



And there pass'd Wulfstane, lately slain, 

All crush'd and foul with bloody stain. — 

More had I seen, but that uprose 

A whirlwind wild, an 1 .swept the suowa ; 

And with such sound as when at need 

A cliampion spurs his horse to speed, 

Three arra'd knights rush on, who lead 

Caparison'd a sable steed. 

Sable their harness, and there came 

Through their closed vizors sparks of flame. 

The first proclaira'd, in sounds of feai', 

' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here 1' 

The next cried, ' Jubilee ! we've won 

Count Witikind the Waster's son !' 

And the third rider sternly spoke, 

' Mount, in the name of Zernebock ! — 

From us, Harold, were thy powers, — 

Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours ; 

Nor think, a vassal thou of hell. 

With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true ! 

My inmost soul the summons knew, 

As captives know the knell 
That says the headsman's sword is bare. 
And, with an accent of despair, 

Commando them quit their cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain, 
My foot had that fell stuTup ta'en. 
My hand was on the fatal mane. 

When to mv rescue sped 
That Palmer's visionary form, 
And — like the passing of a storm — 

The demons yeU'd and fled ! 

XI. 

" His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd 
The features it before conceal'd ; 

And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way. 

My father Witikind ! 
Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for naine. 
A wanderer upon e.irth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace. 
And smooth for him a resting-place. — 
Ounnar, he must not hunt in vain 
Tliis world of wretchedness and pain : 
1 Tl tame my wilful heart to live 
fn peace — to pity aud forgive — 
And tliou, for so the Vision said, 
Must in thy Lord's repentance aid. 
Thy mother was a prophetess. 
He said, who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit tliy ttiread of life with mine ; 
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes. 
That not a moment might divide 
Thy fated footsteps from my side. 



Methought while thus my sire did teach, 
I caught the meaning of his speech, 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now." 
His hand then sought his thoughtful brow - 
Then first he mark'd, tliat in the tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 

XII. 

Trembling at first, and deadly pale. 
Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale ; 
But when he learn'd the dubious close. 
He blush'd like any opening rose. 
And, glad to hide liis tell-tale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek 
When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summon'd his master to l^is aid. 

XIII. 
What sees Count Harold in that bowe 

So late his resting-place ? — 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in Uving form stood there. 
His cloak the .spoils of Polar bear ; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head, 
Yet veil'd its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnmgs of his eye. 
Such height was liis, that when in stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : 

So flow'd his hoary beard ; 
Such was Ills lance of mountain-pine, 
So did his sevenfold buckler shine ; — 

But when liis voice he rear'd. 
Deep, without harshness, slow aud strong 
The powerful accents roll'd along, 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunnar's shrioking head. 

XIV. 
" Harold," he said, " what rage Ls thii-t. 
To quit the worship of thy line, 

To leave thy W.arrior-God ? — 
•With me is glory or disgrace. 
Mine is the onset and tlie chase, 
Embattled Iiosts before my face 

Are wither'd by a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless feat, 
Among the heroes of thy hue, 
Eric and fiery Tliorarine ? — 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for wliich the' vahant Hve, 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the joys for which they die. 
The immortal tilt — the banquet full, 
The brimming draught from foemans 
skull. 



i 



eANTO VT. ■ HAROLD THE 


DAUNTLESS. 53s 


Mine art thoii, witness this thy glove, 


Upon her brow and neck he threw. 


The faitliful jiledj^e of vassiU's love." 


And uuirk'd how hfe with ro.sy hue 




On her pale cheek revived anew. 


XV. 


And glimmer'd in her eye. 


•* TeEnjitcr," 8.aid Harold, firm of heart. 


Inly he said, " Tliat silken tress, — 


" I cl'artre thee hence ! whate'er thou art. 


What bhndne.ss mine that could not guess . 


i do di'fy thee — and resist 


Or how could page's rugged dress 


Tlie kindling phrensy of my breast. 


That bosom's pride belie ? 


Waked by thy words ; and of my maU, 


0, dull of heart, through wild and wa\ e 


Nor ylove, nor buckler, splcnt, nor nail, 


In search of blood and death to rave, 


Shall rest with thee — that youth release, 


With such a partner nigh !"' 


And God, or Demon, part m peace." — 




" Eivir," the Shape replied, " is mine. 


XVIII. 


Mark'd in the birth-houi- with my sign. 


Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd, 


Thiuk'st tliou that priest with drops of spray 


Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard 


Could wash that blood-red mark away ? 


The stains of recent conflict clear'd, — 


Or that a borrow'd sex and name 


And thus the Champion proved. 


Can abrogate a Godhead's claim i" 


That he fears now who never fear'd. 


Tlirill'd this strange speech through Harold's 


And loves who never loved. 


brain. 


And Eivir — Ufe is on her cheek. 


He clench'd his teeth in high disdain. 


And yet she will not move or speak. 


For not his new*born faith subdued 


Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; 


Some tokens of his ancient mood. — 


Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye, 


•* Now, by the hope so lately given 


Tlu"ough its long fringe, reserved and sh^, 


Of better trust and purer heaven. 


AScction's opening dawn to s]>y : 


I will assail thee, fiend !" — Then rose 


And the deep blush, which bids its dyp 


His mace, and with a storm of blows 


O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly. 


The mortal and the Demon close. 


Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 


XVI. 


XIX. 


Smoke roU'd above, fire flash'd around. 


But vainly seems the Dane to seek 


Darken'd the sky and shook the ground 


For terms his new-born love to speak,— 


But not the artillery of hell, 


For words, save those of wrath and wrong 


The bickering hghtning, nor the rock 


Till now were strangers to his tongue ; 


Of turrets to the earthquake's shock. 


So, when he raised the blushing maid. 


Could Harold's courage quell. 


In blunt and honest terms he said 


Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. 


('Twere well that maids, when lovers woo, 


And blows on blows resistless heap'd. 


Heard none more soft, were all as true), 


Till quail'd that Demon Form, 


" Eivir ! since thou for many a day 


And — for his power to hurt or kill 


Hast foUow'd Harold's wayw;iid way. 


Was bounddd by a higlier will — 


It is but meet that in the liue 


Evanish'd in the storm. 


Of after-life I follow tliine. 


Nor paused the Champion of the North, 


To-morrow is Saint Cuthberf- tide, 


But raised, and bore his Eivir forth. 


And we will grace his altar's -ide, 


From that wild scene of fiendish strife, 


A Christian k-night and Chris, ;an bride; 


To light, to liberty, and life 1 


And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be sai-s 




That on the same morn he was chrUtfio'-^ »fm 


XVIL 


wed." 


He placed her on a bank of mosa^ 
A silver runnel bubbled by. 






And new-born thoughts his^soul engross, 




And tremors yet unknown across 


CONCLUSION. 


His stubborn sinews fly. 


And now. Ennui, what alls thee, we."J-y maid 1 


The while with timid liaud the dew 


And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ' 


' Mr. Adolphus, in hi-i Lettpre on the Author of Waverley, 


son in the Irish orphan of ' Rolteby,' and the convernion of 


p 230 remarks on the coincidence between " tlie cata:^tro|jhe 


Harold's page into a female," — all which he calls "specimeni 


■^•The Black Dwarf.* the recognition of Mortham's lost 


of Tinsuccessful contrivance, at a great expense of probability.' 







^6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V7 



No need to turn the page, as if twere lead, 
Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. — 
Be cheer'd — 'tis ended — and I, will not borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 

'■' Harold the Dauntless,' like ' The Bridal of Triermain,' 
I a tolerably successful imitation of some parts of the style of 
Mr. WulttT Scott ; but like all imitationg, it is clearly disUn- 
^uiiliable from tiie prototype , it wants the life and seasoning 
>f originality. To illustrate this familiarly from the stage : — 
We have all witnessed a hundred imitations of popular actors — 
of Kemble, for instance, in which the voice, the gesture, and 
somewhat even of the look, were copied. In externals the re- 
Bemblance might be sufficiently correct; but where was the 
■nforming soul, the mind that dictated the action and expres- 
■ion 3 Who could endure the tedium of seeing the imitator go 
through a whole character? In ' Harold the Dauntless,' the 
imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obvious, but we are weary of 
it before we arrive near ihe end. The author has talent, and 
considerable facility in versification, and on this account it is 
Bomewhat lamentable, not only that he should not have se- 
lected a better model, but that he should copy the parts of that 
model which are least worthy of study. Perhaps it was not 
easy to equal the energy of Mr- Scott's line, ox his picturesque 
descriptions. His peculiarities and defects were more attaina- 
ble, and with these the writer of this novel in verse has gener- 
ally contented himself; he will also content a certain number 
of readers, who merely look for a few amusing or surprising 
incidents. In these, however, ' Harold the Dauntless' does 
not abound so much as ' The Bridal of Triermain.' They 
are, indeed, romantic enough to satisfy all the pari oi^ boarders 
"ladies' schools in England ; bat they want that ai)pearance 
.tf probability which should give them interest." — Critical Re- 
view, April, 1817. 



" We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable 
praise. The Bridal of Triermain. We remarked it as a pretty 
close imitation of Mr.' Scott's poetry ; and as that great master 
Bcema, for the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a subsli- 
Inte, even of inferior value, may be welcomed by the public. 
It appeared to us, however, and still does, that the merit of the 
present author consists rather in the soft and wildly tender 
passages, than in those rougher scenes of feud and fray, through 
which the poet of e.irly limes conducts his reader. His war- 
horse follows with somewhat of a hobbling pace the proud and 
impetuous courser wlinm he seeks to rival. Unfortunately, as 
It appears to us, tlie List style of poetical excellence is rather 
more aimed at here i ;ian in the former poem; and as we do 
not discover any impitvement in the mode of treating it, Ha- 
rold the Dauntless scuicely appears to us to equal the Bridal of 
Triermnin. Ii contains, indeed, passages of similar merit, but 
not quite so numerous ; and sach. we suspect, will evei be the 
eas$ uhile the author continues to follow after this line of 
toeiry "Scots Mag. Feb. 1817. 



■•ThiB IS an elegant, sprightly, and delightfol little poem, 
written apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who 
either possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, 
or regards it only as a secondary and subordmate object. In 
this we do not widely differ from him, but are eensible, mean- 
lime, that many others will ; and that the rambling and un- 
certain nature of the story will be the principal objection 
ftrgea against the poem before us, aa well as the greatest bar 
10 Its extensive pojiularily. The character of Mr. Scott's ro- 
mances has effecteil a material change in our mode of esti- 
mating poetical compositions. In all the estimable works of 
tfui former poets, from Spenser down to Thomson and Cowper, 
the plot Beems to have been regarded as good or bad, only in 



From BarthoUne, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrot« 
A Tale six cantos long, yet scorn'd to add 8 
note.' 

proportion to the advantages which it famished for poetical 
description ; but, of late years, one half, at least, of the merit 
of a poem is supposed to rest on the interest and management 
of the tale. 

" We speak not exclusively of that numerous class of read* 
ers who peruse and estimate a new poem, or any poem, with 
the same feelings, and precisely on the same principles, as lliey 
do a novel. It is natural for such persons to j udge only by the 
effect produced by the incidents; but we have often beer 
surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whosft 
judgment we were most disposed to bow, should lay so ranch 
stress on the probability and fitness of every incident which 
the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course 
of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must neccS" 
sarily be descriptive. The author of Harold Ihe Dauntless 
seems to have judged differently from these critics ; and in 
the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he rias chosen, we 
feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of tic easy 
and careless manner in which he has arranged his story, la 
many instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, 
and has truly studied and seized the essential character of tha 
antique — his attitudes and draperies are uiiconfined, and va- 
ried with demi-tints, possessing much of* the lustre, freshness, 
and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, 
and his distances something of the lightness and keeping ol 
Salvator Rosa. The want of harmony and union in the car- 
nations of his females is a slight objection, and there is like* 
wbe a meagre shedincss in liis contrasts of chiaroscuro ; bat 
these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and mastei 
traits distinguishable in his grouping, as in a Murillo or Carra 
veggio. 

But the work has another quality, and though its leading 
one, we do not know whether to.censiire or ajjprove it. It is 
an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part ol' its value, if 
viewed as an original prodoction. On the other hand, regarded 
solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most success- 
ful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps 
ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general man- 
ner of Scott ably maintained tlirougjiout, but the very structure 
of the language, the associations, and the train of thinking, 
appear to be precisely the same. It was once alleged by some 
writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr. Scott's style; 
but it is now fully proved to the world that there is no st^e 
more accessible to imitation; for it will be, remarked (laying 
parodies aside, which any one may execute), that Mr. David, 
son and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byron and Wordsworth, 
each in one instance, have all, without we believe intending 
it, imitated him with considerable closeness. The author oi 
•he Poetic Mirror has given us one specimen of Ids most pol* 
ishcd and tender style, and another, still more close, ot hit 
rapid and careless manner ; but all of them fall gnatly shori 
_of the Bridnl of Triermain, and the poem now before us 
We are sare the author will laugh heartily in his sleeve at ow 
silliness and want of perception, when we confess to him that 
we never conld open either of these works, and peruse bis page* 
for two minutes with attention, and at the same time divest 
our minds of the idea that we were engaged in an eariy or 
experimental work of that great master. That they are gene- 
rally inferior to the works of Mr. Scott in vigor and interest, 
admits no* of dispnte ; still they have many of liis wild and 
softer beauties ; and if they fail to be read and admired, wa 
shall not on that account think the better of the taste of th« 
age." — Blackwood' s Magazine, April, 1817. 

END OF HAEOLD THE DADNTLESS. , 



Jntroboctorji Hemorka' 

ON 

Popular Jpoctrg, 



AKD ON THE 



»aiOUS COLLECTIONS OF BALLADS OF BRITAIN, PARTICULARLY THOSE 

OP SCOTLAND. 



iHiE IntroducfJon originally prefixed to "The 
Hinstrelsy of the Scottish Border," was rather of 
1 historical tliau a Uterary nature ; and the re- 
marks trliich follow liave been added, to afford the 
general reader sinn© information upon the charac- 
ter of Ballad Poetry. 

It would be throwing away words to prove, 
what ail must admit, the general taste and pro- 
pensity of nations in then' early state, to cultivate 
some species of rude poetry. When the organs 
and faculties of a primitive race have developed 
themselves, each for its proper and necessary use, 
there is a natural tendency to employ them in a 
more refined and regulated m;mner for purposes 
of amusement. The savage, after proving the ac-' 
tivity of liis lin-bs in the chase or tlie battle, trains 
them to more measured movements, to dance at 
the festivals of his tribe, or to perform obeisance 
before the altars of his deity. From the same im- 
pulse, he is disposed to refine the onlinary speech 
which forms tlie vehicle of social communication 
betwixt liim and his brethren, until, by a more or- 
nate diction, modulated by certain rules of rhythm, 
cadence, assonance of termination, or recurrence of 
sound or letter, he obtains a dialect more solemn 
. m expression, to record the laws or exploits of his 
■ tribe, or more sweet in sound, in which to plead 
his own cause to his mistress. , 

This primeval poetry must have one general 
eharacter in all nations, both as to its merits and 
; its imperfections. . The earlier poets have the ad- 
vantage, and it is not a small one, of having the 
fir&t choice out of the stock of materials which are 
proper to tV ) art ; and thus they compel later au- 
thors, if they would avoid slavishly imitating the 
lathers of verso, into various devices, often more 

' * These remarks were first appended to the edition of the 
I Minstrelsy of the ScoUish Border," 1830.— Ed. 

•Sr Waller Scott, as this para^aph intimates, never don bt- 
G8 



ingenious than elegant, that tbey may establish, it 
not an absolute claim to originahty, at least a visi- 
ble distinction betwixt themselves and their pre- 
decessors. Thus it happens, that early poets al 
most uniformly display a bold, rude, original cast 
of genius and expression. They have walked at 
free-will, and with unconstrained steps, along the 
■wilds of Piu'uassus, while their followers move 
with constrained gestures and forced attitudes, in 
order to avoid placing their feet where their pre- 
decessors have stepped befoie them. The first 
bard who con)pared his hero to a lion, struck a 
bold and congenial note, though the simile, in a 
nation of hunters, be a very obvious one ; but 
every subsequent poet who sh^ll use it, must 
either struggle hard to give his lion, as heralds 
say, with a difference' or Ue under the imputatior 
of being a servile imitator. 

It is not probable that, by any researches oi 
modern tunes, we shall ever reach back'to an ear- 
lier model of poetry than Homer ; but as there 
lived heroes before Agamemnon, so, unquestiona- 
bly, poets existed before the immortal Bard who 
gave the King of kings liis fame ; and he whom all 
civilized nations now acknowledge as the Father 
of Poetry, must have himself looked back to ao 
ancestry of poetical predecessors, and is oiily held 
original because we know not from whom he copied 
Indeed, though much must be ascribed to the riches 
of his own individual gepius, the poetry of Homer 
argues a degree of perfection in an art which prac- 
tice had already rendered regalar, and concerning 
which, his frequent mention of the bards, or chant- 
ers of poetry, indicates plahily that it was studied 
by many, and known and admired by alL^ 

It is indeed easUy discovered, that the quahtiea 

ed that the Iliad and Odyssey were substantially the works ol 
one and the same individual. He said of the Wolfian hypo 
thesis, that it was the most irrdigivus one he had heard 0/ 
and could never be believed in by any voet. — Go 



538 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



necessary for composing such poems are not the 
portion of every man in the tribe ; that the bai'd, 
to reach excellence in his art, must possess some- 
thing more than a full command of words and 
phrases, and the knacic of arranging them in such 
form as ancient examples have fixed upon as the 
recognized structure of national verse The tribe 
speedily become sensible, that besides this degi'ee 
of mechauicid facility, which (like making what 
are called at school nonsense verses) may be at- 
tained by dint of memory and practice, much 
higher qualifications are demanded. A keen and 
active power of observation, capable of perceiv- 
ing at a glance the leading circumstances from 
which the incident described derives its charac- 
ter ; quick and powerful feelings, to enable the 
bard to comprehend and delineate those of the 
actors in liis piece ; and a command of language, 
alternately soft .and elevated, and suited to express 
the conceptions which he had formed in his mind, 
are all necessary to eminence in the poetical ai*t. 

Above all, to attain the highest point of his pro- 
fession, the poet must have that original power of 
embodying and detailing circumstances, which can 
place before the eyes of others a scene which only 
exists in liis own imagination. This last high and 
creative faculty, namely, that of impressing the 
mind of the hearers with scenes and sentin^ents 
having no existence save through their art, has 
procured for the bards of Greece the terra of 
nattjri]^, which, as it singularly happens, is hterally 
translated by the Scottish epithet for the same 
class of persons, whom they termed the 3fakers. 
The Frencli phrase of Trouveurs, or Troubadom-s, 
namely, the Finders, or Inventors, has the same 
reference to the quahty of original conception and 
invention proper to the poetical art, and without 
which it can hardly be said to exist to any pleas- 
ing or useful purpose. 

The mere arrangement of words into poetical 
rhythm, or combining them according to a tech- 
nical rule or measure, is so closely connected with 
the art of music, that an alliance bet%veen these 
two fine arts is very soon closely formed. It is 
fruitless to inquire wliich of them has been first 
invented, since doubtless the precedence is acci- 
dental ; and it signifies little whether the musician 
adapts verses to a rude tmie, or whether the pri- 
mitive poet, in reciting liis productions, falls natu- 
rally into a chant or song. With this additional 
accomphshment, the poet becomes ioiios^ or the 
■nan of song, and his character is complete when 
the additional accompaniment of a lute or harp is 
added to his vocal performance. 

1 The " Poenia del Cid" (of which Mr. Frere has translated 
some specimens) is, however, considered by every historian of 
Spanish literature, as the work of one band ; and is ei 'dently 



Here, therefore, we have the history of early 
poetry in all nations. But it is evident that, 
though poetry seems a plant projjor to almost al] 
soils, yet not only is it of various kinds, according 
to the chmate and country in wliich it has its ori. 
gin, but the poetry of different nations differs stiB 
more widely in the degree of excellence which it 
attains. This must depend in some measure, no 
doubt, on the temper and manners of the peopla. 
or their proximity to those sphit-sthrmg events 
wliich are natm'ally selected as the subject ol 
poetry, and on the more compreliensive or ener- 
getic character of the language spoken by }he 
tribe. But the progress of the art is far more de- 
pendent upon the rise of some liighly gifted indi- 
vidual, possessing in a pre-emhient and uncommon 
degree the powers demanded, whose talents in 
fluence the taste of a whole nation, and entail on 
then- posterity and language a character almost 
mdehbly sacred. In this respect Homer stnnds ' 
alone and unrivalled, aa a light from whose lamp ' 
the genius of successive ages, and of distant na^ 
tions, has caught fire and illumhiation ; and whfl^ 
though the early poet of a rude age, has purchased 
for the era he has celebrated, .so much reverenc^ 
that, not daring to bestow on it the term of bat . 
barous, we distinguish it as the heroic period. 

No other poet (sacred and inspired authors ex-, 
cepted) ever did, or ever will, possess the eai 
influence over po.sterity, in so many distant landK 
as has been acquired by the blind old man ol 
,Chios ; yet we are assm-ed that his works, collectefl 
by the pious care of Pisistratus, who caused to h& 
united into their present form those divine poem^ 
would otherwise, if preserved at all, have ap- 
peared to succeeding generations in the humbW 
state of a collection of detached baUads, connecte3 
only as referrixvg to the same age, the same gene' i 
ral subjects, and the same cycle of heroes, like the 
metrical poems of the Cid in Spain,' or of Robin i 
Hood in England. 

In other countries, less favored, either in la* i 
guage or in picturesque incident, it camiot be sup' 
posed that even the genius of Homer coidd haTt 
sotu'ed to such exclusive eminence, since he nniS 
at once ha\^ been deprived of the subjects atifl i 
themes so well adapted for his muse, and of the 
lofty, melodious, and flexible language in wlueh h» 
recorded them. Other nations, during the forma- 
tion of their ancient poetry, wanted the gemus d 
Homer, as well as his picturesque sceuery and 
lofty language. Yet the investigation of the early 
poetry of every nation, even the rudest, carries < 
with it an object of curiosity and interest. It is • 



more ancient than the detached ballads on tlie Advenluiesot 
the Campeador, which are included in the Cancioneros.— 
Ed 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



rhapier ia tlie history of the childhood of society, 
uid its resemblan'n to, or dissimilarity from, the 
popular rhymes of Jther nations in the same stage, 
fflust needs illustrate the ancient history of states ; 
Iheii" slower or owifter progress towards civiliza- 
tion , their grauual or more rapid adoption of man- 
ners, sentii.icnts. and religion. The study, there- 
fore, of lays rt.'Cued from the gulf of oblivion, must 
ID every case possess considerable interest for the 
Doral i>liilosopher and general historiim. 

Tlie historiim of an individual nation is equally 
or more deeply interested in the researches into 
populiu" poetry, since he must not disdain to ga- 
ther from the tradition conveyed in ancient ditties 
and ballads, the information necessary to confirm 
w correct inteUigenco collected from more certain 
•ources. And althou;;b tlie poets were a fabling 
race from the very beijiiming of time, and so much 
a-ldicted to exaggcation, that their accounts are 
seldom to be relied on without corroborative evi- 
dence, yet instanoKi frequently occur where the 
statements of poetical tradition are unexpectedly 
confirmed. 

To the loveri" ■^'Id admirers of poetry as an art, 
il cimnot be ud interesting to have a glimpse of the 
National Muse m her cradle, or to hear her bab- 
bling the earliest attempts at the formation of the 
tuneful rounds with which she was afterwards to 
charm poster -;j And I may venture to add, that 
among p--.'jy, which, however rude, was a gift of 
Nature's first fruits, even a reader of refined taste 
will find his patience rewarded, by passages in 
which the rude minstrel rises into suDlimity or 
melts uito patlios. These were the merits which 
induced the classical Addison* to write an elabo- 
rate commentary upon the ballad of Chevy Chast', 
and which roused, like the sound of a trumpet, the 
heroic blood of Sir Pliilip Sidney.^ 

It is true that pas.sages of this high character 
; seldom occur ; for, during the infancy of the art of 
poetry, the bards have been generally satisfied 
with a rude and careless expression of their senti- 
meuts ; and even wlien a more fehcitous expres- 
sion, or loftier numbers, have been dictated by the 
enthusiasm of the composition, the advantage came 
i3£ii:>Lght for, and perhaps unnoticed, either by 
I the minstrel or the audience. 

Another cause contributed to the tenuity of 
thought and poverty of expres.sion, by which old 
ballads aie too often distinguished. Tlie apparent 
simplicity of the ballad stanza carried with it a 
strong temptation to loose and trivial composition. 
The collection of rhymes, accumulated by the ear- 
liest of the craft, appear to have been considered 

' f c-6 The Spcctaloi, Nos. 70 and 74. 

* ' I neTer heard the old son:: of Pereie and Douglas, that 1 



as forming a joint stock for the common use of the 
profession; and not mere rhymes only, but versei 
and stanzas, have been used as common property 
60 as to give an appearance of sameness and cru 
dity to the whole series of populiu: poetry. Sucli, 
for instance, is the salutation so often repeated, — 

** Now Heaven thee save, thou brave young knight, 
Now Heaven thee save and see." 

And such the usual expression for taking counsel 
with, 

" Rede me, rede me, brother dear, 
My rede shall rise at thee." 

Such also is the unvaried account of the rose and 
the brier, which are said to spring out of the grave 
of the hero and herome of these metrical legends, 
with Uttle effort at a variation of the expressions 
in which the incident is prescrijitively told. The 
least acquaintance with the subject will recall a 
gi'eat number of commonplace verses, which each 
ballad-maker has unceremoniously appropriated to 
hhuself ; thereby greatly facihtating his own task, 
and at the same time degrading Ids art by his 
slovenly use of over-scutched plu'ases. 'From the 
same indolence, the ballad-mongers of most nations 
have availed themselves of every opportunity of 
prolonging their pieces, of the same kind, without 
the labor of actual composition. If a message is 
to be delivered, the poet saves himself a little 
trouble, by using exactly the same words in which 
it was origiaally couched, to secure its being trans' 
mitted to the person for whose ear it was intended. 
The bards of ruder climes, and less favored lan- 
guages, may indeed claim the cotmtcnance of 
Homer for such repetitions; but wliUst, in the 
Father of Poetry, they give the reader an oppor 
tuoity to pause, and look back upon the enchanted 
grouu,! over which they have travelletl, they afford 
notliing to the modern bard, save facihtating the 
power of stupefying the audience with stanzas ol 
diJl and tedious iteration. 

Another cause of the flatness and insipidity, 
which is the great imperfection of ballail poetry, 
is to be ascribed less to the compositi'>as in their 
original state, when rehearsed by th(jir a'.hcrs, 
than to the ignorance and eiTors of the reciteri jr 
transcribers, by whom they have been trausmitte'I 
to us. The more popular the composition oi an 
ancient poet, or Maker, became, the greater chance 
tliere was of its being corrupted ; for a poem 
transmitted tnrough a number of reciters, like a 
book reprinted in a multitude of editions, inciu"e 
the risk of impertinent interpolations from the con- 
ceit of one rehearser, umntelligible blunders fron 

found not my heart moved more than with the sound o' a 
trumpet ; and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, wUji 
no rougher voice llian rude style." — Sid.nbt. 



540 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■ the stupidity of another, and omissions equally to be 
regretted, from the want of memory in a tliu-d. This 
Bort of injury is felt very early and the reader 
will Innd a curious iustance in the Introduction to 
the Romance of Sir Tristrera. Robert de Brunne 
there complains, that though the Romance of Sir 
Tristrera was the best which had ever been made, 
■f it could be recited as composed by the author, 
Thouiaa 01 Erceldoune, yet that it was written in 
•uch an ornare style of language, and such a diffi- 
cult strain of versification, as to lose all value in the 
mouths of ordinary minstrels, wlio could scarcely 
repeat one stanza without omitting some part of 
»t, and marring, cousequently, both the sense and 
the rhythm of the passage.' This deterioration 
could not be Ihnited to one author alone ; others 
must have suffered from the the same cause, in 
the same or a greater degree. Nay, we are au- 
thorized to conclude, that in proportion to the care 
bestowed by the author upon any poem, to attjiin 
what his age might suppose to be the liighest 
graces of poetry, the greater was the damage whicli 
it sustained by the inacciu'acy of reciters, or their 
desire to humble both the sense and diction of the 
poem to then- powers of recollection, and the com- 
preliension of a vulgar audience. It camiot be ex- 
pected that compositions subjected in this way to 
mutilation and corruption, should continue to pre- 
sent their original sense or diction ; and the accu- 
racy of our editions of popular poetry, unless in 
the rare event of recovering original or early copies, 
is lessened in proportion. 

But the chance of these corruptions is incalcu- 
lably increased, when we consider that the ballads 
have been, not in one, but innumerable instances 
of transmission, hable to simiUir alterations, through 
a long course of centuries, during which they have 
been handed from one ignorant reciter to another, 
each discarding whatever original words or phrases 
time or fashion had, in his opinion, rendered obso- 
lete, and substituting anachronisms by expressions 
taken from the customs of his own day. And here 
it may be remarked, that the desire of the reciter 
to be intelligible, however natural and laudable, 
bas bio- one of the greatest causes of the deterio- 
■uli'jti of an''iint poetry. The minstrel who en- 
iea» ored to recite with fidelity the words of the 
iuthor, might indeed faL into errors of sound and 
ienet'. and subatitute corruptions for words he did 
tot -xJerstand. But the ingenuity of a skilful 

1 ** That thou may hear h: Sir Tristrem : 
Over gestes it has the steeni, 
Over all that is or was. 
If men it sayil as made Tliomas ; 
But I hear it no man so say — 
But of some copple some is away," &c. 

Ad instance occtirs in the valuable old ballad, called Aald 



critic could often, in that case, revive oJid resturt 
the original meaning; whUe the corrupted wordi 
became, in such cases, a warrant for the authen- 
ticity of the whole poem.' 

In general, however, the later reciters appear 
to have been far less desh'ous to speak the author's 
words, tluui to introduce amendnients and ne"V 
readings of their own, wliich have always produced 
the effect of modernizing, and usually that of de- 
grading and vulgarizing, the rugged sense iind 
spirit of the antique minstrel. Tims, undergoing 
from age to age a gradual process of alteratior 
;md recomposition, our popular and oral minstrelsy 
has lost, in a great measin*e. its original appear- 
ance ; and the strong touches by which it had 
been formerly characterized, have been generally 
smoothed down and destroyed by a process simi- 
lar to that by which a coin, passing from hand to 
hand, loses in cnculation all the finer marks of the 
mipress. 

The very tine ballad of Chevy Chase is an ex- 
ample of this degradmg. ^species of idchymy. by 
wliich the ore of antiquity is deteriorated and 
adulterated. While Addison, in an age which had 
never attended to popular poetrj', wrote his clas- 
sical criticism on that baUa-i, he naturally took for 
Ills text the ordinary stall-copy, although he might, : 
and ought to have suspected, that a ditty couched 
in the language nearly of his own time, could not 
be the same with that wliieh Sir Phihp Sidney, 
more than one hundred years before, had spoken 
of, as being " evil apparelled in the dust and cob- 
webs of an unciviUzed age." The venerable Bish- 
op Percy was the first to correct this mistake, by 
producing a copy of the song, as old at least as 
the reign of Henry VII., bearing the nanu; of the 
author or transcriber, Richard Sheale.^ But even 
the Rev. Editor himself fell under tlie misttike of 
supposing the moderu Chevy Chase to be a new 
copy of the original ballad, expressly modernized 
by some one later bard, tin the contrary, the 
current version is now universally allowed to have 
been produced by the gradual 'dterations of nu- 
merous reciters, during two centui ies, in the C()urse 
of which the ballad has been gradually moulded 
into a composition bearing oidy a general reseiii 
blance to the original — expressing tlie same eVfeuts 
and sentiments in much Mnootliei language, and 
more fltaving and ea.sy versification ; but losing 
ui poetical fire and .energy, and ui the vigor auJ 



MaitlaiiQ. The reciter repealed a veise, descriptrve of t'le de 
fence of a ca^le, thus : 

" With spring-wall, stanes, and goads ol aim, 
Among them fast he threw." 
Sprhtff-mall , is a corrupUon ol' springala. a military en^ji 
for casting darts or stones; the restoration of which readji, 
gives a precise and clear sense to the lines 
s€ee Percy's Reliques, vol. i. p. 3. 



I 



IKTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



54» 



pithiness of the expression, a great deal more than 
» has gaijietl in suavity of diction. Thus ; — 

* The Percy owt of Nortliumbcrland, 

And a vowe to God iiiayd he, 
That lie AVolile huiUe in the mountayiu 

OtVCheviot within dayes thre, 
In the maiiger of doughty Dougles, 

And all that ever with him be," 

■ The stoat Earl of Northumberland 
A vow to God did make. 
His pleasure iu the Scottish woods 
Three summer days to take," &c. 

t'rom this, and other examples of the same kind, 
of wliicli many jnight be quoted, we must often 
expect to find the remains of Minstrel poetry, com- 
posed originally for the courts of princes and halls 
of nobles, disguised in the more modem and vul- 
gar dialect in which they have been of late sung 
to the frequenters of the rustic ale-bench. It is 
Quuecessary to mention more than one other re- 
markable and humbUng instance, printed in the 
curious collection entitled, a Ballad-Book, where 
we find, in the words of the ingenious Editor,' a 
etupid ballad, printed as it was sung in Annandale, 
founded on the well-known story of the Prince of 
Salerno's daughter, but with the uncouth change 
of Dysmal for Ghismonda, and GuLscard trans- 
formed into a greasy kitchen-boy. 

"To what base uses may we not retarn !" 

rfometiron.s a stiU more material and systematic 
(lifference f ppears between the poems of antiqui- 
. ty, as they were originally composed, and as they 
' now exist This occurs in cases where the longer 
' tietrical i mances, which were in fashion during 
the rnit'd < ages, were reduced to shorter compo- 
aitionii, i j ../der that they might be chanted before 
an inf.r-<r audience. A ballad, for example, of 
Thorjaj jf Erceldoime, and Ids intrigues with the 
Qr.eeii jf Faery-Land, is, or has been, long ctnrent 
in "I'c /iotdale, and other parts of Scotland. Two 
■ ancient copies of a poem, or romance, on the same 
subject, and containing very often the same words 
and turns of expression, are preserved in the libra- 
ries of the Cathedral of Lincoln and Peterborough. 
We are left to conjecture whether the originals of 
such ballads have been gradually contracted into 
, their modern shape by the impatience of later 
audiences, combined with the lack of memory 
displayed by more modern reciters, or whether, 
in particular cases, some ballad-maker may have 

• Chwies Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq. The Ballad-Book was 
printed in 1823. and inscribed to Sir Walter Scott ; the im- 
presion con-jisting of only thirty copies. 

* 'th'«o i-yo ancient Romances are reprinted in a volume 
>f '• El>!y Meu-ical Tales," edited by Mr. David Lain«, Edin- 
ttrjlt. itil- ♦mi'i Qvo. Only 175 copies printed. 



actually set liimself to work to retrench the olt] 
details of the minstrels, and regularly and sys- 
tematically to modernize, and if the phrase be per- 
mitted, to bal'adize, a metrical romance. We are 
assured, however, that " Roswal ami Lili:m" was 
simg tlu-ough the streets of Edinburgh two gene- 
rations since ; and wc know tliat the roinanco o! 
" Sir Eger, Su' Grime, and Sir Grcysteil,''^ hail also 
its own particular chant, or tune. The stall-copicj 
of both these romances, as tiiey now exist, are ver^ 
much abbreviated, and probably exhibit them 
when they were tmdergoing, or had nearly 
undergone, the process of being cut down into 
ballads. 

Taking, into consideration the various indirect 
channels by which tlie popular poetry of om- an 
cestors has been transmitted to their posterity, il 
is nothing surprising that it should roacli us in a 
mutilated and degraded state, and that it shoijd 
little correspond with the ideas we are apt to form 
of the first productions of national genius; nay, it 
is more to be wondered at that we possess so many 
ballads of considerable merit, than that the much 
greater number of .them which must have once 
existed, should have perished before our time. 

Having given this brief accoimt of ballad poetry 
m general, the purpose of the present prefatory 
remarks will be accomplished, by shortly noticing 
the popular poetry of Scotland, and some of the 
efforts wliich have been made to collect and illus- 
trate it. 

It is now generally admitted that the Scots and 
Picts, however differmg otherwise, were aach by 
descent a Celtic race ; that they advanced in a 
course of victory somewhat farther than the pres- 
ent frontier between England and Scotland, and 
about the end of the eleventh century subdued 
and rendered tributary the Britons of Strathcluyd 
who were also a Celtic race like themselves. Ex 
cepting, therefore, the provinces of Berwickshii'o 
and the Lothians, which were chiefly inhabited by 
an Anglo-Sax<in population, tlie whole of Scotland 
was peopled by different tribes of the same abo- 
riginal race,^ — a race passionately addicted to mu 
sic, as appears from the kmdred Celtic nations ol 
Irish, Welsh, and Scottisli, preserving each to thi« 
day a style and character of music pecidiar U: their 
own country, thougli all three bear marks oi geuo 
ral resemblance to each other. That of Scotland, 
in particular, is early noticed and extolled by 
ancient authors, and its remains, to wliieh the na- 
tives are passionately attaclied, are still found to 

3 The author seems to have latterly modificti his original 
opinion on some parts of this subject. In his reviewal of Mr. 
P. F. Tytlcr's History of Scotland (Quart. Rev. vol. xli. p. 
328), he says, speaking of the period of the final snbjugatioi 
of the Picts, " It would appear the Scutidinavinnn had col* 
Dies along the fertile shores of Mrray, and amouff the moB» 



542 



SCOTT'S POETICAL M'ORKS. 



nffoid pleasm-e even to those who cultivate the art 
npoQ a more rt fined and varied system. 

This skill in music did not, of course, exist with- 
out a correspontling degree of talent for a species 
of poetry, adapted to the habits of the country, 
celebrating tlie victories of triumphant clans, pom-- 
ing forth hmientations over fallen heroes, and re- 
ccrding such marvellous adventm'es as were cal- 
culated to amuse individual families around their 
household fires, or the whole tribe when regahng 
m the hall of the chief. It happened, however, 
singularlj enough, that wliile the music continued 
to be Celtic in its general measm-e, tlie language 
of Scotland, most commonly spoken, began to be 
that of their neighbors, tlie English, introduced by 
the multitude of Saxons who thronged to the court 
of Malcolm Canmore and his successors; by the 
crowds of prisoners of wai", whom the repeated 
ravages of the Scots in Northumberland carried off 
as slaves to their country ; by the influence of the 
inhabitants of the richest and most populous prov- 
inces in Scotland, Berwicksliire, namely, and the 
Lotliians, over tjie more mountauious ; lastly, by 
the superiority which a langu'age liJce the Anglo- 
Saxon, considerably refined, long suice reduced to 
writing, and capable of expressuig the wants, 
wishes, and sentiments of the speakers, must have 
possessed over the jargon of various tribes of Irish 
and British origin, hmited and contracted in every 
varyuig dialect, and differing, at the same time, 
fi'om each other. This superiority being consid- 
ered, and a fair length of time beijig allowed, it is 
no wonder that, while the Scottish people retained 
their Celtic nnisic, and many of their Celtic cus- 
toms, together with their Celtic dynasty, they 
shoidd nevertheless have adopted, througliout the 
Lowlands, the Saxon language, while in the High- 
lands they retained the Celtic dialect, along with 
the dress, arms, manners, and government of their 
fathers. 

There was, for a time, a solemn national recog- 
ni7ance tliat tlie Saxon language and poetry had 
noi originally been th.at of the royal family. For, 
at the coronations of the kings of Scotland, previ- 
ous to Alexander III., it was a part of the soleni- 
lity. that a Celtic bard stepped forth, so soon as 
the King assumed his seat upon the fated stone, 
ai> recited the genealogy of the monarch in Celtic 
Tiirw, setting forth his descent, and the right 
which lie had by birth to occupy the place of sov- 
ereignty. For a time, no doubt, the Celtic songs 



tains of Sutherland, whose name speaks for itself, tliat it was 
given by the Norwegians ; and probably they had also settle- 
ments in Caithness and the Orcades." In this essay, liowever, 
•e adlieres in the main to iiis Anti-Pinkenoiiian doctrine, and 
Ireats the PicU as Celts.— Ed. 
^ A curioofc account of the reception of an Irish or Celtic 



and poems remained cmTent in the Lowlands 
while any remnant of the language yet lasted 
The GaeUc or Ii-ish bards, we are also aware, oc- 
casionally strolled into the Lowlands where their 
music might be received with favor, even after 
their recitation was no longer understood But 
though these aboriginal poets showed themselves I 
at festivals and other places of public resort, it '•■ 
does not appe;xr tliat, as in Homer's time, the', 
were honored with high places at the beard, ant 
savory morsels of the chine ; but they seem rather 
to have been accounted fit compaiiy for the feigned 
fools and sturdy beggars, with .fhom they were 
ranked by a Scottish statute.* 

Time was necessary wholly to eradicate one 
language and introduce another ; but it is remark- 
able that, at the death of Alexander the Third, 
the last Scottish king of the pure Celtic race, the 
popular lament for his death was composed in 
Scoto-EngUsh, and, though closely resembling the 
modern dialect, is the earliest example we have ol 
that language, whether in prose or poetry.' About 
the same time flourished the (telebrated Thomas 
the Rhymer, whose poem, written in English, or 
Lowland Scottish, with the most anxious attention 
both to versificatiou and alliteration, forms, even 
as it now exists, a very curious specimen of the . 
early romtmce. Such complicated coustructiot : 
was greatly too concise for the public car, which i 
is best amused by a looser diction, in wliith nume- 
rous repetitions, and prolonged descriptions, enable 
the comprehension of the audience to keep up with 
the voice of the singer or reciter, and sujiply the 
gaps which in general must have taken place, ■ 
either through a failure of attention in the hear- 
ers, or of voice and distinct entmciation on the 
part of the minstrel. 

The usual stanza which was selected as the 
most natural to the language and the sweetest to 
the ear, after the complex system of the more 
courtly measures, used by Thomas of Erceldoune, 
was laid aside, wa^ that which, when originally 
introduced, we very often find arranged in two 
hues, thus : — 

" Earl Doaglas on hjs milk-white steed, most like a baton 
bold, 
Rode foremost of liis company, whose armor snoie i^t 
gold;" 

but which, after being divided into four, consti 
tutes what is now generally called the hailad 
stanza, — 

hard at a festival, is given in Sir John Holland's Boke of th« 
Houlat, Bannatyiie edition, p. liii. 

3 " Whan Alexander onr king was ded, 
Wha Scotland led in luve and lee. 
Away was sons of ale and breit. 
Of wine and wax, of game and glee." &C. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



543 



tiEnH noiiglas on his milk-white steed, 
Most hk{- H harou bold, 
Rude tureiiiost ot'liis company, 
W.^ose armor shone Hke gold." 

The t,ro:ikii)g oi the lines contains a pliiiner in- 
imation In w th' otanza ouglit to be read, than 
every one e>..il<l gatlier from the original mode of 
wjitiiig otit the poem, where the position of tlio 
aaesura, f..' iuflectiou of voice, is left to the individ- 
Dil's own t:u^e. This was sometimes exchanged 
t)l a stanza of six lines, tne third and sixth rhym- 
'nc together. For works of more importance and 
pretension, a more comphcated versification was 
still retained, and may be foimd in the tale of 
Ralph Cuilzear,' the Adventures of Arthur at the 
, Tarn-Wathelyn, Sir Gawain, and Su- Gologras, and 
other scarce romances. A specimen of this struc- 
ture of verse has been handed down to our times 
. in the stanza of Christ Kirk on the Green, trans- 
I mitted by Iviug James I., to Allan Ramsay and 
to Bimis. The excessive passion for alliteration, 
I which formed a rule of the Saxon poetry, was also 
retained in the Scottish poems of a more elevated 
character, though the more ordinary minstrels and 
ballad-makers threw oft" the restraint. 

The varieties of" stanza thus adopted for popular 
poetry were not, we may easily suppose, left long 
, unemploj'ed. In frontier regions, where men are 
continually engaged in active enterprise, betwixt 
,the task of defending themselves and annoying 
|their neighbors, they may be said to live in an 
atmosphere of danger, the excitation of which is 
ipeculiarly fiivorable to the encouragement of po- 
etry. Hence, the expressions of Lesly the liistori- 
an, quoted ui the following Introduction,^ in which 
;he paints the delight taken by the Borderers in 
itheir peculiar species of music, and the rhyming 
'Is in which they celebrated the feats of their 
-tors, or recorded their own ingenious strata- 
- in predatory warfare. In the same Intro- 
i'n, the reader will find the reasons alleged 
ihe taste for song was and must have been 
• preserved on the Border than in the inte- 
f the country. 
, -iving thus made some remarks on early poc- 
T u ~€Deral, and on that of Scotland in parficu- 
w, the Editor's purpose is, to mention the fate of 
ame previous attempts to collect ballad poetry, 
,nd th.' principles of selection and publication 
:'hich have been adopted by various editors of 
jarning and infoim.ation ; and although the pres- 

' This, and most of the other romances here referred to. 
'ay be fonnd reprinted in a volnme, entitled, "Select Re- 
ain« of the Arcicnt Popular Poetry of Scotland" (Edin. 
122l Small 4io.). Etlited by Mr. David Laing. and inBcribed 
8lr Walter Sc<,tt. 

* See Minstrelsy of the S:ott sh Border vol. i. p. 213. 



ent work chiefly rcgartls the Ballads of Scotland, 
yet tile investigation mtist necessarily include 
some of the principal collections among the Hng- 
hsh also. 

Of manuscript records of ancient ballads, very' 
few have been yet discovered. It is probable 
that the minstrels, sekloui knowing either how tt 
read or write, trusted to their well-exercised 
memories. Nor was it a difficult task to acqtilre 
a sufficient stock in trade for their pur])Ose, since 
the Editor has not only l™own many persons ca- 
pable of rotainijiga very large collection of legend- 
ary lore of tliis kind, but there was a period in his 
own Ufe, when a memory that ought to have been 
charged with more valu.able matter, enabled hira 
to recollect as many of these old si.ngs a.s would 
have occupied several days in the r( citation. 

The press, however, at length superseded the 
necessity of such exertions of recollection, and 
slieafs of baUads issued from it weekly, for th« 
amusement of the sojourners at the alehouse, and 
the lovers of poetry in grange and hall, where 
such of the audience as could not read, had at 
lea,st read unto them. These fugitive leaves, gen- 
erally printed upon broadsides, or in small mis- 
cellanies called Garlands, and circulating amongst 
persons of loose and cai'eless habits — .so far as 
books were concerned — were subject to destruc- 
tion from many causes ; and as the editions in the 
early iige of printing were probably much limited 
even those published as chap-books in the early 
part of the 18th ceutm'y, are rarely met with. 

Some persons, however, seem to have had what 
their contemporaries probably tliought the bizarre 
taste of gathering and preserving collections of 
this fugitive poetry. Hence the great body of 
ballads in the Pepysian collection of Cambridge, 
made by that Secretary Pcpys, who»« Diary is so 
very amusing ; and hence the still more valuable 
deposit, in three volumes folio, in which the late 
Duke John of Roxburghe took so much pleasure, 
that he was often found enlarging it .with fresh 
acquisitions, which he pasted in and registered 
with his own hand. 

The first attempt, however, to -cprint a collec- 
tion of ballads for a class of reat.ers distmct from 
those for whose use the stall-copies were intenacd, 
was that of an anonymous editor of three 12mo 
volumes, which appeared in London; with engrav- 
ings. These volumes came out ui various years, 
in the beginning of the 18tli century.' The editor 

3 " A Collection of Old Balla<ls. collected frotn the best and 
most ancient Copies extant, with Introductions, (listonca* and 
Critical, illnstralcd with copper-plates." This anonymoni 
collection, firnt [uhlishcd in 171!.'!, wa.s so well received, that 
it soon passed to a second cJitioii, and two more volumes wen 
added in 1723 aid 1725. The third edition o( th-: first volums 
is dated 1727.— Ed 



Hi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



writes with some flippancy, "but with the air of a 
person superior to the ordinary drudgery of a mere 
collector. His work appears to have been got up 
at considerable expense, and the general introduc- 
tions and historical illustrations which are prefixed 
to the various ballads, are written with an ac- 
curacy of wliich s:'ch a subject had not till then 
been deemed worthy. The principal part of the 
collection consists of stall-ballads, neither possess- 
•ng much poetical merit, nor any pai-ticular rarity 
ir ciu-iosity. Still tliis origiual Miscellany holds a 
considerable value amongst collectors ; and as the 
three volumes — bemg published at different times 
— are seldom found together, they sell for a high 
price when complete. 

We may now turn our eyes to Scotland, where 
the faciUty of the diidect, which cuts off the con- 
sonants in the termination of the words, so as 
gt-eatly to simphfy the task of rhyming, and the 
habits, dispositions, and manners of the people, 
> were of old so fjivorable to the composition of bal- 
lad-poetry, tliat, had the Scottish songs been pre- 
served, there is no doubt a very curious history 
might have been composed by means of minstrelsy 
only, from the reign of Alexander III. in 1285, 
down to the close of the Civil Wars in 1746. That 
materials for such a collection existed, cannot be 
disputed, since the Scottisli liistorians often refer 
to old ballads as authorities for general tradition. 
But their regular preservation was not to be 
hoped for or expected. Successive garlands of 
song sprung, flourished, faded, and were forgotten, 
in their turn ; and the names of a *'ew specimens 
are only preserved, to show us how abmidant the 
display of tliese wild flowers had been. 

Like the natriral free gifts of Flora, these poeti- 
cal garlands can only be successfully sought for 
where tlie land is uncultivated ; and civilization 
and increase of learning are sure to banish them, 
as the plough of the agriculturist bears down the 
mountain daisy. Yet it is to be recorded with 
some interest, that the earliest surviving specimen 
of the Scottish press, is a Miscellany of Millar and 
Chapman,' which preserves a considerable fund of 
Scottish popular poetry, and among other things, 
no bad «peeimen of the gests of Robin Hood, " the 
English oallad-maker's joy," and whose renown 
seems to have been as freshly preserved in the 
aorth as on the southern shores of the Tweed. 
Tliere were probably several collections of Scot- 
tish baUads and metrical pieces during the eeven- 

' A facsimile reprint, in blaclc-letter, of the Original Tracts 
.vliich Issued from the press of Walter Clieprcan and Andro 
Myllar at Edinburgh, in the year 1508, was publislied under 
•he title of "Tile Knightly Tale of Golagrus and Gawane, 
and other Ancient Poems," in 1827, 4to. The " lilil geste " 
of Robin Hood, referred to in the text, is a fragment of a 
niece contained in Ritsof'^ Collection. — Ed. 



teenth century. A very fine one, be^iging V 
Lord Montagu, perished in the fire which con- 
sumed Ditton House, about twenty years ago. 

James Watson, in 1706, published, at Edinburgh, 
a miscellaneous collection in three parts, contain- 
ing some ancient poetry. But the first editor who 
seems to have made a determined elibrt to pre 
serve our ancient popular poetry was the well- 
known Allan Ramsay, in liis Evergreen, containing 
chiefly extracts from the ancient Scottish Makers, 
whose poems have been preserved in the Banna- 
tyne Manuscript, but exhibiting amongst them 
some popular ballads. Amongst these is the 
Battle of Harlmi), apparently from a modernized 
copy, being probably the most ancient Scottish 
historical ballad of any length now in existence. 
He also inserted in the same collection, the genu- 
ine Scottish Border ballad of Johnnie Armstrong, 
copied from the recitation of a descendant of the 
unfortunate hero, in the sixth generation. This 
poet also included in the Evergreen, Hardyknute, 
which, though evidently modern, is a most spirited 
and beautiful imitation of the aucient ballad. In 
a subsequent collection of lyrical pieces, called the 
Tea-Table Miscellany, AUan Ramsay inserted sev- 
eral old ballads, 6u(;h as C'mel Barbara Allai 
The Bonnie Earl of Murray, There came a Oi 
to Margarefs door, and two or three others, 
his unhappy plan of writing new words to old 
tunes, without at the same time preserving tht 
ancient verses, led him, with the assistance at 
" some mgenious young gentlemen," to throi# 
aside many originals, tlie preservation of which 
would have been much more interesting thtm an^ 
thmg which has beeu substituted in their stead.* 

In fine, the task of collecting and illustrating 
ancient popular poetry, whethe' m England <a 
Scotland, was never executed by a competent 
person, possessing the necessary powcs of selec 
tion and annotation, till it was undertaken by Dr 
Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore in Ireland 
This reverend gentleman, himself a poet, and rank 
ing high among the literati of the day, command- 
ing access to the individuals and mstitutions wliich 
could best afford him materials, gave the public 
the result of his researches in a work entitled 
" Reliques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry," in three 
volumes, pubUshed in London 1765, which has 
since gone through four editions.* The taste with 
Vv'liich the materials were chosen, the e.rtreme 
feUcity with which they were illustrated, the di»- 

2 See Appendix, Note A, 

- Sae Appendix, Note B. 

4 Sir Walter Scott corresponded frennently with the Ulsbdp i| 
of Dromore. at the time when he was collecting the materiU j 
of the " Border Minstrelsy." — Ed. 



I 



I 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



54£ 



play at once of antiquarian knowledge and classi- 
cal reading which the coUecti - '~dicated, render 
It difficult to imitate, and impossible to excel, a 
work which must always be held among the first 
oi Its cliss in point of merit, though not actually 
the foremost in point of time. But neither the 
mgli character of the work, nor the rank and re- 
spectability of the author, could protect 'him or 
his labors, from the invidious attacks of criticism. 

The most formiil.ible of these were directed by 
Joseph Ritson, a man of acute observation, pro- 
found research, and great labor. These valuable 
attributes were unhappily combined with an eager 
irritability of temper, which induced liim to treat 
antiquarian trifles with the same seriousness wliich 
men of the world reserve for matters of import- 
ance, and disposed him to drive controversies into 
personal quarrels, by neglecting iri literary de- 
I bate, the courtesies of ordinary society.^ It ought 
I to be said, however, by one who knew him well, 
that this irritability of disposition was a con.stitu- 
[ tional and physical iutir'nity ; and that Ritson's 
\ extreme attachment to the severity of truth, cor- 
I responded to the rigor of his criticisms upon the 
I lab<irs of others. He seems to have attacked 
I Bishop Percy with the greater animosity, as bear- 
ing no good will to the hierarchy, in which that 
prelate held a distinguished place. 

Ritson's criticism, in wliich there was too much 
horse-play, was grounded on two points of accusa- 
tion. The first point regarded Dr. Percy's definition 
of the order and office of minstrels, which Ritson 
cousidered as designedly overcharged, for the sake 
of giving an undue importance to his subject. The 
second objection respected the hbertics which Dr. 
Percy had taken with his materials, in adding to, 
retrenching, and improving them, so as to bring 
tliem nearer to the taste of liis own period. We 
. will take some brief notice of both topics. 
I First, Dr. Percy, in the first edition of his work, 
, certainly laid himself open to the charge of having 
given an inaccurate, and somewhat exaggerated 
jaccount of the EngUsh ilinstrels, whom he d'"*^'^*;d 
ito be an " order of men in the middle ages, who 
iBubsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and 
sung to the harp the verses which they themselves 
composed." The reverend editor of the Rehques 
produced ui support of this definition many curious 
quotations, to show that in many instances the 
persons of these minstrels had been honored and 
respected, their performances applauded and re- 
warded by the great and the courtly, and their 
CTaft imitated by princes themselves. 

Against both these propositions, Ritson made a 
determined oppositioa He contended, and pro- 

1 See Appendix, NoteX!. 



bably with justice, that the minstrels w^e not 
necessarily poets, or in the regular habit of com- 
posing the verses which they sung to the harp ; 
and mdeed, that the word minsircl, in its ordinary 
acceptation, meant no more than musician. 

Dr. Percy, from an amemled edition of his Essay 
on Minstrelsy, prefixed to the fourth edition of the 
Reliques of Ancient Poetry, seems to have been, 
to a certain point, convinced by the critic's reason- 
ing; forie has extended the definition impugnta 
by Ritson, and the minstrels are thus described 
as singing verses " composed by themselves or 
others." This we apprehend to be a tenable posi' 
tion ; for, as on the one hand it seems too broad an 
averment, to say that all minstrels were by pro- 
fession poets, so on the other, it is extravagant to 
aflirm, that men who were constantly in thi habit 
of reciting verse, should not frequently havo ac 
quired that of composing it, especially when their 
bread depended on giving pleasure ; and to havo 
the power of producing novelty, is a great step 
towards that desu-able end. No unprejudiced 
reader, therefore, can have any hesitation in adoj^t- 
ing Bishop Percy's definition of the minstreis, and 
their occiipaticin, as qualified in the fourth edition 
of his Essay, implying that they were soTr.etimea 
poets, sometimes the mere reciters of the poetry 
of others. 

On the critic's second proposition. Dr. Percy sue 
cessfully showed, that at no period of hi.story was 
the word minstrel appUed to instrumental music 
exclusively, and he has produced sufficient evi- 
dence, that the talents of the profession were a" 
frequently employed in chanting or reciting pi> 
etry as in playing the mere tunes. There is ap- 
pearance of distinction being sometimes made be 
tween minstrel recitations and minstrelsy of music 
alone ; and we may add a curious instance, to tlios' 
quoted by the Bishop. It is from the singuli- 
ballad respecting Thomas of Erceldoune,^ -rflucl 
announces the proposition, that tonr/ne is chief ol 
minstrelsy. 

We may also notice, that the word minstrel be 
ing in fact derived from the ilinn^-singer of tho 
Germans, means, in its prunary sense, one who 
siiiffs oilove, a sense totally inapplicable to a mere 
instrumental musician. 

A second general point on which Dr. Percy wa« 
fiercely attacked by Mr. Ritson, was also one on 
which both the parties might claim a right to sing 
Te Deimi. It respected the rank or status which 
was held by the minstrels in society during thp 
middle ages. On tliis point the editor of the Re- 
liques of Ancient Poetry had produced the most 
satisfactory evidence, that, at the courts of the 

3 Select Remains of Popolar Pieces of Poetry. Cdinbur?!! 
1822. 



S46 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Anglo-Normaii princes, the professors of the gay 
Bcienc* were the favorite solacers of the leisure 
hour's of prmcea, who did not themselves disdain 
to share theii' tuneful labors, and imitate theii' 
compositions. Mr. Ritson repHed to tliis with gi'eat 
mgenuity, arguing, that such inst;uice= >f respect 
jjaid to French minstrels recituig in their native 
language in the court of Norman monarchs, though 
held in Britain, argued nothing in favor of Eughsh 
arti.sts professing the same trade ; and of whose 
compositions, and not of those existing in the 
French language, Dr. Percy professed to form liis 
collection. The reason of the distinction betwixt 
the respectabiUty of the French minstrels, and the 
degradation of the same class of men in England, 
Mr. Ritson plausibly alleged to be, that the Eng- 
lish language, a mixed speech betwixt Anglo- 
Saxon and Norman-French, was not known at the 
court of the Anglo-Norman kings untU the reign 
of Edw ard III. ;' and that, therefore, until a very 
late period, and when the lays of minstrelsy were 
going out of fa,shioD, English performers in that 
capacity must have confined the exercise of their 
talents to the amusement of the vulgar. Now, as 
it must be conceded to Mr. Ritson, that ahnost aU 
the Euglish metrical romances which have been 
preserved till the present day, are translated from 
the French, it may also be allowed, that a class of 
men employed chiefly in rendering into EngUsh 
the works of others, could not hold so Iiigh a sta- 
tiou as tho.se who aspired to original composition ; 
and so far the critic has the best of the dispute. 
But Mr. Ritson has over-driven bis argument, since 
*here was assuredly a period in EngUsh history, 
when the national minstrels, writing in the nation- 
al dialect, were, in proportion to their merit in 
their calling, held in honor and respect. 

Thomas the Rhymer, for example, a minstrel who 
flourished in the end of the twelfth centmy, was 
not only a man of talent in liis art, but of some 
rank in society ; the companion of nobles, and him- 
self a man of landed property. He, and his con- 
temporai'y Kendal, wrote, as we are assured by 
Robert de Bruime, in a passage ab'eady alluded 
to, a kind of EnghsL, wliich was designed for " pride 
and nobleye,"' and not for such inferior persons as 
Rol-srt himself addressed, and to whose compre- 
hension he avowedly lowered his language and 
structure of versification. There existed, there- 
fore, during the time of this historian, a more re- 

1 That monarch first nsed the vernacnlar English dialect in 
H motto wliich lie liisplaye'l on his sliield at a celebrated toui^ 
Qament. Tlie legend which graced therepresentation .:«f a white 
■wsn on Uie king's buckler, ran thus ; — 

" Ha! ha! the whyteswani 
By Goddis soule I am thy man." 

■ The learned editor of Warton's History of English Poetry. 
i»of opinion ttL-it Sir Wa.ter Scott misinterpreted the passage 



fined dialect of the Engli.sh language, used by sU'^h 
composers of popular poetry as moved in it higher 
circle ; and there can be no doubt, that while 
their productions were held in such high esteem, 
the authors must have been honored in proportioa 

The education bestowed upon James I. of Scot- 
land, when brought up under the charge of Henry 
IV., comprehended both music and the art of ver- 
nacular poetry ; in other words. Minstrelsy in both 
branches. That poetiy, of wliich the King left 
several specimens, was, as is well known, English: 
nor is it to be supposed that a prince, upon whose 
education such sedulous care was bestowed, woidd 
have been instructed in an art whicfi, if we are to 
beheve Mr. Ritson, was degraded to the last de- 
gree, and discreditable to its professors. The same 
argument is strengthened by the poetical exercises 
of the Duke of Orleans, in EngUsh, written diu'ing 
his captivity after the battle of Agincom't.' It 
could not be supposed that the noble prisoner was 
to solace his hours of unprisonment with a degra- 
ding and vulgar species of composition. 

We could produce other instances to show that 
this acute critic has carried his argument consid- 
erably too far. But we prefer taldng a generaJ 
view of the subject, which seems to explain clear- 
ly how contradictory evidence should exist on it, 
and why instances of great personal respect to 
individual minstrels, and a liigh esteem of the art, 
are quite reconcilable with much contempt thrown 
on the order at large. 

All professors of the fine arts — all tliose who 
contribute, not to the necessities of Ufe, but to the 
enjoyments of society, hold their professional re- 
spectabiUty by the severe tenure of exhibiting ex- 
cellence in their department. We are weU enough 
satisfied with the tradesman who goes through bis \ 
task ui a workmanlike manner, nor are we disposed ' 
to look down upon the tUvine, the lawyer, or th4' I 
physician, unless they display gross ignorance of 
their profession : we hold it enough, that if they 
do not possess the highest knowletlge of then' re- 
spective sciences, they can at least uistruct us on 
the points we desire to know. But 

" mediocribas esse poetis 

Non di, non homines, non concessere colomna." 

Tile same is true respecting the professors at 
painting, of sculpttire, of music, and the finii arfr 
in general. If they exhibit paramount excellenceb 

refeired to. De Bronne, according to this author's text, Ba^ 
of the elder reciters of the metrical iwmance, 

" They said it for pride and noblpye. 
That non were soulk as they ;" 

('. e. they recited it in a style so lofty and noble, that none haw 
since equalled them. — IVarLon, edit. 1824, vol. i. p. 183. — Ed 

3 See the edition printed by Mr. Watson Taylor, for thf ' 
Roxburghe Club. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



S^ 



BO situation in scjciety is too liigh for tlieiu -wbith 
their niuiiiiers euiible tliein to fill ; if they fall 
short of tliu highest' point of aim, they tlegenerate 
into sign-puinters, stone-cutters, coTninon crowders, 
doggerel rhymers, and so forth, flie most coutempt- 
ibl3 of mankind. The reason of this is evident. 
Jlen must le satisfied with such a supply of their 
ilitual wants as can be obtained in the 'circum- 
stances, aud should an individual want a coat, he 
must employ the village tailor if Stultze is not to 
b<; had. But if he seeks for delight, the case is 
quite difi'erent; and he that cannot hear Pasta or 
Sontag, would be little solaced for the absence of 
these sirens, by the strains of a crack-voiced bal- 
lad-singer. Nay, on the contrary, the ofl'er of such 
inadequate compensation would only be regarded 
as an insult, aud resented accordingly. 

The theatre affords the most appropriate exam- 
ple of what we mean. The first circles in society 
are open to persons eminently distmguished in the 
drama ; and their rewaids are, in proportion to 
those who profess the useful arts, incalculably 
highei But those who lag in tlie rear of the dra- 
matic art ar-' nroportionally poorer and more de- 
graded than those who are the lowest of a useful 
trade or profession. These instances will enable 
us readily to explain why the greater part of the 
minstrels, practising their prttfession in scenes of 
Tulgar mirth and debauchery, humbling their art 
to please the ears of (U'unken olowns, and hving 
with the dissipation natural to men whose preca- 
rious subsistence is, according; to the ordinary 
phrase, from hand to mouth only, should fall un- 
der general contempt, while the stars of the pro- 
fession, to use a modern pbvaoe, looked down on 
iLem from the distant empyiean, as the planets 
Ao U])on those shooting cslidlations arising from 
jross vapors in the nether atiuosphere. 

The debate, tl-.ereforc, resembles the apologue 
jf the gold and silver sliield. Dr. Percy looked 
on the minstrel ir. the palmy and exalted state to 
which, no doubt, many were elevated by their 
ialents, like those who possess excellence in tlie 
fine arts in the present day ; and Ritson consid- 
ered the reverse of the medal, w hen the poor and 
iranderiug glee-man was glad to purchase liis bread 
by singing his ballads at tlie ali;house, wearing a 
fiintastic habit, and latterly sinking into a mere 
crowder upon an untuned fiddle, accompanying 
Ills rude strams with a ruder ditty, the helpless 
Associate of drunken revellers, and marvellously 
ifraid of the constable aid ))arish-beadle.' The 
! differenct! betvrix^, those holding the extreme po- 
ptions of highest and lowest in such a profession, 
tannot surely bi- more marked than that wliich 
l^parated David Garrick or John Kemble from the 

1 See Appendix Note D. 



outcasts of a strolling company, exposed to penury 
indigence, imd persecution accorthng to law.' 

There was still another aud more important 
subject of debate between Dr. Percy and liis hos- 
tile critic The former, as a poet and a man o( 
taste, was tempted to take such freedoms with lila 
original ballads as might enable hij;i to pleasi n 
more criticid age than that in which they were 
composed. Words were thus altered, ))hrases im- 
proved, imd whole verses were mscrted or onut 
ted at pleasure. Such freedoms were especiallj 
taken with the poems published from a foUo man 
uscript in Dr. Percy's own possession, very cuiioue 
fiom the miscellaneous nature of its contents, but 
unfortunately having many of the leaves mutila- 
ted, and injured in other respects, by the grost 
carelessness and ignorance of the transcriber. 
Anxious to avail himself of the treasures which 
this manuscript contained, the editor of the Re- 
liques did not hesitate to repair and renovate the 
songs wliich he di'ew from this coiTupted yet cu- 
rious source, and to accommodate them with such 
emendations as might recommend them to the 
modern taste. 

For these liberties with liis subject. Ritson cen 
sured Dr. Percy in the most uncompromising teixi^ 
accused him, in violent language, of mterpolation 
and forgery, and insinuated thai tliere existea no 
such thing in rerum natura as that foUo manu- 
script, so often refei-red to as the authority of ori- 
ginals inserted in the Rehques. In this charge, 
the eagerness of Ritson again betrayed him far- 
ther than judgment and discretion, as well as cour- 
tesy, warranted. It is no doubt higlily desirable 
that the text of ancient poctrj' should be givoi 
untouched and uncorrupted. But this is a poii.. 
which did not occur to the editor of the Refiquf^s 
in 1765, whose object it was to win the favor of 
the public, at a period when the great difficulty 
was not how to secure the very words of old bal 
lads, but how to arrest attention upon tho subject 
at all. That great and important service t. na 
tional liter.iture would probably never have bean 
attained without the work of Dr. Percy ; a work 
which first fixed the consideration of general read- 
ers on ancient poetry, aud made it worth while to 
inquire how far its graces were really antique, or 
how far derived from the taste with which the 
publication had been superintemied and revised 
The object of Dr. Percy was certainly uitimated 
in several parts of his work, where h<' ingenuously 
acknowledges!, that certain ballads have received 
emendations, and that others ai-e not of pure and 
unmixed antiquity ; that the beginning of somi 
and end of others have been suppUcd ; and upon 
the whole, that he ha.s, in many instances, iXft- 

2 See Apjienflix, Note E 



S48 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rated the ancient buUads with the graces of a 

I more refined period. 

I This system is so distinctly intimated, that if 

I 'here be any critic stUl of opinion, like poor Rit- 
"ion, whose morbid temperament led him to such a 
conclusion, that the crime of literary imitation is 
equal to that of commercial forgery, he ought to 
recollect tliat guilt, in the latter case, does not 
exist without a corresponding charge of uttering 
:he forged document, or causing it to be uttered, 
as genu'ne, without which the mere imitation is 
act culpable, at least not criminally so. This qual- 
ity is totally awanting m the accusation so roughly 
brought against Dr. Percy, who avowedly indulged 
in such alterations and improvements upon liis 
materials, as might adapt them to the taste of an 
age not otherwise disposed to bestow its attention 
on them. 

We have to add, that, in the fourth edition of 
the Reliques, Mr. Tliomas Percy of St. John's Col- 
lege, Oxford, pleading the cause of his uncle with 
the most gentlemanlike moderation, and with 
every respect to Mr. Ritson's science and talents, 
bas combated the critic's opinion, without any at- 
tempt to retort his injurious language. 

It would be now, no doubt, desii'able to have 
bad some more distinct account of Dr. Percy's foho 
manuscript and its contents ; and Mr. Thomas Per- 
•y, accordingly, gives the original of the raarriiige 
jf Sir Gawain, and collates it with the copy pub- 
lished in a complete state byJiis uncle, who has 

; on this occasion given entire rein to his own fancy, 
tiiough the rude origin of most of liis ideas is to be 
found in the old ballad. There is also given a 
copy of that elegant metrical tale, " The Cliild of 
Elle," as it exists in the foho manuscript, which 
goes far to show it has derived all its beauties 
from Dr. Percy's poetical powers. Judging from 
these two specimens, we can easily conceive why 
the Reverend Editor of the "Reliques" should 
have declined, by the production of the folio man- 
uscript, to furnish his severe Aristarch with wea- 
pons against him, which he was sure would be un- 
sparingly used. Yet it is certain, the manuscript 
COT. tains much that is reaUy excellent, though mu- 
tilated and sopliisticated. A copy of the fine bal- 
lad of " Sir Caulin" is found in a Scottish shape, 
under the name of " King Malcolm ard Sir Col- 
vin," in Buchan's North Country Ballads, to be 
presently mentioned. It is, therefore, unquestion- 
ably ancient, though possibly retouched, and per- 
haps with the addition of a second part, of wliich 
the Scottish copy has no vestiges. It would 
be desirable to know exactly to what extent 
Dr. Percy had used the license of an editor, in 

1 Introdnclion to Evans's Ballads, 1810. New edition, en- 
uged, &c. 



these and other cases ; and certainly, at this pe- 
riod, would be only a degree of justice due to hii 
memory. 

On the whole, we may dismiss the " Reliques o 
Ancient Poetry" with the praise and censure con 
ferred on it by a gentleman, himself a valuable la 
borer iu the vineyard of antiquities. " It is tha 
most elegaut compilation of the early poetry that 
has ever appeared iu any age or country. But it 
must be frankly added, tliat so numerous are the 
alterations and corrections, that the severe anti- 
quary, who desires to see the old Enghsh ballads 
in a genuine state, must consult a more accurate 
edition than tliis celebrated work.'" 

Of Ritson's own talents as an editor of ancient 
poetry, we shall have occasion to speak hereafter. 
The first collector who followed the example ol 
Dr. Percy, was Mr. T. Evans, bookseller, father ol 
the gentleman we have just quoted. His " Old 
Ballads, liistorical and narrative, with some of mod- 
ern date," appeared in two volumes, in 1111, and 
were eminently successful. In 1784, a second edi- 
tion appeared, extending the work to four vol- 
umes. In this collection, many ballads found ac- 
ceptance, which Bishop Percy had not considered as 
possessing sufficient merit to claim admittance into 
the Reliques. The 8vo. Miscellany of 1723 yield- 
ed a great part of the materials. The collection ol 
Evans contained several modern pieces of great 
merit, which are not to be found elsewhere, and 
wliich are understood to be the productions of Wil- 
ham Juhus Mickle, translator of the Lusiad, though 
they were never claimed by him, nor received 
among his works. Amongst them is the elegiac 
poem of Cumnor Hall, which suggested the ficti- 
tious narrative entitled Kenilworth. The Red- 
Cross Knight, also by Mickle, wliicli has furnislied 
words for a beautiful glee, first occurred in the 
same collection. As Mickle, with a vein of great 
facility, united a power of verbal melody which 
might have been envied by bards of much greater 
renown,^ he must be considered as very successful 
in these elTorts, if the ballads be regarded aa 
avowedly modern. If they are to be judged of 
as accurate imitations of ancient poetry, they have 
less merit ; the deception being only maintained 
by a huge store of double consonants, strewed at 
random into ordinary words, resembhng the real 
fashion of antiquity as Uttle as the niches, turrets, 
and tracery of plaster stuck upon a modern front. 
In the year 1810, the four volumes of 1784 were 
republished by Mr. R. H. Evans, the son of tha 
origmal editor, with very considerable alterations 
and additions. In this last edition, the more ordi- 
nary modern ballads were judiciously retrenched 

' See Appenlix, Note ". 



INTRODUCTORy REMARKS ON POPULAR POEiRV. 



5ii 



in number, aiul large and valuable additions made 
to tho auciuut part of tile cuUectiun. Being in 
Bomu uji-ajuro a supplement to tlie Reliquea of 
Aj-cieut i*oeiry, tliia miscellany cannot be dis- 
pensed wit;, on the shelves of any bibhom;iniac 
who may ch'x)se to emulate Captain Cox of Co- 
ventry, the prototype of all collectors of popular 
poetry. 

While Dr. Percy was setting the example of a 
Classical publication of ancient English poetry, the 
late DaviiL Herd was, in modest retirement, com- 
piling a collection of Scottish Songs, which ho has 
happily described ;i3 " the poetry and music of the 
heart." Tlie first part of his Mi-scellany contains 
heroic and liistorical ballads, of which there is a 
respectable and well-chosen selection. Mr. Herd,' 
an accountant, as the profession is called in Etiin- 
burgh, was known and generally esteemed for liis 
shrewd, manly connnou sense and antiquarian sci- 
ence, mixed with much good nature and great 
modesty. His hardy and antique mould of counte- 
nance, and his venerable griz/.led locks, procured 
him, amongst his acquaintance, the name of Gray- 
Bteil. His original collection of songs, in one vol- 
ume, appeared in 1769 ; an enlarged one, in two 
volumes, came out in 1776. A pubUcation of the 
same kind, being Herd's book still more eidarged, 
was printed for Lawrie and Symington in 1791. 
Some modern additions occiu- in this latter work, 
of which by far the most valuable were two fine 
imitations of the Scottish ballad by the gifted au- 
thor of the " Man of Feeling," — (now, alas 1 no 
more,) — called " Duncan" and " Kenneth." 

John Pinkerton, a man of considerable learning, 
and some severity as well as acuteness of disposi- 
tion, was now endeavoring to force himself into 
pubUc attention ; and his collection of Select Bal- 
lads, London, 1783, contains sufficient evidence 
that he understood, in an extensive sense, Horace's 
' ma,:dm, qu/dli bet audendi. As he was possessed of 
considerable powers of poetry, though not equal 
i to what he was wilUng to take credit for, he was 
1 resolved to enrich his collection with all the nov- 
i elty and interest which it could derive from a 
liberal insertion of pieces dressed in the garb of 
I »ntiquity, but equipped from the wardrobe of the 
1 editor's imagination. With a boldness, suggested 
) perhaps by the success of Mr. Macpherson, he in- 
, tluded, within a collection amounting to only 
■ .wenty-one tragic ballads, no less than five, of 
, irhich he afterwards owned liimself to have been 
lltogether, or in great part, the author. The most 
i remartable article in tliis Miscellany was, a second 

' David Herd was a native of St. Cyras, in Kincardineshire, 
■nd thougil often termed a writer, he was only a clerk in the 
•ffice of .Mr. David Rassell, acconiitant in Edinburgh. He 
died, aged 76, in 1810, and left a vory curious library, which 
^aj dispersed by auction. Herd by no means merited tiie char- 



part to the noble ballad of Hardyknute, which hat 
some good verses. It hibors, however, under thia 
great defect, that, in order to append his own con- 
clusion to the original tale, Mr. I'inkerton foimd 
himself under the necessity of altering a leatUng 
circumstance in the old ballad, which would have 
rendered his catastrophe inapplicable. With such 
hcense, to write continuations and conclusions 
would be no difficult task. lu the second volume 
of the Select Ballads, consisting of comic pieces, a 
list of fifty-two articles contained nine written en- 
tirely by the editor hiuiself. Of the manner in 
which these supposititious compositions are cxe 
euted, it may be briefly stated, that they are the 
work of a scholar much better acquainted with an- 
cient books and manuscripts, than with oral tradi- 
tion and popular legends. The poetry smells of 
the lamp ; and it may be truly said, that it' ever a 
ballad had existed in such quaint language as thp 
author employs, it could never have been so popu- 
lar as to be preserved by oral tradition. The 
glossary displays a much greater acquaintance 
with letu-ned lexicons thim with tlie familiar dia 
lect still spoken by the Lowland Scottish, and i* 
is, of course, full of errors.'' Neither was Mr. 
Pinkerton more happy in the way of conjecttu'al 
illustration. He chose to fix on Sir John Bruce of 
Kinross the paternity of the ballad of Hardykuute, 
and of the fine poem called the Vision. Tlie first 
is due to Mrs. Halket of Wardlaw, the second to 
Allan Ramsay, although, it must be owned, it is of 
a character superior to his ordinary poetry. Su 
John Bruce was a brave, blunt soldier, who made 
no pretence whatever to literature, though liis 
daughter, Mrs. Bruce of Arnot, had much talent, 
a circumstance which may perhaps have misled 
the antiquary. 

Mr. Pinkerton read a sort of recantation, in ,. 
List of Scottish Poets, prefixed to a Selection of 
Poems from the Maitland Manuscript, vol. i. 1786, 
in which he acknowledges, as his own compositicfti, 
the pieces of spurious antiquity included in his 
" Select Ballads," with a coolness wliich, when liis 
subsequent invectives again.st others who had taken 
similar liberties is considered, infers as much aw 
dacity as the studied and labored defence of ob 
scenity with which he disgraced the same pages. 

In the mean time, Joseph Ritson, a man of dili 
gence and acumen equal to those rf Pinkertn, bul 
of the most laudable acctiracy and fidelity aa aii 
editor, was engaged in various pubhcations re- 
specting poetical antiquities, in wliich he employed 
profound research. A select collection of English 

ac\er given him by Pinkerton, of " an illiterate and injudiclou 
con[iiler." — Ed. 

'J BnnaUnt, for example, a word generally a|iplied to the men, 
on a harvest field, who bind the shdaves. is derived from ban U 
curee, and explr -ed to mean, " blustering, swearing fellowi * 



550 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS; 



Bongs was compiled by him, with great care and 
considi^rable taste, and published at London, llfiS. 
A. new edition of tliis has appeared since Ritson's 
death, sanctioned by thr n;irae of tlie learned and 
indefatigable antiquary, Thomas Park, and aug- 
mented with many original pieces, and some which 
litson had prepared for pubUcation. 

Ritsou's Collection of Songs was followed by a 
rurious volume, entitled, " Ancient Songs from the 
time of Henry III. to the Revolution," 1790 ; 
"Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry," 1192; and 
" A coDection of Scottish Songs, with the genuine 
music," London, 1794. This last is a genuine, but 
rather meagi-e collection of Caledonian popular 
songs. . Next year Mr. Ritson published " Robin 
Hood," 2 vols., 1795, being " A Collection of all the 
Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads now extant, 
relative to that celebrated Oi'.tlaw." This work is 
a notable illustration of the excellencies and de- 
fects of Mr. Rilson's .system. It is almost impossi- 
ble to conceive so much zeal, research, and indus- 
try bestowed on a subject of antiquity. There 
scarcely occurs a phrase or word relating to Robin 
Hood, whether in history or poetry, in law books, 
in ancient proverbs, or common parlance, but it is 
here collected and explained. At the same time, 
the extreme fidelity of the editor seems driven to 
excess, when we find him pertinaciously retaining 
aJl the numerous and gross errors wlych repeated 
recitations have introduced into the text, and re- 
garding it as a sacred duty to prefer the worst to 
the better readings, as if their inferiority was a se- 
curity for their being genuine. In short, when 
Ritson copied from rare books, or ancient manu- 
scripts, there could not be a more accurate editor ; 
when taking his authority from oral tradition, and 
judging between two recited copies, he wa-s apt to 
consider the worst as most genuine, as if a poem 
was not more likely to be deteriorated than im- 
proved by passing tlirough the mouths of many re- 
citers. In the Ballads of Robin Hood, this super- 
stitious scrupulosity was especi.ally to be regretted, 
as it tended to enlarge the collection with a great 
mmiber of doggerel compositions, which are all 
ci/pies of each other, turning on the same idea of 
llold Robin meeting with a shepherd, a tinker, a 
mendicant, a tanner, <tc. Ac, by each and all of 
whom he is soundly thrashed, and alt of whom he 
receives into his band. The tradition, wliich avers 
that it was the brave outlaw's custom to try a bout 
at quarter-staff witli his young recruits, might in- 
deed have authorized one or two such tales, but 
the greater part ought to have been rejected as 
aiodern imitations of the most paltry kind, com- 

»'The first opening of the ballad has ranch of the martial 
Itrain with which a pibroch commences. Propcrat in mediaa 
'*9 — according o the classical admoaitioQ. 



posed probably about the age of James I. of Eng' 
land. By adopting this spurious trash as part Oi 
Robin Hood's history, he is represented as the best 
cudgelled hero, Don Quixote excepted, that ever 
was celebrated in prose or rhyme. Ritson also 
pubMshed several garlands of North Country songs. 

Looking on tliis eminent antiquary's labors in a 
general point Of view, we may deprecate the eager- 
ness and severity of his prejudices, and feel sur- 
prise that he should have shown so much u-ritabil- 
ity of disposition on such a topic as a collection oi 
old ballads, which certainly have Uttle in them to 
affect the passions ; and we may be sometimes pro- 
voked at the pertinacity with wliich he has pre- 
ferred bad readings to good. But while industry 
research, and antiquarian learning, are recommen- 
dations to works of this nature, few editors will 
ever be found so competent to the task as Joseph 
Ritson. It must also be added to his praise, that 
although not willing to yield his opinion rashly, 
yet if he saw reason to believe that he had been 
mistaken in any fact or argument, he resigned hia 
own opinion with a candor equal to the warmth 
with wliich he defended himself while confident 
he was in the right. Many of his works are now 
almost out of print, and an edition of them in com- 
mon orthography, and altering the bizarre spelling 
and character which his prejudices induced the au- 
thor to adopt, would be, to antiquaries, an accept- 
able present. 

We have now given a hasty account of various 
collections of popular poetry during the eighteenth 
century ; we have only further to observe, that, in 
the present century, this species of lore has been 
sedulously cultivated. The "Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border" first appeared in 1802, in two 
volumes ; and what may appear a singular coinci- 
dence, it was the first work printed by Mr. James 
Ballantyne (then residing at Kelso), as it was the 
first serious demand wliich the present author 
made on the patience of the public. The Border 
Minstrelsy, augmented by a third volume, came to 
a second edition in 1803. In 1803, Mr., now Sir 
John Grahame Dalzell, to whom his country ia 
obliged for his antiquarian labors, published " Scot- 
tish Poems of the Sixteenth Century," which, among 
other subjects of interest, contains a curious con- 
temporary ballad of Belrinnes, wliich has some 
stanzas of considerable merit.' 

The year 1806 was distinguished by the appear- 
ance of " Popular Ballads and Songs, from Tradi- 
tions, Manuscripts, and Scarce Editions, with Trans- 
lations of Siniil.ar Pieces from the Ancieat Danish 
Language, and a few OriginaLi by the Editor, Rob 

" MacCallanmore came from the west 
With many a bow and brind ; 
To waste the Riiines he tho ftght it best 
The Earl of Huntly's land " 



INTRODirCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



^r>t 



ert Jamiceoii, A. M., and F. A. S."' This work, wliich 
was not greeted by the pubhc with the attention 
;t deserved, opened a new discovery respecting 
the original soui'ce of the Scottish ballads. Mr. 
Jamiesor's extensive acquaintance with Mie Scan- 
dinavian Uterature, en.abled him to detect not only 
a general similarity betwixt these and the Danish 
ballads preserved in the " Kiempe Viser," an early 
collection of heroic ballads in that language, but 
tc demonstrate that, in many cases, the stories and 
songs were distmctly the same, a circumstance 
which no antiquary had hitherto so much as sus- 
pected. Mr. Jamieson's annotations are also very 
valuable, and preserve some cmious illustrations 
of the old poets. H.s imitations, tliough he is not 
entirely free from the affectation of usuig rather 
too many obsolete words, are generally highly in- 
teresting. The work fills an important place in 
the collection of those who are addicted to this 
branch of antiquarian study. 

Mr. John Finlay, a poet whose career was cut 
short by a prematm'e death,' publislied a short col- 
lection of " Scottish Historical and Romantic Bal- 
lads," ill 1808. The beauty of some imitations of 
the old Scottish ballad, with the good sense, learn- 
ing and modesty of the preliminarj- dissertations, 
mi st make all admirers of ancient lore rcgi'et the 
early loss of this accomplished young maa 

Various valuable collections of ancient ballad- 
poetry have appqared of late years, some of which 
are illustrated with learning and acuteness, as those 
of Mr. Motherwell^ and of Mr. Kinloch* intimate 
much taste and feeling for this species of Utera- 
ture. Nor is there any want of editions of ballads, 
less designed for public sale, than to preserve float- 
ing pieces of minstrelsy "which are in immediate 
danger of perisliing. Several of those, edited, as 
we have occasion to know, by men of distinguished 
talent, have appeared in a smaller form and more 
limited ecUtion, and must soon be among the in- 
Irouvablcs of Scottish typography. We would par- 
ticularize a duodecimo, under the modest title of 
a " Ballad Book," without place or date annexed, 

1 After the complelion of the Border Minstrelsy, and nearly 
three vears previous to tlie publication of his own Collection, 
Mr. Jamieson printed in tiie Scots Magazine (October, 1803) a 
List of desiderata in .Scottish Song. His coinraunication to 
Ihe Editor of that work contains the following paragraph : — 
'* I am nov icritin<r out for the press a Collection of Popular 
Ballads an-l S'ongs from tradition, MSS., and scarce publica- 
tions, with a few of modern date, which hav? heen written for, 
and are exclusi%-ely dedicated to my collection. As many of 
the pieces were common properly, I have heretofore waited for 
Jie completion of Mr. Walter t-'cott's Work, with more anx- 
ety for the cause in general, than for any particular and selfish 
interest of my o\i n ; as I was sure of having the satisfaction of 
•eeing such pieces as that gentleman might choose to adopt, 
Ippear with every advantage which I, partial as I was, could 
■risn them. The most sanguine expectations of the public 
Ija'e row been amply gratified ; and much curious and valaa- 



which indicates, by a few notes only, the capacity 
wliich the editor possesses for supplying the most 
extensive and ingenious illustrations tipon antiqua- 
rian subjects. Most of the ballads are of a comic 
character, and some of them admirable spi»:imen,i 
of Scottish dry humor.* Another collection, which 
calls for particular distinction, is in the same sizt, 
or nearly so, and bears the sAme title with the 
preceding one, the date being, Ediuburgli, 1 8'J7. 
But the contents are announced as containing the 
budget, or stock-in-trade, of an old Aberdeeushira 
minsti"el, the very last, probably, of the race, who, 
according to Percy's deiinition of the profession, 
sung ills own compositions, and those of otiiers, 
through the capital of the county, and other towns 
in that country of gentlemen. Tliis man's name 
was Charles LesUe, but he was known more gene 
rally by the nickname of Mussel-mou'd Charlie, 
frfim a singular projection of liis under lip. Hia 
death was thus annoauced in the uewspajjers fo' 
October, 1792: — "Died at Old Rain, m Aberdeen- 
shire, aged one hundred and four years, Ch.arlea 
Leslie, a hawker, or baUad-smger, well known in 
tliat country by the name of Mussel-mou'd Chaplia 
He followed his occupation tUl witliin a few weeki 
of his death." CharUe was a devoted Jacobite, 
and so popular in Aberdeen, that he enjoyed ir 
that city a sort of monopoly of the mmstrel call 
ing, no other person being allowed, unoer any pre 
tence, to chant ballads on the causewa}', or j'laiu- 
sttxnes, of " the brave burgh." Like the former col- 
lection, most of Mussel-mou'd Charlie's songs were 
of a jocose character. 

But the most extensive and valuable additions 
wliich have been of late made to this branch oi 
ancient literature, are the collections of Mr. Peter 
Buchan of Peterhead, a person of indefatigable re- 
search in that department, and whose industry has 
been crowned with the most successful resulta 
This is partly owing to the country where Mr. 
Buchan resides, which, fuU as it 's of minstrel rel- 
ics, has been but little ransack I'd by any former 
collectors ; so that, wliile it is .i very rare event 

ble matter is still left for me by Mr. Sec" to whom I am maob 
indebted for many ucts of friendship, and much noer-ahlj aoti 
good will shown towards me and my undertaking," — Ed. 

a Mr. Finlay, best known by his " Wallace, or The Vale t 
Ellerslie." died in 1810. in his twenty-eighth year. An .^flbo 
lionate and elegant tribute to his memory, from the pen of Pw> 
fessor Wilson, appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, November 
1817.— Ed. 

3 Minstrelsy ; Ancient and Modem, with an Historical In 
troduction and Notes. By William Motherwell. 4to. Glas^ 
1827. 

* Ancietlt Scottish, Ballads, recovered from Tradition, and 
never before published ; with Notes, Historical and Explaua 
tory, and an Appendix, containing the Airs of several of thi 
ballads. 8vo. Edin. 1827. 

6 This is Mr. C. K. Sharpe'a Work, already alluded to.- 
£d. 



i2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



nth 01 the Tay, to recorer any ballad having a 
aim to antiquity, which has not been examined 
id republished in some one or other of our coUec- 
jns of ancient poetry, those of Aberdeenshire 
ive been comparatively little attended to. The 
eseat Editor was the first to solicit attention to 
lese nortl'ern songs, in consequence of a collection 
' ballads comniimicated to him by his late re- 
>ected fri 'nd. Lord Woodhouslee. Mi'. Jamieson, 

his collections of " Songs and Ballads," being 
mself a native of Morayshii'e, was able to pusli 
is inquiry much fartlier, and at the same time, 
■ doing so, to illustrate liis theory of the connec- 
m between the ancient Scottish and Danish bal- 
ls, upon which the publication of Mr. Buchan 
rows much light. It is, indeed, tlie most com- 
ete collection of the .kind which has yet appeared.' 
Of the originality of the ballads in Mr. Buchan's 
Ilection we do not entertain the sliglitest doubt, 
iverid (we may instance the curious tale of 
The Two Magicians") are translated from the 
orse, and Mr. Buchan is probably unacquainted 
ith the origimds. Others refer to points of 
story, with wliich the editor does not seem to 
familiar. It is out of no disrespect to this 
borious and useful luitiquary, tluit we observe 

prose composition is rather florid, and forms, 

tills respect, a strong contrast to the extreme 
mplicity of the ballad.s, wliich gives us the most 
stinct assurance that he has dehvered the lat- 
» to the public in the shape in which he found 
em. Accordingly, we have never seen any col- 
ction of Scottisli poetry appearing, from in- 
mal evidence, so decidedly and indubitably 
•iginal. It is perhaps a pity that Mr. Buchan 
d not remove some obvious errors and cor- 
ptions ; but, in truth, though their remainuig 

record is an injury to the effect of the ballads, 

point of compnsition, it is, in some degree, a 
oof of their authenticity. Besides, although 
6 exertion of tl is editorial privilege, of select- 
g readings, is an advantage to the ballads them- 
Ives, we are contented rather to take the whole 

their present, though imperfect state, than 
i.t the least doubt should be thrown upon them, 

amendments or alterations, which might render 
eii' authenticity doubtful. The historical poems, 
'e observe, are few and of no remote date, 
•sat of the " Bridge of Dee," is among the oldest, 

d there are, others referring to the times of 
e Covenanters. Some, indeed, are composed on 

Ancient Ballads and Song.s of the North of Scotland, 
4eito anpubUshed ; with Explanatory Notes. By P. B. 
ek. 8vo. Edin. 1823 



still more recent events : aa the marriage of th« 
mother of the late iUustriiius Byron,' and a cata» 
trophe of still later occu rence, " The Death ol 
Leith-hall." 

As we wish to interest the admirers of ancient 
minstrel lore in this curiaus collection, we shall 
only add, that, on occasion of a now edition, we 
would recommend to Mr. Buchan to leave ovt a 
number of songs which he. has only insert/ad be- 
cause they are varied, sometimes for the worse, 
from sets which have appeared in other pu'iUca- 
tions. Tills restriction would make" considerable 
room for such as, oW thciugh they be, possess to 
this Rgc all the grace of novelty. 

To these notices of lat3 collections of Scottish 
Ballads, we ought to add some remarks on the 
very curious " Ancient Legendary Tales, printed 
chiefly from Original Sources, edited by the Rev. 
Charles Henry ITartshorne, M. A. 1829." The 
editor of tlus nii'istentatious work has dene his 
duty to the public with much labor and care, and 
made the adioirers of this species of poetry ac- 
quainted with very many Jincient legendary poems, 
which were hitherto unpublished and very httle 
known. It increases the value of the collection, 
that many of them ;u-e of a comic +urn, a specioa 
of composition more rare, and, from its necessary 
allusion to domestic manners, more curious ard 
interesting, than the serio is class of Romances. 



We have thus, in a cursory manner, gone 
tlirough the history of English and Scottish popu- 
lar poetry, and noticed (he principal coUectiona 
which have been formed from time to time of such 
compositions, and the principles on which the 
editors have proceeded. It is manifest that, oi 
late, the public attention has been so much turned 
to the subject by men of research and talent, that 
we may well hope to retrieve from obUvion as 
much of our ancient poe try as there is now any 
possibility of recovering. 

Another im])or'i,aut purt of our task consists in 
giving some ao-oant of ih« modern imitat >on oj 
the English I'aiJid, a s'oecies of literary iabor 
wliich the autlii"/' hac himself pursusd -A*^ 8on» 
success. 

Abbotsfokt;, 1st March, 1830. 

3 Tliis song its oaot:^ '-^ Miiora'j Life o/ Byrtn, vtfi I'* 
Ed. 



APPENDIX TO REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



553 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

TDK BATTLE OF HARLAW. — P. 544. 

That there was such an ancient ballad is certain, and the 
lone, adapted to the bagpipe, was long extremely popular, 
and, within the remembrance of man, the first which was 
played at kirns and other rustic festivals. But there is a 
luspicious phrase in tlie ballad as it is published by Allan 
Ramsay. When describing the national confusion, the bard 
•ays, 

" Sen the days of aold King Harie, 
Such slauchter was heard or seen." 

Uoery, Who was the "aald King Harie" here meant 1 If 
Henry VIII. be intended, as is most likely, it must bring the 
date of llie poem, at least of that vetse, as low as Queen Mary's 
lime. The ballad is said to have been printed iu 1668. A copy 
of that edilion would be a great curiosity. 

See the preface to the reprint of this ballad, in the volame 
•f " Early Metrical Tales,'* ante referred to. 



Note B. 



ALLAN Ramsay's " evergrekn." — P. 544. 

Green be the pillow of honest Allan, at whose lamp Burns 
lighted his brilliant torch ! It is without enmity to his mem- 
ory that wc record his mistake in this matter. But it is im- 
possible not to FPgret that such an affecting tale as that of 
Bessie Bell and >;ary Gray f^hould have fallen into his hands. 
The southern reader must learn (for what northern reader is 
ignorant 1) that these two beautiful women were kinsfolk, and 
•0 strictly united in friendship, that even personal jealousy 
could not interrupt their union. They were visited by a iiand- 
•ome and agreeable young man, who was acceptable to them 
both, but so captivated with their charms, that, while confi- 
lient of a preference on the part of both, he was unable to 
make a choice between them. While this singular situation 
of the three persons of the tale continaed, the bruakiiig out 
of the plague forced the two ladies to take refuge in the beao- 
Ufu! valley of Lynedoch. where they built themselves a 
bower, in order to avoid human intercourse and the danger of 
infection. The lover was not included in their renunciation 
of society. He visited their retirement, brought with him 
the fatal disease,, and unable to return to Perlh, which was 
his usual residence, was nursed by the fair friends with all 
Ihe tenderness of afiection. He died, however, having first 
communicated the infection to his lovely attendants. They 
followed him to the grave, lovely in their lives, and undivided 
b their death Their burial-place, in the vicinity of the 
Jower which they built, is still visible, in the romantic 
rtcinity of Lord Lyndoch's mansion, and prolongs the mem- 
jry of female friendship, which even rivalry could not dissolve. 
(wo itanzas of the original ballad alone survive : — 
7U 



" Bessie Bell and Mary Giay. 

They were twa bonnie lasses ; 
They bigged a bovver on yon "^urn bras 
And theckit it ower wi' rasnes. 

" They wadna rest in Methvin kirk, 
Among tlieir gentle kin ; 
But they wad lie in Lednoch braes, 
To beek against the sun." 

There is, to a Scottish ear, so much tenderness and simplicity 
in these 'verses, as must induce us to regret that the rest should 
have been superseded by a pedantic modern song, turning 
upon the most unpoetic part of the legend, the hesitation 
namely, of the lover, which of the ladies to prefer. One ol 
the most touching expressions iu the song is th« following ex- 
clamation : 

" Oh, Jove I she's like thy Pallas.'* 

Another song, of which Ramsay chose a few words for tbe 
theme of a rifacimento, seems to have been a curious speci- 
men of minstrel recitation. It was partly verse, partly narra 
live, and was alternately sung and repeated. The story waa 
the escape of a young gentleman, pursued by a cruel uncle, 
desirous of his estate ; or a bloody rival, greedy of his life ; or 
the relentless father of his lady-love, or some such remorseless 
character, having sinister intentions on the person of the fugitive. 
The object of his rapacity or vengeance being nearly overtaken, 
a shepherd undertakes to mislead the pursuer, who comes ia 
sight just as the object of his pursuit disappears, and greets th« 
shepherd thus : — 

'* PURSUER. 

Good morrow, shepherd, and my friend, 
Saw you a young man tiiis way riding ; 

With long black hair, on a bob-tail'd mare, 
And I know that I cannot be far behind hinot 

THE snBPHERD. 

Yes, ( did see him this way riding, 
And what did much surjirise my wit, 

The man and me mare .lew id in the air 
And I see, and 1 see, and I see her yet. 

Behind yon white cloud I see her tail wave, 
And I see, and I see, and I see her yet." 

The tune of these verses is an extremely good one, aui 
Allan Ramsay has adapted a bacchanalian song to it witk 
some success ; but we should have thanked him much had ho 
taken the trouble to preserve the original legend cf the old 
minstrel. The valuable and learned friend' to whom we 
owe this' mutilated accoant of it, has often heard it sunj; 
among the High Jinks of Scottish lawyers of the last genera- 
tion. 

1 The Into Sight Honorable William Adam, Lord Caief Comourfooer a 
the Scotch Jury Court.— Ed. 



654 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note C. 



JOSEPH RITSON. 



" - - JVes'fecting; in literary debate, the eovrtesieg of 
ordinary society.'^ — P. 545, 

For example, in quoting a popnlar song, well known by the 
jame of Maggie Lauder, tiie editor of the Reliques had giveD 
ft Hue of tlie Dame's address to the merry minstrel, thus : — 

'* Gin ye be Rob, I've heard of you, 
Ycu dwell upon the Border." 

Ritson insisted the genuine reading was, 

' ' Come ye frae the Border ?' ' 

And he expatiates with great keenness on the crime of the 
Bishop's having sophisticated the test (of which he produces 
no evidence), to favor liis opinion, that the Borders were a 
favorite abode of the miristrels of both kingdoms. The fact, it 
is believed, is undoubted, and the one reading seems to support 
U as well as the other. — [Joseph Ritson died in 1803.] 



Note D. 

'* a mere crowder upon an untuned fiddle." — p. 547. 

In Fletcher's -comedy of " Monsieur Thomas," ench a fid- 
dler is questioned as to the ballads he is best versed in, and 
replies, 

*' Under your mastership's correction I can smg, 
' Tlie Duke oi' Norfolk.' or the merry ballad 
Of Divius and Lazarus ;' ' The Rose of England ;' 
' In Crete, where Dedimus first began ;' 
' Jonas his crying out against Coventry.' 

Thomas. Excellent I 
Rare matters all. 

Fiddler. ' Mawdlin the Merchant's Daughter;* 
' The Devil and ye Dainty Dames.' 

Thomas. Rare still. 

Fiddler. ' The Landing of the Spaniards at Bow, 
With the bloody battle at Mile-end.' " 

I'he poor minstrel is described as accorapanyiug the young 
mke in his revels. Launcelot describes 

' The gentleman himself, young Monsieur Thomas, 
Errant with his furious myrmidons ; 
The fiery fiddler and myself — now singing 
Now beating at the doors," &c. 



Note E. 
minstrels.— p. 547. 

The " Song of the Traveller," an ancient piece lately dis- 
covered in the Cathedral Library at Exeter, and published by 
the Rev. Mr. Coneybeare, in his Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon 
PaeUy (1826), furnishes a most curious picture of the life of 
Jie Northern £^cald, or Minstrel, in the high and palmy state 



The reverend editor Ihna tnJoslatea tin 



of the profession. 

closing hnes : 

'* Ille est carissimus Terrae incolis 

r,ui Deus addidit Hominnm imperium gerendom, 

Qnum ille eos [bardos] habeat earos. 

Ita comeantes cum cantilenis feruniur 

Bardi hominum per terras multas ; 

Simul eos remuneratur ob cantilenas pulchras, 

Muneribus immensis, ille qui ante nobiles 

Vult judicium suum extollere, dignitatem sustinere. 

Habet ille sub cffilo stabilem famara." — P. SJ2. 

Mr. Coneybeare contrasts this " fiattering picture" with th« 
following " melancholy specimen" of the Minstrel life of latei 
limes — contained in some verses by Richard Sheale (the alleged 
author of the old Chevy Chase), which are preserved in one ot 
Ihe Ashmolean MSS. 

" Now for the good clieere that I have had here, 
I give you hearty thanks with bowing of my shankes. 
Desiring you by petition to grant me such commission — • 
Because my name is Sheale, that both for meat and meale. 
To yon I may resort sum tyme for my comforte. 
For I perceive here at all tymes is good cheere, 
Both ale, wyiie, and beere, as hyt doth now appere, 
I perceive without fable ye keepe a good table, 
I can be contente, if hyt be out of Lent, 
A piece of beefe to take my honger to aslake, 
Bold mutton and veale is goode for Rycharde Sheale ; 
Though I look so grave, I were a vcri knave, 
If I wold thiiike skorne ether evenynge or mome, 
Beyng in honger, of fresshe samon or kongar, 
I can fynde in my hearle, with my friendis to take a parte 
Of such as Godde shal sende, and tlius I make an ende. 
Now farewel.good myn Hoste, I thank youe for youre coiU 
Untyl another tyme, and thus do I eude my ryme." — P. 38. 



Note F. 

william julius mickle.— p. 548. 

In evidence of what is stated in the text, the author would 
quote the introductory stanza to a forgotten poem of Mickle, 
originally published under the injudicious and equivocal UtU 
of " The Concubine," but in subsequent editions calUd, *' 8il 
Martyn, or The Progress of Dissipation." 

" Awake, ye west winds, through the lonely dale, 
And, Fancy, to thy faery bower betake ; 
Even now, with balmy sweetness breathes the gale. 

Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake ; 
Through the pale willows faltering whispers wake, 

And evening comes with locks bedropp'd with dew J 
On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly shake 
The wither'd ryegrass, and the harehA. blue, 
And ever and anon sweet Mulla's plaints renew 

Mickle's facility of versification was so great, that, t)eing I 
printer by profession, lie frequently put his lines icto typ€t 
witliout taking the trouble previously to put them into writing; 
thns uniting the composition of the author with the mochanical 
operation which typographers call by i\iv ■*■% ne name. 



ESSAY 



IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD.' 



The invention of printing necessarily occasioned 
the dowiiniU of the Order of Minstrels, already re- 
duced to contempt by their own bad habits, by 
the disrepute attached to their profession, and by 
the law? calculated to repress their hcense. Wlien 
the Metrical Romances were very many of them 
in the hands of every one, the occupation of those 
who made their livinfj by reciting them was in 
some degree abolished, and the minstrels either 
dis.ippeared altogether, or sunk into mere musi- 
cians, whose utmost acquaintance with poetry was 
being able to sing a baUad. Perhaps old Anthony, 
who acquired, from the song which he accounted 
his masterpiece, the name of Anthony N(yw N(yw, 
was one of the last of this class in the capital ; nor 
does the tenor of his poetry e'l'ince whether it was 
his own composition or that of some other." 

But the taste for popular poetry did not decay 
with the class of men by whom it had been for 
some generations practised and preserved. Not 
only did the simple old ballads retain their ground, 
though circulated by the new art of printing, in- 
stead of being preserved by recitation ; but in the 
Gariands, and similar collections for general sale, 
the authors aimed at a more ornamental and regu- 
lar style of poetry than had been attempted by 
the old minstrels, whose composition, if not extem- 
poraneous, was seldom committed to writing, and 
was not, therefore, susceptible of accurate revision. 
This was the more necessary, as even the popular 
poetry was now feeling the effects arising from 
the advance of knowledge, and the revival of the 
Itudy of the learned languages, with all the ele- 
gance and refinement wliich it induced. 

In short, the general progress of the country led 
1 1: an improvement in the department of popular 
poetry, tending both to soften and melodize the 
language employed, and to ornament tlie diction 
beyond that of the rude minstrels, to whom such 
topics of composition had been originally aban- 

' This essay was written in April. 1830. and forms a contin- 
■alion of the " Remarks on Popular Poetry." — Ed. 

^ He might be snpposed a contemporary of Henry VIII., if 
he greeting which he pretends to liave given to that monarch 
< ot nia own composition, and spoken io his own perHon. 



doned. Tlie monotony .of the ancient recitals was 
for the same causes, altered and improved upon 
The eternal descriptions of battles, and of love di 
lemmas, wliich, to satiety, filled the old romancea 
with trivial repetition, was retrenched. If any 
one wishes to compare the two eras of lyrical poe; 
try, a few verses taken from one of the latest 
minstrel ballads, and one of the earliest that were 
written for the press, will afford him, in some da 
gree, the power of doing so. 

The rude lines from Anthony Now Now, which 
we have just quoted, may, for example, be com- 
pared, as Ritson requests, with the ornamented 
commencement of the ballad of Fair Rosamond •— 

" When as King Henry ruled this land 
The second of that name, 
Besides his queen he dearly loved 
A fair and comely dame. 

** Most peerless was her beauty found, 
Her favor, and her face ; 
A sweeter creature in the world, 
■ ' Could never prince embrace. 

** H^r crisped locks, like threads of gold 
Appear'd to each man's sight ; 
Her sparkling eyes, like orient pearls. 
Did cast a heavenly light, 

" The blood within her crvstal cheeks 
Did such a color drive. 
As though the lily and the rost. 
For mastership did strive. "3 

It may be rash to affirm, that tliose who lived 
by singing this more refined poetry, were a clasl 
of men different from the ancient minstrels •. but 
it appears, tliat both the name of the professors, 
and the character of the Minstrel poetry, had sunh 
in reputation. 

Tlie facility of versification, and of poetical die 
tion, is decidedly in favor of the modems, as might 
reasonably be expected from the improved taste^ 

" Good morrow to our noble king, quoth I ; 
Good morrow, quoth he. to thou : 
And then he said to Anthony, 
O Anthony now now now." 
3 Pkrct's Religues, vol. ii. D. 147. 



656 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and enlarged knowledge, of an age which abound- 
ed to snch a decree in poetry, and of a character 
so imaginative as was tlie Ehzabethan era. The 
poetry addi'essed to the popxilace, and enjoyed by 
them alone, was animated by the spirit tuat was 
breathed around We may cite Shakspeare's un- 
questionable and decisive evidence in tliis respect. 
In Twelftji Nigh' he describes a popuhu- ballad, 
with a beauty and precision which no one but 
nimseU could have affi.\ed to its character ; and 
the whole constitul es the strongest appeal in favor 
of tliat species ol poetry which is written to suit 
the taste of the public in general, and is most 
naturally preserved by oral tradition. But the 
remarkable part of the circumstance is, that when 
the song is actually sung by Fesf^ the clown, it 
differs in almost all particulars from what we 
might have been justified in considering as attri- 
butes of a popuhir ballad of that early period. It 
is smiple. doubtless, both in structure and phrase- 
ology, but is rather a love song than a min.strel 
ballad — a love song, also, which, though its imagi- 
native figures of speech are of a very simple and 
intelligible character, may nevertheless be com- 
pared to any tiling rather than the boldness of the 
preceding age, and resembles nothing less than the 
ordinary minstrel ballad. The original, though so 
well known, may be here quoted, for the purpose 
of showing what was, in Shakspeare's time, re- 
garded as the poetry of " the old age." Almost 
every one has the passage by heart, yet I must 
quote it, because there seems a marked difference 
between the species of poem which is described, 
and that which is sung, 

" Mark it, Cs^sario , it is old ami plain : • 

Tile spinsters and tiie Itnitters in tlie son, 
And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones. 
Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age." 

Tlie 6ong, thus beautifully prefaced, is as follows : 

' Come away, come away, death. 
And in sad cyjiress let me be laid ; 

Fly away, Ily away, breath ; 
1 am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of while, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one eo true 
'SdE'ar^il 

'* Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my black coffin let there he strown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be throwD 
A thousand, thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad troe lover never find ray grave. 
To weep there."^ 

1 Twelfth Night, A-l ii. Scene 4th. 



On comparing this love elegy, or whatever it 
may be entitled, with the ordinary, anu especially 
the earlier popular poetry, I cannot help thinking 
that a great difference wiU be observed in the 
structm-e of the verse, the character of the senti- 
ments, the ornaments and refinement of. the lan- 
guage. Neither, indeed, as might be expected 
from the progress of human affairs, was the change 
in the populaa* style of poetry achieved without 
some disadvantages, which counterbalanced, in a 
certain degree, the superior art and exercise (jf 
fancy which had been introduced of late times. 

The expressions of Sir Phihp Sidney, an unques- 
tionable judge of poetry, flourislung in EUzabeth'i 
golden reign, and drawing around him, like a mag- 
net, the most distingui!^hed poets of the age, 
amongst whom we need only name Shakspearo 
and Spenser, still show something to regret when 
he compared the liighly wrought and richly orna- 
mented poetry of his own time, with the ruder 
but more energetic diction of Chevy Chase. Hia 
words, often quoted, cannot yet be dispensed with 
on the present occasion. They are a chapter in 
the lijstory of ancient poetry. " Certainly?* says 
the brave knight, '* I must confess my own bar- 
barousness ; I never heard the old song of Percy 
and Douglas, that I found not my heart more 
moved than with a trumpet. And yet it is sung 
by some blind crowdor, with no rougher voice than 
rude style, which being so evil apparelled in the 
dust and cobwebs of that uncivil age, what would 
it work, trimmed m the gorgeous eloquence e' 
Pindar."» 

If we inquire more particularly wh.at were the 
pecidiar charms by which the old mmstrel ballad 
produced an effect like a trumpet-sound upon the 
bosSm of a real son of chivalry, we may not be 
wrong in ascribing it to the extreme simplicity 
with which the narrative moves forward, neglect 
mg all the more minute ornaments of speech and 
diction, to the grand object of enforcing on the 
hearer a striking and affecting catastrophe. The 
author seems too serious in his wish to aft'ect the 
audience, to allow himself to be drawn aside by i 
any thing which can, either by its tenor, or the 
manner in which it is spoken, have the perverse 
effect of distracting attention from the catastrophe 

Such grand and serious beauties, however, oc- 
curred but rarely to the old minstrels ; and m or- 
der to find them, it became necessary to struggle 
through long passages of monotony, languor, and 
inanity. Unfortunately it also happened, that 
thoie who, like Sidney, could ascertain, feel, and 
do full justice to the beauties of the heroic ballad, 
were few compared to the numbers who could I>e 
sensible ct the trite verbiaye of a bald passage, >r 

» Si' Philiii Siduef's Uefeuce of Poms. i 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



35? 



Hie Ijilicrous effect of an I'^-ird rhyme. In Eng- 
lanil, .accoriliiigly, tl>e popiiI.T: ball.ad fell into con- 
tempt (luring the sfenteer.th century ; and al- 
tliough in remote counties' it.* inspiration was 
occasion.illy t)>e source of a few verses, it seems 
to liave become almost entirely obsolete in the 
capital. Even the Civil Wars, wliich gave so much 
occasion for poetry, produced rather song and sa- 
tire, than the ballad itr popular epic. The curious 
reader m.iy satisfy himself on tliis point, should he 
wi«h to ascertain the truth of the allegation, by 
looking through D'Urfey's large and curious col- 
lection.' when he will be aware that the few bal- 
lads which it contioins are the most ancient pro- 
ductions in the book, and very seldom take their 
date after the commencement of the seventeenth 
century. 

In Scotland, on the contr-ary, the old minstrel 
ballad long continued to preserve its populai'ity. 
Even the last contests of Jacobitism were recited 
with great vigor in baUf.ds of the time, the authors 
of some of which are known and remembered ; 
Bor is there a more spirited ballad preserved than 
that of Mr. Skii-ving' (father of Skirving the art- 
ist), upon the battle of Prestonpaus, so late as 
l'(45. But this was owing to circumstances con- 
nected with the habits of the people in a remote 
and rude country, which could not exist in the 
•icher and wealthier provinces of England. 

On the whole, however, the ancient Heroic bal- 
lad, as it was called, seemed to be fast declining 
among the more enlightened and hterary part of 
both countries ; and if retained b)' the lower classes 
in Scotland, it had in England ce.ised to exist, or 
degenerated into doggerel of the last degree of 
tilcness. 

Subjects the most interesting were abandoned 
to the poorest rhymers, and one would have 
thought that, as in an ass-race, the prize had been 
destined to the slowest of those who competed 
for the prize. The mel.ancholy fiite of Miss Ray,* 
who fell by the hands of a frantic lover, could only 
inspire the Grub Street muse with such verses as 
tttw, — that Ls, if I remember them correctly : 

*' A Sandwich favorite was this fair, 
And her he dearly loved ; 
Bj whom six ciiildren had, we hear ; 
This story fatal proved. 

'* A clergyman, O wielded one, 
In Covent Garden shot Jier ; 
Ntf time to cry upon hev God, 
I It's hoped He's not forgot her." 

I 

* ' A canons and spirited specimen occurs in Cornwall, as lat« 
M the trial of (he Bishops before the Revolution. The Presi- 
■lent of the Royal Society of London (Mr. Davies Gilhert) has 
"VI uisnained the trouble of preserving it from oMivion. 
' Hlls to Purge Melancholy. 



If it be true, as in other case.s, that when thingi 
al ) at the worst they must mend, it was certainly 
time to expect an amelioration in the department 
in which such doggerel passed current. 

Accordingly, previous to this time, a new spe- 
cies of poetry seems to have arisen, -, tich, in some 
cases, endeavored to pa.ss itself as the production 
of genuine antiquity, and, in others, honestly avow- 
ed an attempt to emulate the merits and avoidth; 
errors with which the old ballad was encumbered 
and in tha effort to accomplish Lliis. a spec'os ol 
composition was discovered, which is capable ol 
being subjected to peculiar rules of criticism, aad 
of exhibiting excellences of its own. 

In writing for the use of the general reader, 
rather than the poetical antiquary, I shall be 
readily excused from entering into any inquiry re- 
specting the authors who first showed the way in 
this peculiar department of modern poetry, which 
I may term the imitation of the old ballad, espe- 
cially that of the latter or Elizabethan era. One 
of the oldest, according to my recollection, which 
pretends to engraft modern refinement upon ar 
cient simpUcity, is extremely beautiful, both from 
the words, and the simple and affecting melody Ic 
which they are usually sung. The title is, " Lord 
Henry and Fan- Catherine." It begins thus 

** In ancient days, in Britain's isle, 
Lord Henry well was known ; 
No knight in all the land mor« famed. 
Or more deserved renown. 

" His tlionghts were all on honor bent. 
He ne'er would stoop to love : 
No lady in the land had power 
His frozen heart to move." 

Early in the eighteenth century, this peculiar 
species of composition became popul.tr. We find 
Tickell, the friend of Addison, who produced the 
beautiful b.-tUad, " Of Leinster famed for maid- 
ens fair," Mallet, Goldsmith, Shenstone, Percy, 
and many others, followed an extmiple which had 
much to recommend it, especially as it present- 
ed considerable facilities to those who wished, 
at as little exertion of trouble as possible, to at- 
tain for themselves a certain degree of literary 
reputation. 

Before, however, treating of the prcfeisea uoi 
tators of Ancient Ballad Poetry, I ought to say a 
word upon those who have written their inxita- 
tions with the preconceived purpose of passing 
them for ancient. 

There is no small degree of cant in the violent 



3 See Hogg's Jacobite Relics, vol. i. — Ed. 

* Miss Ray, the beantiful mistress ot" the Earl of Sandwich, 
then First Lord of the Admiralty, %vas a.*i.-i-s,«inated by Mr 
Hackman, "in a lit of frantic jealous love," as Boswell ev 
presses it, in 1779. See Croker's Boswell vol, iv. p 254. — £o 



558 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



iiiTectivea with which impostors of this nature 
bave been assailed. In fact, the case of each is 
special, and ought to be separately considered, 
.\ccordiiig to its ots n circumstances. If a young, 
perhaps a female author, chooses to circulate a 
oeautiful poem, we will suppose that of Hardy- 
Kiiiite, under the disguise of antiquity, the public 
;s surely more enriched by the contribution than 
jijured by the deception.' It is hardly possible, 
indeed, without a power of poetical genius, and 
acquaintance with ancient language and manners 
possessed by very few, to succeed in deceiving 
those who have made this branch of literature 
their study. The very desire to unite modern re- 
^ement with the verve of the ancient minstrels, 
win itself betray the masquerade. A minute ac- 
quaintance with ancient customs, and with ancient 
history, is also demanded, to sustain a part which, 
as it must rest on deception, cannot be altogether 
an honorable one. 

Two of the most distinguished authors of this 
•lass have, in this manner, been detected ; being 
deficient in the knowledge requisite to support 
their genius in the disguise they meditated. Har- 
dyknute, for instance, already mentioned, is irrec- 
oncilable with all clu'onology, and a chief with a 
Norwegian name is strangely introduced as the 
6rst of the nobles brought to resist a Norse inva- 
sion, at the battle of Largs : the " needlework so 
rare," introduced by the f.iir authoress, must have 
been certainly long posterior to the reign of Alex- 
ander III. In Chatterton's ballad of " Sii- Charles 
Baudwin," we find an anxious attempt to repre- 
sent the composition as ancient, and some entries 
in the public accounts of Bristol were appealed to 
ih corroboration. But neither was this ingenious 
but most unhappy young man, with all his powers 
of poetry, and with the imtiquarian knowledge 
wliich he had collected with indiscriminating but 
astonisliing research, able to impose on that part 
of the public qualified to judge of the composi- 
tions, wliich it liad occurred to him to pass off as 
those of a monk of the 14th century. It was in 
vain that he in each word doubled the consonants, 
like the sentinels of an endangered army. Tlie 
art used to disguise and misspell the words only 
overdid what was intended, and afforded sure evi- 
dence that the poems pubUshed as antiques had 
oeen, in fact, tampered with by a modern artist, 
as the newly forged medals of modern days stand 
convicted of Imposture from the very touches of 
the file, by which there is an attempt to imitate 
the cracks and fissures produced by the hairuner 
npon the original.' 



1 *' Hardyknule was ine first poem that I ever learnt — the 
ast that I phall forget." — M.S. note of Sir Wa-'tei Pcott on a 
eaf of Allan Rsmsay's Tea-Tab!e Miscellany. 



I have only met, in my researches into thesii 
matters, with one poem, which, if it had been pro- 
duced as ancient, could not have been detected on 
internal evidence; It is the " War Song upon the 
victory at Brunnanburg, translated from the An- 
glo-Saxon into Anglo-Norman," by the Right Hon- 
orable John Hookham Frere. See EUis's Speci- 
mens of Ancient EugUsh Poc try, vol. i. p. 32. The 
accomplished Editor tells us, that this very singu- 
lar poem was intended as an miitatiun of the style 
and language of the fourteenth century, and waa 
written durmg the controversy occasioned by the 
poems attributed to Rowley, llr. Ellis adds. 
" the reader wiU probably hear with some sur- 
prise, that this singular instance of critical inge- 
nuity was the composition of an Eton schoolboy.' 

The author may be permitted to speak as an 
artist on this occasion (disowning, at the same 
time, all piu-pose of imposition), as having written, 
at the request of the late Mr. Ritson, one or two 
things of this kind ; among others, a continuation 
of the romance of Thomas of ErcUdoune, the only 
one which chances to be preserved.^ And he 
thinks himself entitled to state, that a modem 
poet engaged in such a task, is much in the situa- 
tion of an architect of the present day, who, il ; 
acquainted with his profession, finds no difficulty , 
in copying the external forms of a Gothic castle oi 
abbey ; but when it is completed, can hardly, by anj 
artilicial tints or cement, supply the spots, weath ; 
er-stains, and hues of different kinds, with whicl 
time alone had invested the venerable fabric whicl 
he desires to imitate. , 

Leaving this branch of the subject, in '.vhicti the 
difficiUty of passing oft' what is niode^i. for iviiat 
is ancient cannot be matter of regret, wo r..a/ be-, 
stow with advantage some brief C" i.i(ie'.atiOu ou 
the fan- trade of manufacttn-ing n cJjrn antiques,, 
not fot the purpose of passing tl ;in as contraband ' 
goods on the skilful antiquar , but in order to 
obtiun the credit due to auth' (i as succtssfui itii 
tutors of the ancient simplici .j , while their system 
admits of a considerable ioldsion of modern refiuc- 
ment. Two classes of in station may be reteiTed 
to as belonging to thU species of compositii'n. 
When they approach each other, there may be 
some difficulty in ■ijji.gning to individual poems 
their pecuhar ch.'\i,«cteir, but m general the differ 
ence is distmcti^ marked. The distinction lies l.> 
twixt tb" Aiithors of b.-yllads or legendary poem* 
who have attempted to imitate the langu.ige, the 
manners, and the sentiments of the ancient poems 
which were their prototypes ; and those, on the, 
contrary, who, without endeavoring to do 60, hsvd 



3 See Appendix. Note A. || 

3 See Sir Tristrem, Scott's Poetical Works, vol » : KlilijB^ 

ir33. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



6&V 



•truck out a panJcolar path for themselves, which 
caonnt, with strict propriety, be termed either 
*ncient or mjcleni. 

In the actual iuiitai'jn of the ancient ballad, 
Dr. Perev, whjse researches made liim well ac- 
^uainteil ■witli that depjirtment of poetry, was 
peculia-ly ^ucces^fal. The " Hermit of Wark- 
»ort' .' fi.d "Chddc of Elle," and other minstrel 
;ak'!J of hi', composition, must always be remem- 
seied ^ntl) fondness by those who have perused 
Ihtm in that period of Uf€ when the feelings are 
Itrong, and the taste fur poetry, especially of this 
■ (imple nature, is keen ami poignant. Tliis learned 
and amiable prel* ; was also remarkable for his 
power oi /csiojiiig the ancient ballad, by throwing 
m touches of poetry, so adapted to its tone and 
tenor, as to assimilate with its original structure, 
»nd impress every one who considered the subject 
i£ being coeval with the rest of the piece. It must 
be owned, that such freedoms, when assumed by 
t professed antiqu.ary, addressing himself to anti- 
juaries, and for the sake of illustrating literary 
Wtiquities, are subject to great and licentious 
abuse ; and herein the severity of Ritson was to a 
certain extent justified. But when the license is 
avowed, and practised without the intention to 
deceive, it cannot be objected to but by scrupulous 
pedantry. 

The poet, perhaps, most capable, by verses, 
lines, even single words, to relieve and heighten 
Ibe character of ancient poetry, was the Scottish 
bard Robert Burns." We are not here speaking 
cf the avowed Ivrica! poems of his own composi- 
tion, which he communicated to Mr. George Thom- 
Bon, Out of the maimer in which he recomposed 
and repaired the old songs and fragments for the 
collection of Juhnson' and others, when, if his 
memory suppUed the theme, or general subject of 
the song such as it existed in Scottish lore, his 
genius codtributed that part which was to give 
bfe and immortaht}' to the whole. If tliis praise 
should be thought extrav.igant, the reader may 
compare his splendid lyric, "My heart's in the 
Highlands," with the tame and scarcely half-intel- 
ligible remiuns of that song as preserved by Mr. 
Peter Buchan. Or, what is perhaps a still more 
magnificent example of what we mean, " Macpher- 
«on's Farewell," with all its sphit and grandeur, 
as repaired by Burns, m.ay be collated with the 
original poem called " Macpherson's Lament," or 
eometimes the " Rutfiap's Rant." In Burns's bril- 
hant rifacimento, the same strain of wild ideas is 
expressed as we find in the original ; but with an 
mfusion c( the savage and impassioned spirit of 
Highland diivalry, which gives a splendor to the 

' Johnson's " Moaical Museam," in 6 vols., was lately re- 
linlei: a,*, Edinburgh. 



composition, of which we find not a trace in the 
rudeness of the ancient ditty. I can bear witneel 
to the older verses having been current while 1 
was a cliild, but I never knew a line of the inspired 
etlition of the Ayrshire bard until the appearance 
of Jolmson's Museum. 

Besides Percy, Burns, and others, we must not 
omit to mention Mr. Finlay, whose beautiful soug, 

*' There came a knight from the lield of the slain ' 

is so happUy descriptive of antique manners ; or 
Mickle, whose accurate and interesting imitations 
of the ancient bidlad we have already mentioned 
with approbation in the former Essay on Ballaa 
Composition. These, with others of modern date^ 
at the head of whom we must place Thomas 
Moore, have aimed at striking the ancient harp 
with the same bold and rough note to which it 
was awakened by the ancient minstrels. Southey, 
Wordswortli, and other distinguished names of the 
present century, have, m repeated instances, dig 
nified this branch of Uterature ; but no one more 
than Coleridge, in the wild and imaginative talo 
of the " Ancient Mariner," which displays .so much 
beauty with such eccentricity. We should act 
■most unjustly in this department of Scottish KaUad 
poetry, not to mention the names of Leyden, Hogg, 
and Allan Cunnmgham. They have all three hon 
ored theu- country, by arriving at distinction from 
a humble origin, and there is none of them under 
whose hand the ancient Scottish harp has not 
sounded a bold and distinguished tone. Miss Anne 
Bannerman likewise should not be forgotten, who.st 
" Tales of Superstition and Cliivahy" appeared 
about 1802. They were perhaps too mystical and 
too abrupt ; yet if it be the purpose of this kind 
of ballad poetry powerfully to excite the imagina- 
tion, without pretending to satisfy it, few persona 
have succeeded better than tliis gifted lady, whose 
volume is pecuharly fit to be read in a lonely 
house by a decaying lamp. 

As we have already hinted, a numerous class ol 
the authors (some of them of the very first class) 
who condescended to imitate the simphcity of an- 
cient poetry, gave themselves no trouble to ob- 
serve the costume, style, or manner, either of the 
old minstrel or ballad-smger, but assumed a strwi 
ture of a separate and peculiar kind, which couKI 
not be correctly termed either ancient or modern, 
although made the vehicle of beauties which were 
common to both. The discrepancy between the 
mark wliich they avowed their purpose of .shooting 
1 at, and that at which they really took aim, is best 
illustrated by a production of one of the most dis- 
tinguished of their number. Goldsmith describes 
the young family of his Vicar of Wakefield, a^ 
I amusing themselves with conversing about poetry 
I Mr. Burchell observes, that the British poets, who 



560 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



imitated the classics, hare especially contributed 
to introduce a false taste, by loading their Unes 
with epithets, so as to present a combination of 
luxuriant images, without plot or connection, — a 
string of epithets that improve the sound, ■without 
carrying on the sense. But "when an example of 
popular poetry is produced as free from the fault 
yliich the critic has just censured, it is the well- 
kcown and tjcautiful poem of Edwiu and Angelina ! 
wliicli, m feUcitous attention to the language, and 
in fanciful ornament of imagery, is as unlike to a 
minstrel ballad, as a lady assuming the dress of a 
Shepherdess for a masquerade, is different from 
the actual Sisly of Salisbury Plain. Tickell's 
beautiful ballad is equally formed upon a pastoral, 
sentimental, and ideal model, not, however, less 
beautifully executed ; and the attention of Addi- 
son's friend had been probably du'ected to the 
ballad stanza (for the stanza is all which is imi- 
tated) by the praise bestowed on Chevy Chase ia 
the Spectator. 

Upon a later occasion, the subject of Mallet's 
fine poem, Edwin and Emma, being absolutely 
rural in itself, and occm-ring at the hamlet of 
Bowes, in Yorksliire, might have seduced the poet 
from the beau ideal which he had pictured to him- 
fielf, into something more immediately allied to 
common life. But Mallet was not a man to neg- 
lect wliat was esteemed fasliionable, and poor 
Haimah Rjiilton and her lover Wrightson were 
enveloped in the elegant but tinsel frippery ap- 
pertaining to Edward and Emma ; for the similes, 
reflections, and suggestions of the poet are, in fact, 
too intrusive imd too well said to suffer the reader 
to feel the full taste of the tragic tale. The verses 
are doubtless beautiful, but I must own the simple 
prose of the Curate's letter, who gives the narra- 
tive of the tale as it really happened, has to me a 
tone of serious veracity more affecting than the 
ornaments of MaUet's fiction. The same author's 
ballad, " William and Margaret," has, in some 
degi'ee, tlie same fault. A disembodied spirit is 
not a person before whom the hving spectator 
takes leisure to make remarks of a moral kind, as, 

Po will the fairest face appear, 
Wlien yoath and years are flown, 

Ami such the robe that Kings mast wear 
When death has reft their crown." 

Upon the whole, the ballad, though the best of 
Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to its origi- 
nal, which I presun ? to be the very fine and even 
terrific old Scottish ale, beginning, 

" Tliere came a ,^host to Margaret's door." 

I If 1 am right in what most be a very early recollection, I 
luvv Mr. Cartwrigbt (tlien a student of medicine at the Edin- 
bui^gh University) at the house of" my maternal grandfather, 
(oho Rutherford, M. D. 



It may be found in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-table 
Miscellany." 

We need only stop to mention another very 
beautiful piece of this fanciful kind, by Dr. Cart- 
wright, called Armin and Elvira, containing some 
excellent poetry, expressed with unusual feUcity. 
I have a vision of having met this accompUshed 
gentleman in my very early youth, and am the 
less likely to be mistaken, as he was the first Uving 
poet I recollect to have seen.' His poem had the 
distinguished honor to be much admired by our 
celebrated plulosojjher, Dugald Stewart, who was 
wont to quote 'with much pathos, the picture of 
resignation in the following stanza : — 

' *' And while liis eye to Heaven he raised. 
Its silent waters stole away."^ 

After enumerating so many persons' of undorbt 
ed geniuSj'who have cultivated the Arcadian style 
of poetry (for to such it may be compared), it 
would be endless to enumerate the various Sir 
Eldreds of the hills and downs whose stories were 
woven into legetidary tales — "wliich came at length 
to be the name assigned to this half-ancient, half 
modern style of composition. 

In general I may observe, that the supposed fa 
cility of this species of composition, the alluring 
simplicity of which was held sufficient to support 
it, afl'orded great attractions for those whose am^ 
bition led them to exercise their untried talents 
m verse, but who were desirous to do so with the 
least possible expense of thought. The task seema 
to present, at least to the inexperienced acolyte 
of the Muses, the same advantages which an 'a. 
strument of sweet sound and small compass offen 
to those who begin their stuthes in music. In 
either case, however, it frequently happens that 
the scholar, getting tired of the pallmg ;vnd monot- 
onous character of the poetry or music which he 
produces, becomes desirous to strike a more inde- 
pendent note, even at the risk of its being a more 
difficult one. 

The same simphcity involves an inconvenience 
fiital to the continued popularity of any species of 
poetry, by exposing it ui a peculiar degree to ridi- 
cule and to parody. Dr. Johnson, whose style ol 
poetry was of a very different and more stately 
description, could ridicule the ballads of Percv. in 
such stanzas as these, — 

" The tender infant, meek at. mild. 
Fell down upon a stone ; 
The nurse tooli up the sqnalling child. 
But still the child sqaall'd on ;" 

with various slip.shod imitations of the same <)aai' 

3 Happily altered by an admiring foreigner, who read 
'* The silent waten> stole away." 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



561 



it/.' It -lid not require his talents to pursue ibis 
reii of rmllery, for it was such as most men could 
iiiitate, aud all could enjoy. It is, therefore, little 
wonderful that this sort of composition should be 
repeatedly laid aside for considerable periods ol 
' timfi aiid cei tainly as little so, that it should have 
been repeatedly revived, Uke some forgotten mel- 
i>,Iy, and have ag.'iin obtained some degree of pop- 
ularity, until it sunk once more under satire, as 
well as parody, but, above all, the effects of satiety. 

During the tlmty years that I have paid some 
attention to literary matters, the taste for the an- 
cient ballad melody, .and for the closer or more 
Jist.aut imitation of thiit strain of poetry, has more 
than once arisen, antl more than once subsided, in 
consequence, perhaps, of too unUmited indulgence. 
That this has been the case in other countries, we 
know ; for the Spimish poet, when he found that 
the beautiful Morisco romances were excluding all 
other topics, confers upon them a hearty maledic- 
tion.' 

A period when tliis particular taste for the pop- 
ular ballad was in the most extravagant degree 
of fa.shion, became the occasion, unexpectedly, in- 
».*eed, of my deserting the profession to which I 
■was educated, and ui which I had sufEciently ad- 
vantageous prospects for a person of limited ambi- 
tion. I have, in a former publication, undertaken 
to mention tliis circumstance ; and I will endeavor 
to do so with becoming brevity, and without more 
egotism than is positively exacted by the nature 
if the story. 

I ms'.y, in the first place, remark, that although 
the ass'j*tion has been made, and that by persons 
who seemed satisfied with their authority, it is a 
mistake to suppose that my situation in life or 
place in society were materially altered by such 
success as I attained in htcrary attempts. My 
birth, without giving the least pretension to dis- 
tinction, was that of a gentleman, and connected 
me with several respectable families and accom- 
pli.«hed persons. My education had been a good 
one, although I was deprived of its full benefit by 
'indifferent health, just at the period when I ought 
to have been most sedulous in improving it. The 
'voung meL' with whom I was brought up, and 
'lived most familiarly, were those, who, from op- 
portunities, birth, and tsilents, might be expected 
to make the greatest advances in the career for 
which we were all destined ; and I have the 
pleasure still to preserve my youthful intimacy 
irith no inconsiderable number of them, whom 
hell merit has carried forward to the highest 



* Jrarcy was especially annoyed, according to Bosvrell, with 



pot my hat npon my head. 
And walked into the Strand, 



honors of their profession. Neither was I m a 
situation to be embarrassed by the res anc/usta 
doint, which might have otherwise brought painful 
additional obstructions toapath iriwliich progress 
is proverbijilly slow. I enjoyed a moderate degree 
of btiiness for my standing, and the friendship oj 
more than one person of consideration and in- 
fluence efilciently disposed to aid ray views ii 
life. The private fortune, also, which I might e» 
pect, and finally inherited, from my family, di^ 
not, indeed, amount to affluence, but placed me 
considerably beyond all .apprehension r<f want. I 
mention these particulars merely because they are 
true. Many better men than myself have owed 
their rise from in(.ligence and obscurity to their 
own talents, which were, doubtless, much more 
adequate to the task of r;iising thttm than any 
wliich I possess. But although it would be ab- 
surd and ungracious in me to deny, that I owe 
to literature many marks of distinction to which 
I could not otherwise have aspired, and particu- 
larly that of securmg the acquaintance, and even 
the friendship, of many remarkable persons of the 
age, to whom I could not othei'wise have m.ade 
my way ; it would, on the other hand, be ridicu- 
lous to affect gratitude to the public favor, either 
for my gener.al position jn society, or the means of 
supporting it with decency, matters which had 
been otherwise secured under the usual ch;mce» 
of hum,an aflfeirs. Thus much I have thought i 
necessary to say upon a subject, which is, after all, 
of very httle consequence to any one but myself I 
proceed to detail the circumst.ances wliich eng,Tged 
me in literary pursuits. 

During the last ten years of the eighteenth 
century, the .art of poetry was at a remarkably 
low ebb in Britain. Hayley, to whom fa.«hion h.ad 
some years before ascribed a higher degree of rep- 
utation than posterity has confirmed, Ivad now 
lost his reputation for talent, though he still lived 
beloved and respected as an amiable and accom- 
phshed man. The Bard of Memory slumbered 
on his laurels, and He of Hope had scarce begun 
to attract his share of pubhc attention. Cowper, 
a poet of deep feeling and bright genius, was still 
alive, indeed ; but the hypochondria, which was 
his mental n.iilady, impeded liis popuLarity. Burns 
whose genius om- southern neighbors could hardly 
yet comprehend, had long confined hunself tc 
song- writing. Names wliich are now known and 
distingui.«hed wherever the English language it 
spoken, were then only beginning to be men- 
tioned ; and, unless among the small number of 



And there I met another man 
With his hat in his hand." — Ed. 
3 See the Introduction to Lockhart's Spaiusii Ballads, 19 
p. xxii. 



562 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



persons Tvlio habitually devote a part of their 
leisure to literature, even those of Southey, 
Wordsworth, and Coleridge, were still but little 
known. Tlie realms of Parnassus, lilie many a 
kingilom at the period, seemed to lie open to the 
first bold invader, whether he should be a daring 
usurper, or could show a legitimate title of sove- 
reignty. 

As far back as 1788, a new species of literature 
oegan to be introduced into this country. Ger- 
many, long known as a powerful branch of the Eu- 
ropean confederacy, was then, for the first time, 
heard of as tlie cradle of a style of poetry and lit- 
erature, of a kind much more analogous to that of 
Britain, than eitlier tlie French, Spanish, or Itahan 
Bchools, thougli all three had been at various times 
cultivated and unitated among us. Tlie names of 
Les.smg, Klopstock, Scliiller, and other German 
poets of eminence, were only known in Britain very 
imperfectly. " The Sorrows of Werter" was the 
only composition that had attained any degree of 
popularity, and the success of that remarkable 
novel, notwitlistanding th^ distmguished genius of 
the author, was retarded by the nature of its inci- 
dents. To the otlier compositions of Goethe, whose 
talents were destined to illuminate the age in which 
he flourished, the English remained strangers, and 
much more so to Scluller, Btirger, and a whole cy- 
cle of foreigners of distinguished merit. The ob- 
scurity to wliich German Uterature seemed to be 
condemned, did not arise from want of brilliancy 
in the lights by which it was illuminated, but from 
the palpable thickness of the darkuess by which 
tliey were smTounded. Frederick II. of Prussia 
bad given a partial and ungi-acious testimony 
against his native language and native literature, 
and inipoUtically and unwisely, as well as unjustly, 
had yielded to the French that superiority in let- 
ters, which, after his death, paved the way for 
their obtaining, for a time, an equal superiority in 
arms. That great Prince, by setting the example 
of undervaluing his country in one respect, raised 
a belief in its general inferiority, and destroyed the 
manly pride with which a nation is natm-ally dis- 
posed to regard its own pecuUar manners and pe- 
culiar Uterature. 

Unmoved by the scornful neglect of its sover- 
eigns and nobles, and encouraged by the tide of 
native genius, wliich flowed in upon the nation, 
German literature began to assume a new, inter- 
esting, and highly impressive characteT, to winch 
it became impossible for strangers to shut their 
-iyes. That it exhibited the faults of exaggeration 
and false taste, almost inseparable from the first 
attempts at the heroic and at the pathetic, cannot 
be denie 1. It was, in a word, the first crop of a 
rich soil, which throws out weeds as well as flow- 
ers with % prolific abundance 



It was so late as the 21st day of April, llSfii 
that the hterary persons of Edinburgh, of whom, 
at that period, I am better quahfied to speak than 
of those of Britam generally, or especially those of 
London, were first made aware of the existence . 
of works of genius in a language cognate with the 
English, and possessed of the same manly force of 
expression. They learned, at the same tiu.e that 
the taste which dictated the German compositions 
was of a kind as nearly allied to the EngUsh as 
their language. Those who were accustomed from 
their youth to adniii'e Milton and Shakspeare, be- 
came acquainted, I may say for the fu-st time, with 
the existence of a race of poets who had the same 
lofty ambition to spurn the fijmaing boundaries of the 
universe,' and investigate the reahus of chaos and 
old night ; and of dramatists, who, disclauning the 
pedantry of the unities, sought, at the expense of oc- ' 
casional improbabilities and extravagancies, to pre- 
sent Ufe in its scenes of wildest "contrast, and in all 
its boundless variety of character, mingling, without 
hesitation, livelier with more serious fticidents, and 
exchanging scenes of tragic distress, as they occur 
in common Ufe, with those of a comic tendency. 
This emancipation from the rules so servUely ad- 
hered to by the French school, and particularly by 
theu- dramatic poets, although it was attended 
with some disad rantages. especially the risk of 
extravagance and bombast, was the means of giv- 
ing free scope to the genius of Goethe, Schiller, 
and others, which, thus roUeved from shackles, was 
not long in soaring to the highest pitch of poetic 
sublimity. The late venerable Henry Mackenzie, 
author of " The Man of FeeUng," in an Essay upon 
the German Theatre, introduced his countrymen 
to this new species of national literature, the pecu- 
Uarities of which he traced with equal truth and 
spirit, although they were at that time known to 
hull only througl the imperfect and uncongenial 
medium of a French translation. Upon the daj 
ali'eady mentioned (21st April, 1788), he read to 
the Royal Society an Essay on German Litera- 
ture, which made much noise, and produced & 
powerful effect. " Germany," he observed, " in her 
literary aspect, presents herself to observation in 
a singular point of view ; that of a country arrived 
at maturity, along with the neighboring nations, 
in the arts and sciences, in the pleasures and re- 
finements of manners, and yet only in its infancy 
with regard to writings of taste and imagination. 
This last path, however, from these very cncum- 
stances, she pursues with an enthusiasm which no 
other situation could perhaps have produced, the 
enthusiasm which novelty hispires, and which the 
servility incident to a more cultivated and critical 
state of literature does not restrain." At th« 

" Flammantia iiiceiiia muntli." — I.rcRETlua 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONlt OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



i)6a 



Mme lime, the acroiipliehed critic showed himself 
equally faiiiiliiir willi tlie classical rules of the 
French stage, and failed not to touch upon the ac- 
knowledged advantages whicli these produced, by 
the encouragement and regulation of taste, thougli 
at tiie risk of repressing genius. 

But it was not tlie dramatic Uterature alone of 
tlie Germans wliich was liitlicrto unknown to their 
neigldjors — tlieir fictitious narrati\'os, their ballad 
poetry, and other branches of their Uterature, 
which are pai'ticularly apt to bear the stamp of 
the extravagant and the supernatural, began to 
occupy the attention of the British hterati. 

In Edinburgh, wliere the remarkable coinoidence 
between the German huiguage and that of the 
liowland Scottish, encouraged young men to ap- 
proach this newly discovered spring of literature, 
a class was formed, of six or seven intimate friends, 
who proposed to niake themselves acquainted with 
Ihe German language. They were m the habit of 
living much together, and the time they spent in 
this new study was felt as a period of great amuse- 
ment. One source of this diversion was the lazi- 
ness of one of tlieir number, the present author, 
who, averse to the necessary toil of grammar and 
its rules, was in tlie practice of fighting his way to 
the knowledge of the German by liis acquaintance 
irith the Scottish and Anglo-Saxon cUalects, and, 
jf course, frequently committed blunders wliich 
urre not lost on liis more accurate and more stu- 
lUous companions. A more general source of 
imuseme.it, was the despair of the teacher, on 
Ending it impossible to extract from liis Scottish 
students the degree of sensibUity nccessarv, as he 
' 'Uglit, to enjoy the beautie.'! of the author to 
im he considered it proper first to introduce 
in. We were desirous to penetrate at once 
" the recesses of the Teutonic hterature, and 
■lefore were ambitious of perusing Goethe and 
liillcr, and others whose tame had been sounded' 
Mackenzie. Dr. Willich (a medical gentleman), 
ri was our teacher, was judiciously disposed to 
Mimence our studies with the more simple dic- 
II of Gesner, and prescribed to us "The Death 
'I Abel," as the production from which our Ger- 
'iiiui tasks were to be drawn. Tlie pietistic style 
litis author was ill adapted to attract young 
rsons of our age and disposition. We could no 
re symp.ithize with tlie overstrained sentimen- 
iily of Adam and liis family, than we coidd liave 
la fellow-fceUng with the jolly Faun of the 
me autlior, who broke hi?, bea jtiful jug, and then 
.1 Ic a song on it which might have affected all 
'iitford.'^liire. To sum up the distresses of Dr. 
^\ illich, we, with one consient, voted Abel an in- 

■ Alexander Frasser Tyller, 3 Judge of the Conrt of Session 
y the title of Lord Woodhoinelee. author of the well-known 
Elements of General History " and long eminent as Professor 



suflFerable bore, and gave the pre-eminence, in 
point of masculine character, to liis brother Cain, 
or even to Lucifer liimself Wlien these jests, 
which arose out of the sickly monotony and affect- 
ed ecstasies of the poet, failed to amuse us, we 
bad for our entertauunent the unutterable souiida 
manufactiU'ed by a Frenclmian, our fr>'.'ow -student, 
who, with tile economical purpose of learning two 
languiiges at once, was endeavoring to acquire 
German, of which lie knew notliiiig, by means of 
Enghsh, concerning which he was nearly as igi a 
rant. Heaven only knows the notes which he nt- 
tered, in attempting, with tinpractisetl organs, t. 
imitate the gutturals of these two mtractable Ian 
guages. At length, in the midst of much laughing 
and little study, most of us acquired some know 
ledge, more or less extensive, of the German lan- 
guage, and selected for ourselves, some in the 
philosophy of Kant, some in the more animati,d 
works of the German dramatists, specimens more 
to our taste than " The Death of Abel." 

About tliis period, or a year or two sooner, the 
accomphshed and excellent Lord Woodhoueelee,' 
one of the friends of my youtli, made a spiriteil 
version of " The Robbers" of Schille^', which I bo 
lieve was the first published, though an English 
version appeared soon afterwards in London, as 
the metropolis then took the lead in every thing 
Uke literary adventure. The entliusiasm with 
which this work w.as receivea, greaiiy mcreased 
the general taste for German compositions. 

While miiversal curiosity was thus distinguisli- 
ing tlie advancing taste for the Gcriiiau language 
and literature, the success of a very young student, 
in a juvenile publication, seemed to show that the 
prevailing taste in that country might be easily 
employed as a formidable auxihary to renewing 
the spu-it of our own, upon the same system aa 
when medical persons attempt, by the transfusion 
of blood, to pass into the veins of an aged :md ex- 
hausted patient, the'vivacity of the circulation and 
livehncss of sensation which distinguish a young 
subject. The person who first attempted to in- 
troduce sometliing like the German taste into 
English fictitious dramatic and jioetical composi- 
tion, altliough liis works, when first published, 
engaged general attention, is now comparatively 
forgotten. I mean Matthew Gregory Lewi.s, whoM 
character and literary lii.story are so inimediateiy 
connected with tlie subject of which I ani treating 
that a few authentic particulars m.ay be here in 
sertetl by one to whom he was weU known.' 

Lewi.s's rank in society was determined b)' liii 
birth, which, at the same time, assured liis fortune 
His fatlier was Under-Secretary at War, at thai 



He died li 



of History in the University of Edinburgli. 
ISIO.— Ed. 
3 See more of Lewis in the Life oj Scott, vol ii. pp. 8-14 



564 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



time a very lucrative appointment, and the young 
poet was provided witli a seat in Parliament as 
soon as his age permitted him to fill it. But his 
mind did not incline him to poUtics, or, if it did, 
they were not of the complexion wliich bis father, 
attached to Mr. Pitt's adnmiistratioTi, would have 
ippioved. He was, moreover, indolent, jmd though 
possessed of abilities sufficient to conquer any diffi- 
culty which might stand in the way of classical 
attainments, he preferred applying his exertions 
in, a path where they were rewarded with more 
immediate applause. As he completed his edu- 
cation abroad, he had an opportimity of indulging 
his inclination for the extraordinary and supernatu- 
ral, by wandering through the whole enchanted 
land of German faery and diablerie, not forgetting 
the paths of her enthusiastic tragedy and romantic 
poetry. 

We are easily induced to imitate what we ad- 
mire, and Lewis early distinguished himself by a 
romance in the German taste, called " Tlie Monk." 
Ie this work, written in liis twentieth year, and 
fou.ided on the Eastern apologue of the Santon 
Barsisa, the author introduced supernatural ma- 
chinery with a courageous consciousness of his own 
power to manage its ponderous strength, which 
conmianded the respect ^ of liis reader. " The 
Monk" was publislied in 1795, and, tliougli liable 
to the objections common to the scliool to which it 
belonged, and to others peculiar to itself, placed 
its author at once high in the scale of men of let- 
ters. Nor can that be regarded as an ordinary 
exertion of genius, to wliich Charles Fox paid tlie 
unusual compliment of crossing the House of Com- 
mons that he might congratulate the young author, 
whose work obtained high praise 'from many other- 
able men of that able time. The pm-ty which ap- 
proved " The Monk" was at first superior in the 
lists, and it was some time before the anonymous 
author of the " Pursuits of Literature" denounced 
as puerile and absurd the supernatural machinery 
which Lewb had introduced — 

' ' I bear an English heart, . 

Unused at ghosts or rattling bones to start." 

Yet the acute and learned critic betrays some in- 
consistency in praising the magic of the Itahan 
pouts, and comphmenting Mr.s. Radchffe for her 
Buf cess in supernatural imagery, for which at the 
tame moment he thus sternly censures her brother 
ijovelist. 

A more legitimate topic of condemnation was 
the indelicacy of particular passages. The present 
author will hardly be deemed a willing, or at least 
Bi> interested apologist for an offence equally re- 
pugnant to decency and good breeding. But as 
Lewis at once, and with a good grace, submitted 
■o the voice of censure, and expunged the objec- 



tionable passages, we cannot help considering the 
manner in which tlie fault was insisted on, after 
all the amends had been offered of which the case 
could admit, as in the last degree ungenerous and 
uncandid. The pertinacity with whicli the pas- 
sages so much fotmd fault with were dwelt upon, 
seemed to warrant a behef that something more 
was desired tlian the correctiv.;. of the author's 
errors; and that, where the apologies of exireme 
youth, foreign education, and instant submission, 
were unable to satisfy the critics' fury, they must 
liave been determined to act on the severity of 
the old proverb, " Confess and be hanged." Cer 
tain it is, that other persons, offenders in the same 
degree, have been permitted to sue out their par- 
don witliout either retraction or palinode.' 

Another peccadillo of the author of " The Monk" 
was his havuig borrowed from Musajus, and from 
the popular tales of the Germans, the singular and 
striking adventure of the " Bleeding Nim." But 
the bold and free hand with wliich he traced some 
scenes, as well of natural terror as of that which 
arises from supernatural causes, shows distinctly 
that the plagiarism could not liave been occa- 
sioned by any deficiency of invention on his part, 
though it might take place from wantonness or 
wilfulness. 

In spite of the objections we have stated, " The 
Monk " was so highly popular, that it seemed to 
create an epoch in our literature. But the public 
were chiefly captivated by the poetry with wliich 
Mr. Lewis had interspersed his prose narrative. It 
has now passed from recollection among the changes 
of Uterary taste ; but many may remember, as well 
as I do, the effect produced by the 'beautiful bal- 
lad of " Durandarte," which had the good fortune 
to be adapted to an air of great sweetness and 
pathos ; by the ghost tale of " Alonzo and Imo- 
gine ;" and by several other pieces of legendary 
poetry, which addressed themselves in all the 
charms of novelty and of simpUcity to a pubUc 
who had ffir a long time been unused to any regale 
of the kind. In his poetry as well as liis prose, 
Mr. Lewis had been a successful imitator 'of the 
Germans, both in his attachment to tlie ancient 
ballad, and in the tone of superstition which they 
wilUngly mingle with it. New arrangements of 
the stanza, and a varied construction of verses, 
were also adopted, and welcomed as an addition 
of a new string to the British liarp. In this re- 
spect, the stanza in which " Alon/o the Brave " » 
written, was greatly admired, and received as at 
improvement worthy of adoption uito EngUsh poe 
try. 

In short, Lewis's works were admired, and thi 
author became famous, not merely through hw owi 



I See Appendix, Nots B 






ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



sot 



nerit, though that was of no mean quality, but 
because he had in some measure taken the public 
by eupiisc, by using a style of composition, which, 
like national melodies, is so congenial to the gen- 
eral taste, that, though it palls by being much 
hackneyed, ii lias only to be for a short time for- 
(fotten in orde> to lecover its original popularity. 

It chanced tiiav, whJe his fiime was at the 
highest, Mr. Lewis became ahnost a yearly visitor 
to Scotlimd, chiefly from tittachment to the illus- 
trious family of Argyie. 'I'he writer of these re- 
marks had the advantage of being made known 
to the most distinguished author of the day, by a 
lady who belongs by birth to that family, and is 
(.qually cUstinguished by her beauty and accom- 
plishments.' Out of this accident-al acquaintance, 
which increased into a sort of intimacy, conse 
qucnces arose which altered almost all the Scot- 
tish ballad-maker's future prospects in life. 

In early youth I- had been an eager student of 
Ballad Poetry, and the tree is still in my recol- 
lection, beneath which I lay and first entered upon 
the enchanting perusal of Percy's " Reliques of 
Ancient Poetry,'"' although it has long perished in 
the general bhght wliich affected the whole race 
of Oriental platanus to which it belonged.^ The 
taste of another person had strongly encouraged 
my own researches into this species of legendary 
lore. But I had never dreamed of ao attempt to 
imitate what gave me so much pleasure. 

I 'had, indeed, tried the metrical translations 
which were occasionally recommended to us at the 
High School. I got credit for attempting to do 
what was enjoined, but very little fur the mode 
in which the task was performed, and I used to 
feel not a little mortified when my versions were 
placed in contrast with others of admitted merit. 
A.t one period of my school-boy days I was so far 
left to my own desires as to become guilty of 
Verses on a Thunder-storm,' which were much 
approved of, untU a malevolent critic sprung up, 
in the shape of an apothecary's blue-buskined wife, 
who affirmed that my most sweet poetry was 
stolen from an old magazine. I never forgave the 
imputation, and even now I acknowledge some 
resentment against the poor woman's memory. 
She indeed accused me unjustly, when she said I 
'■ had stolen my brooms ready made ; but as I had, 
like most premature pcets, copied all the words 
and ideas of wliich my verses consisted, she was 
«o far right. I made one or two faint attempts at 
terse, after I had undergone this sort of daw- 

' The Lady CliarloUe Bory.— Ed. 

» See Life of Scott, vol. i. p. 53. 

' This tree ^.w in a large garden attached to a cottage at 
Kel» the rer <eDC« of my father's sister, where I spent many 



plucking at the hands of the apothecary's wife 
but some friend or other always advised me tc 
put my verses in the fire, and, like Uorax in the 
play, I submitted, though " with a swelling heart." 
In short, excepting the usual tribute to a mis- 
tress's eye-brow, wliich is the language of passion 
rather than poetry, I had not for ten years m ' 
dulged the wish to couple so much as /ov and 
dove, when, finding Lewis in possession of so nir.ch 
reputation, imd conceiving that, if I fell behind 
him in poetical powers, I considerably exceeded 
him in general information, I suddenly took it into 
my head to attempt the style of poetry by wliicb 
he had raised himself to fame. 

This idea was hurried into execution, in conse- 
quence of a temptation which others, as well as 
the author, found it difficult to resist. The cele- 
brated ballad of " Lenorfe," by Biirger, was about 
this time introduced into England: and it is. re- 
markable, that, written as far back as 1775, it was 
upwards of twenty years before it was known ii» 
Britain, though calculated to make so strong an 
impression. The wild character of the tale was 
such as struck the imagination of all who read it, 
although the idea of tlie lady's ride behind the 
spectre horseman had been loug before hit upon 
by an EngUsh ballad-maker. But this pretended 
English original, if in reality it be such, is so dull, 
flat, and prosaic, as to leave the distinguished Ger- 
man author all that is valuable in bis story, by 
clothing it with a fanciful wildness of expression, 
wliich serves to set forth the marvellous tale in its 
native terror. The ballad of " Lenor6 " accord- 
ingly possessed general attractions for such of the 
English as understood the language in which it ia 
written; and, as if there had been a charm in the 
ballad, no one seemed to cast his eyes upon it 
without a desire to make it known by translation 
to his own countrymen, and six or seven versiooi 
were accordingly presented to the public. Al 
though the present author was one of those who 
intruded his translation on the world at this time, 
he may fairly exculpate himself from the rashness 
of entering the lists' against so many rivals. The 
circumstances which threw him into this competi 
tion were quite accidental, and of a nature tend 
ing to show how much the destiny of human life 
depends upon miimportant occurrences, to which 
little consequence is attached at the moment. 

About the summer of 1793 or 1794, the cele- 
brated Miss Laetitia Aikin, better known as Mrs 
Barbauld, paid a visit to Edinburgh, and was rt- 

of the happiest days of ray youth. (1831.) [See Life, vol. I 
p. 156.— Ed.] 

* See these Verses among the " Miscellanies,'* whijh foUov 
this " Essay," where also many other pieces fiom the pen ol 
Su- Walter Scott are now for the first tiriie inclu !ed in as 
edition ol' his Poetical Works. 11641 ^ 



j(i6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ceived by such literary society as tbe place then 
boasted, with the hospitahty to which her talents 
and her worth entitled her. Among others, she 
was kindly welcomed by the late excellent and 
adnjired Professor Dugald Stewart, his lady, and 
family. It was in their eyeumg society that Miss 
Aikin drew from her pocket-book a version of 
"Lenor^," executed by William Taylor, Esq., of 
Norwich, with as much freedom as was consistent 
with great spu-it and scrupulous fidehty. She 
read this composition to the company, who were 
electrified by the tale. It was the more success- 
ful, that Mr. Taylor had boldly copied the imita- 
tive harmony of the German, and described the 
spectral journey in language resemblbig that of 
the original. Biirger had thus painted the ghostly 
career : 

" Und hDire, hurre, hop, liop, hop, 
Giiigs fort in sausenJein Galopp, 
Dass Ross und Reiter schnoben, 
Und Kies und Funken stoben.'* 

The words were rendered by the kindred sounds 
m English : 

*' Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede 
Splash, splash, across the sea ; 
Hurra, the dead can ride apace ! 
Dost fear to ride with me ?" 

When Miss Aikin had finished her recitation, 
she replaced in her pocket-book the paper from 
which she had read it, and enjoyed the satisfaction 
of having made a strong impression on the hear- 
ers, whose bosoms thriUed yet the deeper, as the 
ballad waa not to be more closely introduced to 
them. 

The author was not present upon this occasion, 
although he had then the distinguished advantage 
of beuig a familiiu- friend and frequent visitor of 
Professor Stewart iind his famdy. But he was 
absent from town while Miss Aikin was in Edin- 
burgh, and it was not until his return that he 
foimd all his friends in rapture with the intelli- 
gence and good ;ense of their visitor, but in par- 
ticular with the wonderful translation from the 
German, by metius of ^vliich she had delighted and 
astonished them. The enthusiastic description 
given of Biirger's Iiallad, and the broken account 
of the story, of which only two lines were recollect- 
ed, inspired the author, who had some acquaint- 
ance, as has been said, with the German language, 
and a strong taste for popular poetry, with a de- 
sire to see the original. 

This was not a wish easily gratified ; German 
works were ,at that time seldom found in London 



' Born Counters Harriet Bruhl of Martinskirchen, and mar- 
rieil to Hugh Scott. Esfj. of Harden, now Lord Polwarlh. the 
avthor's relative, and much valued friend almost from infancy. 



for sale — in Edinburgh never. A lady of nobl« 
German descent,' whose friendship I have enjoyed 
for m-ony years, found meims, however, to procure 
me a copy of Biirger's works from Hamburgh. 
The perusal of tlie original rather exceeded than 
disappointed the expectations which the report oj 
Mr. Stewart's family had induced me to form. At 
length, when the book had been a few hours in 
my possession, I found myself giving an animated 
account of the poem to a friend, and rashly'added 
a promise to furnish a copy in English ballad 
verse. 

I well recollect that I began my task after sup- 
per, and finished it about daybreak the next 
morning, by wliich time the ideas wliich the task 
had a tendency to summon up were rather of an 
uncomfortable character. As my object was much 
more to make a good translation of the poem for 
those whoin I wislied to please, than to acquire 
any poetical fame for myself, I retained in my 
translation the two lines which Mr. Taylor had 
rendered with equal boldness st.\d felicity. 

.My attempt succeetled far beyond my expecta- 
tions; and it mav readily be beheved, that I waa 
induced to persevere in a pursuit which gi-atified 
my own vanity, while it seemed to amuse others. 
I accompUsheda translation of " Der Wilde Jager" 
— a romantic ballad foimded on a superstition 
universally current in Germany, and known also 
in Scotland and France. In this I took rather 
more license than in versifj'ijig " Lenore ;" and I 
balladized one or two other poems of Btnger with 
more or less success. In the course of a few 
weeks, my own vanity, and the favorable opinion 
of friends, interested by the temporary reviv.al oi 
a species of poetry containing a germ of popularity 
of which perliaps they were not themselves aware, 
urged me to the decisive step of sending a selec- 
tion, at least, of my translations to the press, to 
save tlie numerous applications wliich were made 
for copies. When was there an author deaf to 
such a recommendation? In 1796, the present 
author was prevailed on, '■ by request of friends," 
to indulge liis own vanity by publishing the trans- 
lation of " Lenort:-,"^ with that of " The Wild Hunts- 
man," in a thin quiarto.' 

The fate of this, my first pubUcation, was by no 
means flattering. I distributed so m.any copies 
among my friends as, according to the booksellers, 
materially to interfere with the sale ; and the 
number of translations which appeared in England 
about the same time, including thtit of Mr. Taylor ; 
to which I had been so much indebted, and wliich 
was published in " The Monthly Magazine," were 



2 Under the Jtle of " William and Helen.*' — Ed. 

3 This thin quarto was published by Messrs. Man lers i 
Miller of Edinbur;jll. — Ed. 



ESSA-i ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



581 



•ufficient to exclude a provincial writer from com- 
pctitioa. However dift'crent my success might 
dave been, bad I been fortunate enough to have 
'ed the way in the general scnimble for prece- 
dence, my efforts sunk unnoticed when launched at 
the same time with those ol Mr. Taylor (upon 
whose property I had committed the kuid of pi- 
racy already noticed, and who generously forgave 
me the invasion of his righ*« ) ■ of my ingenious 
and amiable friend of many yoaj's, William Robert 
Spenser ; of Mr. Pye, th-? kurea'e of the day, and 
many others beside* Ji .1 vitd, my adventm-e, 
where so many pusb«fi o<t to sea, proved a dead 
loss, and a gi'eat pfly*. of the etUtion was con- 
demned to the seri'ce of the trunk-maker. Nay, 
80 complete was Klxe failure of the unfortmiate 
biillads, tliat the vory existence of them was soon 
'orgotten ; and, in a newspaper, in wliich I very 
lately re.-d, to r<v no small horror, a most appall- 
iug list 'if my own various pubUcations, I saw tliis, 
my fi"s* oft'oii^e, had escaped the industrious col- 
kct ir fi^r whose indefatigable reseiU'ch I may in 
prf.t'tuup wish a better object.' 

The failure of nn- first pubUcation did not ope- 
rate, in any impleasant degree, either on my feel- 
uigs or spirits. I was coldlv received by strangers, 
but my reputation began rather to increase among 
my own friends, and, on the whole, I was more 
bent to show the world that it had neglected 
nometliing worth notice, tlian to be aflfronted by 
its indilference. Or rather, to speak candidly, I 
found pleasure in the literary labor in which I had, 
ilmost by accident, become engaged, and labored, 
less in tlie hope of pleasing others, though certain- 
' ly without despair of doing so, than in the pursuit 
} of a new and agreeable amusement to myself. I 
I pursued the German language keenly, and, though- 
far from bemg a correct scholar, became a bold 
and daring reader, nay, even translator, of various 
' dramatic pieces from that tongue." 

The want of books at that time (about 1796), 
was a great interruption to the rapidity of my 
movements ; for the young do not know, and per- 
haps my own contemporaries may have forgotten, 
■ ths difficulty with which pubhcations were then 
procured from the continent. Tlie worthy and 
excellent friend, of whom I gave a sketch many 
I years afterwards in the person of Jonathan Old- 
I buck,' procured me Adclung's Dictionary, through 
the mediation of Father Pepper, a monk of the 
> Scotch C ; liege of Ratisbon. Other wants of the 

» The li >t here referred to was drawn up and inserted in the 

1 Caledonian 'Mercury, by Mr. Jamss Shaw, for nearly forty 

/eare past in the house of Sir Waiter Scott's publishere, 

Messrs. Constable and Cadell. of Edinburgh. — Ed. (See it in 

Life of Scatt, vol. X. pp. 269-276.) 

^ Sir Walter Scott's second publication was a translation of 
Coeth6's dpa«»* nl'Goetz of Berlichingen with the Iron Hand, 



same nature were supplied by Mrs. Scott of Har 
•Jco, whose kindness in a similar instance I have 
;xad ah'eaily occasion to acknowledge. Through 
this lady's connections on the continent, I obtained 
copies of Biirger, SchiUer, Gocthfi, and other stan- 
dard German works ; and though the obligation be 
of a distant date, it still remains impressed on my 
memory, after a life spent in a constant inter- 
change of friendsliip and kindness with that family, 
which is, according to Scottish idea.s, the head ol 
my house. 

Being thus fm-nished with the necessary origi- 
nals, I began to translate on all sides, certainly 
without any tiling Uke an acctu'ate knowledge of 
the hinguage ; and although the dramas of Goethe. 
Schiller, and others, powerfully attracted one 
whose early attention to the German had beer 
arrested by Mackenzie's Dissertation, and the play 
of " The Robbers," yet the ballad poetry, in whiel: 
I had made a bold es.stiy, was still my favorite. ) 
was yet more delighted on finding, that the old 
EngMsh, and especially the Scottish language, wore 
so nearly similar to the German, not in sound 
merely, but in the turn of plirase, that they were 
capable of being rendered hue for line, with verv 
little variation.' 

By degrees. T acquired sufKcient confidence U 
attempt the imitation of what I admired. The 
ballad called " Glenfinlas" was, I think, the first 
original poem which I ventured to compose. A." 
it is supposed to be a translation from the Gaelic. 
I considered myself as Mberated from imitatinj: 
the antiquated language and rude rhythm of the 
Minstrel ballad. A versification of an 0.ssianic 
fragment came nearer to the idea I had formed of 
my task; for although controversy may have 
arisen concerning the authenticity of these poems, 
yet I never heard it disputed, by those whom an 
accurate knowledge of the Gaelic rendereii com- 
■{letent judges, that in their spirit and diction they 
nearly resemble fragments of po: : ry e.xtant in thai 
language, to the genuine anti(] lity of which nv 
doubt can attach. Indeed, the ( lebrated dispute 
on that subject is somethmg hkr the more bloody, 
though scarce fiercer controvers . about the Popish 
Plot in Charles the Second's time, concerm'iu- 
which Dryden has said — 

" Succeeding times will eqnal folly call, 
Believing nothing, or believing all." 

The Celtic people of Erin and Albyn had. i>. 

which appeared in 1799. Ho about the same time trant- 
lated several other German plays, which yet remain in MS. 
Ed. 

3 The late George Constable, Esq. See Introduction to tjM 
Antiquary, Waverley Novels, vol. v. p. iv. — Ed 

* See Aooendix Nota O. 



6«fi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bhort, a style of poetry properly called national, 
though MacPberson was rather an excellent poet 
than a fiiitbful editor and translator. This style 
and fasliion of poetry, existing in a different lan- 
guage, was supposed to give the original of " Glen- 
finlas," and the author w.is to pass for one who 
had used his best command of Enghsh to do the 
GaeHc model justice. In one point, the incidents 
of the poem were irreconcilable with the costume 
of the times in which they were laid. The ancient 
Highland chieftains, when they had a mind to 
"hunt the dun deer down," did not retreat into 
solitary bothies, or trust the success of the chase 
to their own unassisted exertions, without a single 
gdUe to help them ; they assembled their clan, 
and all partook of the sport, forming a ring, or en- 
closure, called the Tinchell, and driving the prey 
towards the most distinguished persons of the 
hunt. This course would not have suited me, so 
Konald and Moy were cooped up in their solitary 
wigwam, like two moorfowl-shooters of the present 
day. 

After " Glenfinlas," I undertook another ballad, 
called " The Eve of St. John." The incidents, ex- 
cept the hints alluded to in the margin.il notes, 
are entirely imaginai'y, but the scene was that of 
my eai'ly childliood. Some idle persons had of 
late years, during the proprietor's absence, torn 
the iron-grated door of SmaiUiolm Tower from its 
hinges, and thrown it down the rock. I was an 
earnest suitor to my friend and kinsman, Mr. Scott 
of Harden, already mentioned, that the dilapida- 
tion might be put a stop to, and the mischief re- 
paired. This was readily promised, on condition 
that I should make a ballad, of wliich the scene 
ihould lie at Smailliohn Tower, and among the 
trags where it is situated." The ballad was ap- 
proved of, as well as its companion '* Glenfinlas ;" 
ind I remember that they procured me many 
marks of attenti"ii and kindness from Duke John 
of Roxburghe, wIjo gave me the unlimited use of 
that celebrated ci 1 lection of volumes from which 
the Ro-xburghe Club derives its name. 

Thus I was set up for a poet, Uke a pedlar who 
has got two ballads to begin the world upon, and 
I hastened to make the round of all my acquaint- 
ances, showing my precious wares, and requesting 
criticism — a boon which no author asks in vain. 
For it may be observed, that, in the fine arts, 
those who are in no respect able to produce any 
specimens themselves, hold themselves not the 
less entitled to decide upon the works of others ; 
ind, no doubt, with justice to a certain degree ; 



1 This is of little conseqoence, except in as far as it contra- 
dicts a story whicli I have seen in print, averring that Mr. 
c«ott of Harden wa^ himself about to destroy this ancient 
nil/Ung : than which nothing can be more inaccnrate. 



for the merits of composition produced for the ex- 
press pm-pose of pleasing the world at large, can 
only be judged of by the opinion of individuals, 
and perhaps, as in the case of Molifere's old woman, 
the less sophisticated the person consulted so much 
the better.'' But I was ignonmt, at the time I 
speak of, that though the applause of the many 
may justly appreciate the general merits of a piece, 
it is not so safe to submit such a performance to 
the more minute criticism of the same individuals, 
when each, in turn, having seated himself ui* the 
censor's chair, has placed his mind in a critical at- 
titude, and deUvers his opinion sententiously and 
ex cathedra. General applause was in almost 
every case freely tendered, but the abatements in 
the way of proposed alterations and corrections, 
were cruelly puzzling. It was in vain the young 
author, hstening with becoming modesty, and with 
a natural wish to please, cut and carved, tinkered 
and coopered, upon his.unfortunate ballads— it wa*' 
in vain that he placed, displaced, replaced, and 
misplaced ; every one of liis advisers was displeased 
with the concessions made to his co-assessors, and 
the author was blamed by some one, in almost 
every case, for having made two holes in attempt- 
ing to patch up one. • 

At last, after thinking seriously on the subject, 
I wrote out a fair copy (of Glenfinlas, I tliink), and 
marked all the various corrections which had been 
proposed. On the whole, I found that I had been 
requii'ed to alter every verse, almost every hue, 
and the only stanzas of the whole ballad which es- 
caped critJc'sm were two which could neither be 
termed good nor bad, speaking of them as poetry 
but were of ?. mere commonplace character, abso- 
lutely neces«»ry for conducting the busmess of the 
tale, litis imtxpected result, afte- about a fort- 
night's anxietv, led me to adopt a r\^e from whicl 
I have seldom departed during more than thu'ti 
years of hterary life. When a friend, whose jndg 
ment I respect, h%? decided, and upon good ad- 
visement told me, 'hat a manuscript was worth 
nothing, or at least possessed no redeeming quali 
ties sufficient to Aiow. fir its defects, I have gen- 
erally cast it aside ; but I am little in the custom 
of paying attention to rainute criticisms, or ol 
offering such to any fiiead who may do me the 
honor to consult me. I am convinced, that, in 
(general, in removing even errors of a trivial or 
venial kind, the ch.aracter of originaUty is lost, 
which, upon the whole, may be that which is most 
vaJuable in the production. 

About the time that I shook hands with crit: 



a See the account of a conversation between Sir Walta 
Scott and SirThomasLawrer.ee, in '- Camungham's Ijvei o 
Brilirh Painters," &c. vol. vi. p. 336.— Ed 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



568 



cism, and reduced my ballads back to the original 
'orm, stripping them without remorse of those 
' landings" which 1 had adopted at the suggestion 
of others, an opportunity unexpectedly offered of 
aitroducmg to the world what had liitherto been 
eontined to a cucle of friends. Lewis had an- 
nounced a collection, first intended to bear the 
title of " Tales of Terror," and afterwards pub- 
shed under that of " Tales of Wonder." As tliis 
was to be a collection of tales turning on the pre- 
ternatural, there were risks in the phin of which 
the ingenious editor was not aware. The super- 
natural, though appealing to certain powerful emo- 
tions very widely and deeply sown amongst the 
human race, is, nevertheless, a spring which is pe- 
culiarly apt to lose its elasticity by being too much 
pressed on, and a collection of ghost stories is not 
more likely to be terrible, than a collection of jests 
to be merry or entertaining. But although the 
very title of the proposed work carried in it an 
obstruction to its effect, this was far irora being 
suspected at the time, for the popularity of the 
editor, and of his compositions, seemed a warrant 
for his success. The distinguished favor with 
which the " Castle Spectre" was received upon the 
stage, seemed an additional pledge for the safety 
of his new attempt. I readily agreed to con- 
tribute the ballads of " Glenfinlas" and of " The 
Eve of Saint John," with one or two others of less 
merit ; and my friend Dr. Leyden became also a 
contributor. Mr. Southey, a tower of strength, 
»dded " The Old Woman of Berkeley," " Lord 
William," and several other interesting ballads of 
the same class, to the proposed collection. 

In the mean time, my friend Lewis found it no 
easy matter to discipline his northern recruits. 
He was a martinet, if I may so term him, in the 
accuracy of rhyTnes and of numbers ; I . may add, 
he had a right to be so, for few persons have ex- 
hibited more mastery of rhyme, or greater com- 
mand over the melody of verse. He was, there- 
fore, rigid in exacting similar accuracy from others?, 
and a^ I was quite unaccustomed to the me- 
- chanical part of poetry, and used rhymes which 
were merely permissible, as readily as those wliich 
were legitimate, contests often arose amongst us, 
which were exasperated by the pertinacity of my 
Mentor, who, as all who knew him can testify, 
was no granter of propositions. As an instance of 
the obstinacy with which I had so lately adopted 
a tone of defiance to criticism, the reader will find 
in the Appendix' a few specimens of the lectures 
which I underwent from my friend Lewis, and 
which did not at the time produce any effect on 
(ay inflexibility, though I did not forget them at a 
future period. 

> See Appendix, Notfl D. 



The proposed publication of the " Tales & 
Wonder" was, from one reason or another, post 
poned [ill the year 1801, a circumstance by wliich. 
of itself, the success of the work was considerably 
impeded ; for protracted expectation always leads 
to disappointment. But besides, there were cir- 
cumstances of various kinds which contributec' 
to its depreciation, some of which were imputa- 
ble to the editor, or author, and some to the 
bookseller. 

The former remained insensible of the passion 
for ballads and ballad-mongers having been for 
some time on the wane, and that with such altera- 
tion in the public taste, the chance of success in 
that line was diminished. IVhat had been at first 
received as simple and natural, was now sneered 
at as puerile and extravagant. Another objec- 
tion was, that my friend Lewis had a high but mis- 
taken opinion of his own powers of humor. The 
truth was, that though he could throw some gayety 
into his lighter pieces, after the mamier of the 
French writers, his attempts at what is called 
pleasantry in Engli.sh wholly wanted the quality 
of humor, and were generally failm*es. But this 
he would not allow ; and the " Tales of Wonder' 
were tilled, in a sense, with attempts at comedy, 
which might be generally accoimted abortive. 

Another objection, which might have been 
more easily foreseen, subjected the editor to a 
change of wliich Mat Lewis was entirely iuoapa 
ble, — that of collusion with liis publisher in an 
undue attack on the pockets of the public. The 
" Tales of Wonder" formed a work in royal 
octavo, and were, by large printing, driven out, aa 
it is technically termed, to two volumes, which 
were sold at a high price. Purchasers murmiu'ed 
at finding that this size had been attained by the 
insertion of some of the best known pieces of the 
English language, such as Dryden's " Theodore 
and Honoria," Pamell's " Hermit," Lisle's " Por- 
senna King of Russia," and many other popular 
poems of old date, and generally known, which 
ought not in conscience to have made part of a 
set of tales, "written and collected" by a modem 
author. His bookseller was also accused in the 
public prints, whether truly or not I am uncer- 
tain, of having attempted to secure to himself 
the entire profits of the large sale wliich he ex- 
pected, by refusing to his brethren the alio ' an- 
ces usually, if not in all cases, made to the retail 
trade. . 

Lewis, one of the most liberal as well as benev- 
olent of mankind, had not the least participation 
in these proceedings of his bibhopolist ; but his 
work sunk under the obloquy which was heaped 
on it by the offended parties. The book was 
termed " Tales of Plunder," was censured by 
reviewers, and attacked in newspapers and maga- 



570 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



tines. A very clever parody was made on the 
style and the person of (be author, and the 
world laughed as willingly as il' it had never ap- 
plauded. 

Thus, owing to the failure of the vehicle I had 
chosen, ray efforts to present myself before the 
pubUc as an original writer proved as "^ain as 
those by which I had previously endeavored to 
distinguish myself as a translator. Like Lord 
Home, however, at the battle of Flodden, I did so 
far well, that I was able to stand and save my- 
self ; and amidst the general depreciation of the 
" Tales of Wonder," my small slmre of the ob- 
noxious publication was dismissed without much 
censure, and in some cases obtained praise from 
the critics. 

Tlie consequence of my escape made me nat- 
urally more daring, and I attempted, in my own 
name, a collection of ballads of vai-ious kinds, both 
ancient and modern, to be connected by the com- 
mon tie of relation to the Border districts in 
which I had gathered the materials. The origi- 
nal preface explains my purpose, and the assist- 
ance of various kinds which I met with. The 
edition was curious, as being the first work printed 
by my fiiend and school-fellow, Mr. James Bal 
lantyi**, who, at that period, was editor of a 
provincial newspaper, called "Tlie Kelso Mail" 



Wlien the book came out, m 1802, the inipiia* 
Kelso, was read with wonder by amateurs (4 
typography, who had never heard of such a place 
and were astonished at 'the example of hana 
some ])rinting wliich fu obscure a town produced. 

As for the editorial part of the task, my at 
tempt to imitate tlie plan and style of Bishor 
Percy, observing only more strict fidelity concern 
ing my originals, was favorably received by thr 
piiblic, and there was a demand witliin a sbor' 
space for a second edition, to which I proposed tp 
add a third volume. Messrs, Gadell and Davi'O 
tlie first publishers of the work, declined the puh 
lication of this second edition, which was undei 
taken, at a very Uberal price, by the well-kaow» 
firm of Messrs. Longman and Rees of Paterno.?tet 
Row. My progress in the literary career, in which 
I might now be considered as seriously engaged, 
tlie reader wiU find briefly traced m an Introduc 
tion prefixed to the " Lay of the Last Minstrel."' 

In the mean time, the Editor has accomplished 
his proposed task of acquainting the reader with 
some particulars respecting the modern iinitationa 
of the Ancient Ballad, and the circumstances which 
gradually, and almost insensibly, engaged himself 
in that species of hterary employmint. 

W S. 

AsBOTSFOBD, April, JS80. 



APPENDIX ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



571 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The PRODDCTiON OF Modern as Ancient Ballads. — 
P. 558. 

Tuis failure applies to the repairs and rifacimentos of old bal- 
tads, as well 'ds to complete imitations. In the beautiful and 
nniple ballad of Gil Morris, Bome affected person has stuck in 
;ne or two fat?tiiious verses, which, like vulgar persons in a 
dra»ing-room, betiay themselves by their over finery. Thus, 
aflr* the simple and afti-cting verse which prepares the readers 
for ,Je coming tragedy, 

*' Gil Morrice sat in good green wood, 
He whistled and he sang ; 
' O, what mean a' yon folk coming, 
My moUier tarries lang V " 

lome such " vicious introraitter" as we have liescribed (to use 
i barbarous phrase for a barbarous proceeding), has inserted 
the following quintessence of affectation : — 

" His locks were like the threads of gold 
Drawn from Minerva's loom ; 
His lips like roses drapping dew. 
His breath was a' perfume. 

■' His brow was like the mountain snow, 
Gilt by the morning beam ; 
Uis cheeks like living roses blow, 
His een Uke azure stream. 

*' The boy was clad in robes of green, 
Sweet as the infant spring ; 
And, like the mavis on the bush, , 

_. "Vt the valleys ring." 



NoteB. 

M. G. Lewis.— 564. 

In jnstice to a departed friend, I have subjoined bis own 
defence against an accusation so remorselessly persisted in. 
The following is an extract of a letter to his father ; — 

My dear Father, Feb. 23, 1793. 

" Though certain that the clamor raised against ' Tlie Monk' 
eannot liave given you the smallest doubt of the rectitude of 
ny intentions, or the purity of my principles, yet I am con- 
icioos thai it must h^ve grieved you to find any donbls on the 
•nbject existing in tlie minila of other people. To express my 
•orrow lor having given you pain is my motive for now ad- 
dressing you, and also to assure you, that you shall not feel 
that pain a second time on my accoant. Having made you 
feel it at all, would be a sutlicient reason, had I no others, to 
make me regret having published the first edition of ' The 
Uook ;' but 1 have others, weaker, indeed, than the one men- 
lioned, but still sufBciently strong. I perceive that I have put 
loo much confidence in the accuracy of my own judgment ; 
Ihat convinced of my object being unexcep Jonable, I did not 



sufficiently examine whether the means by which 1 at ^ineo 
that object were equally so ; and that, upon mar y account^, I 
have to accuse myself of high imprudence. Let me, however, 
observe, that twenty is not the age at which prudence is most 
to be expected. Inexperience prevented my distinguishing 
what would give offence : but as soon as I found that offeiic* 
W3§ given, I made the only renaration in my power — I care 
fully revised the work, and expunged every syllable on which 
could be grounded the slightest construction of immorality 
This, indeed, was no difficult task ; for the objections rested 
entirely on expressions too strong, and words carelessly chosen 
not on the sentiments, characters, or general tendency of the 
work ; — that the latter is undeserving' censure, Addison wil 
vouch for me. The moral and outline of my story are takei 
from an allegory inserted by liim in the ' Guardian,' and which 
he commends highly for ability of invention, ami 'propriety 
of object.^ Unluckily, in working it up, I thought that the 
stronger my colors, the more effect would my picture produce ; 
and it never struck me, that the exhibition of vice in her tern- 
pora7-y triumph, might possibly do as much harm, as her fina' 
exposure and punishment could do good. To do much good, 
indeed, was more than I expected of my book ; having always 
believed that our conduct depends on our own hearts and 
characters, not on the books we read, or the sentiments we 
hear. But though I did not hone much benefit to arise from 
the perusal of a trifling romance, written by a youth of twert 
ty, I was in my own mind convinced, that no harm could be 
produced by a work whose subject was furnished by one ol 
our best moralists, and in the composition of which, I did not 
introduce a single incident, or a single character, withoni 
meaning to illustrate some maxim universally alio wed. It wai 
then with infinite surprise, that I heard the jotcry raised 
against the" ••*••*«» 
[I regret that the letter, though once perfect, now Dnly ex- 
ists in my possession as a fragment.] 



Note C. 

German Ballads. — P. 567. 

Among the popular Ballads, or Volkslieder. of the celebra- 
ted Herder, is (take one mslance out of many) a version of tha 
old Scottish song of " Sir Patrick Spence," in which, but foi 
difference of oithogi^phy, the two languages can be scarcely 
distinguished from each other For example — 

" The King sits in Danfermling town. 
Drinking the blood-red wine ; 

• Wliere will I get a good skipper 

To sail this ship of mine ?' " 

" Der Kosnig sitzt in DnmfermUng Schtoss - 
Er irinkt blnlrothen Wein ; 

* O wo triff ich einen Segler gut 

Dies Schiff zu seglen mein V " 

In like manner, the opening stanza of" Child Waters," aua 
many oUier Scottish ballads, fall as natar«lly and easily Htt« 



M2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the German habits and forms of speech, as if they had origi- 
Dallr *)eec composed in that language : 

" About Yule, when the wind was cole, 
And the round tables began, 
O there is come to our king's court 
Mony weel favor'd man." 

" In Christniessfest, in winter kalt, 
A4s Tafel rund began, 
Da kam zu Konig's Hoffand Hall 
Manch wackrer Ritter an." 

U requires only a smattering of both languages, to see at 
what cheap expense, even of vocables and rhymes, the poi)a- 
lar poetry of the one may be transferred to tiie other. Hardly 
any thing is more flattering to a Scottish student of German ; 
it resembles the une.\pected discovery of an old friend in a 
foreign land. 



Note D. 



BXTRACTS l-ROM TIIE CORRESPONDENCB OF M.O. LEWIS. 

—P. 569. 

My attention was called to this subject, which is now of an 
old date, by reading the following passage in Medwin's *' Ac- 
count of Rome Passages in Lord Byron's later Years." Lord 
riyron is supposed to speak. " When Walter Scott began to 
write poetry, which was not at a very early age. Monk Lewis 
corrected his verse : he understood little then of the mechani- 
cal part of the art. The Fire King, in the ' Minstrelsy of the 
Scottisli Border,' was almost all Lewis's. One of the balladi 
in that work, and, except some of Leyden's, perliapa one of 
the best, was made froui a story picked up in a stage-coach ; 
I mean that of * Will Jones.' 

' They boii'd Will Jones within the pot, 
And not much fat had Will.' 

*' I hope Walter Scott did not write the review on ' Christa- 
bel ;' for he certainly, in common with many of us, is indebted 
to Coleridge. But for him, perhaps, ' The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel' would never have been thought of. The line, 

'Jesu Maria shield thee well !' 

is word for word from Coleridge." 

There are some parts of this pasf^age e.\trcmely mistaken 
jnd exaggerated, as generally attends any attempt to record 
vhat passes in casual conversation, which resembles, in diffi- 
culty, the experiments of the old chemists for fixing quick- 
silver. 

The following is a specimen of my poor friend Lewis's criti- 
cism on my juvenile attempts at ballad poetry ; severe enough, 
perhaps, but for which I was much indebted to him, as forcing 
apon the notice of a young and careless author hints which 
■he said author's vanity made him unwilling to attend to, but 
which were absolutely necessary to any hope of his ultimate 
success. 

Supposed I79D. 

" Thank you for your revised ' Glenfinlas.' 1 grumble, but 
eay no more on this subject, altliough I hope you will not be 
so inflexible on that of your other Ballads ; for I do not despair 
of convincing you in time, that a bad rhyme is, in fact, no 
rhyme at all. Yon desired me to point oat my objections, 
leaving you at Uberty to make use of them or not; and so 
have at 'Frederic and Alice.' Stanza 1st, ^ hies' and ^ joys^ 
are not rhymes ; the 1st stanza ends with 'joys;' the 2d be- 
gins with "joying.^ In the 4th there is too sudden a change 
of tenses, 'Jiotcs' and ' rose' Gth, 7th, and 8th, I like much. 
9th, Does not ' ring his ears' sound ludicrous in yours 1 The 



first idea that presents itself is, that his eara were palled ; bn 
even the ringing of the ears does not please. I2th, 'Shower' 
and '7'Oflr,' not rhymes. 'Soil' and 'aisle,* in the 13th, are 
not much better; but 'head' and 'descried' are execrable 
hi the 14th, ' bar' and ' stair' are ditto ; and 'groping' is a 
nasty word. Vide Johnson, ' He gropes his breeches with a 
monarch's air.' In the 15th, you change your metre, which 
has always an unpleasant effect; and 'safe' and -receive' 
rhyme just about as well as Scott and Lewis woi-ld. llilh. 
'within' and 'strain' are not rhymes. 17th, ' he/ir' anil 
^ air.' not rhymes. IStli, Two metres are mixed; the same 
objection to the third line of the 19th. Observe that, in ihr 
Ballad. I do not always object to a variation of metre; bin 
then it ought to increase the melody, whereas, in my opinion, , 
in these instances, it is diminished. 

" The Chasb.— 12th, The 2d line reads very harshly ; and 
' chair' and * lore^ are not rhymes. 13th, ' Rides' and ' side* 
are not rhymes. 30th, ' Pour' and ' obscure,' not rhymes 
40th, ' Spreads' and 'invades' are not rhymes. 46th, ' Rend.*' 
and ' ascend' are not rliymes. 

"William and Helen. — In order that I may bring it 
nearer the original title, pray introduce, in the first stanza, the 
name of KUenora, instead of Ellen. ' Crusade' and 'sped,' 
not rhymes in the 2d. 3d, ' Made' and ' shed* are not rhymes; 
and if they were, come too close to the rhymes in the 2d. I» 
the 4th. 'Joy' and 'victory' are not rhymes. 7ih, The fir>i 
line wants a verb, otherwise is not intelligible. I'Jth, ' Qrace' 
and 'bliss' are not rhymes. 14tli, 'Bale' and ' hcW are not 
rliymes. 18th, * Vain' and 'fruitless' is tautology ; and as 
a verb is wanted, the line wi\l run better thus, ' And vain is 
every prayer.' 19lh. Is not ' ^o her' absolutely necessary in 
the 4th line? 20th, ' Qriicr' and 'bliss.' not rhymes. 21ct. 
' Bale^ and • hell,' not rhymes. 22d. I do not like the word 
'spent.' 23d, ' O^cr' and ^ star* are vile rhymes. 26th, A 
verb is wanted in the 4th line ; better thus, 'Then whispers 
thus a voice.' 28th, Is not ' Is't thou, my love V belter than 
' My love ! my love!' 31st, If ' wight' means, as I conjec- 
ture, 'enchanted,' does not this let the cat out of the bag? 
Ought not the spur to he sharp rather than bright? In the 
4th line, ' Stny' and ' day' jingle together : would it not be 
better, ' I must be gone e'er day V 32d, ' Steed' and ' bed' 
are not rhymes, 34th, ' Bride' and ' bed,' not rhymes. 35th, 
' Seat' and ' await,' not rhymes. 39th, • Kcrp hold' and ' sit 
fast' seem to vnj ear vulgar and prosaic. 40ih. The 4th Jine 
is defective in point of English, and, indeed, I do not quite 
understand the meaning. 43d, ' ^rose* and ' nursues' ar« 
not rhymes. 45th, I am not pleased wiui me epithet 'sav- 
age ;' and the latter part of the stanza is, to me, unintelligible, 
49th, Is it not closer to the original in line 3d to say, * Swift 
ride the dead V 50th, Does the rain ' whistle V 55th, line 3<1, 
Does it express, ' Is Helen afraid of them ?' 59th, ' Door' 
and 'flower' do not rhyme together. 00th, 'Scared' and 
' heard' are not rhymes, 63d, 'Bone' and 'skeleton,' nol 
rhymes. 64tii, The last line sounds ludicrous ; one fancies the 
heroine coming down with a plump, and sprawling upoa hui 
bottom, I have now finished my severe examination, am) 
pointed out every objection which I think can be suggested.'' 

Gth January, 1799. 

" Wellwyn, — 99. 
" Dear Scott, 

*' Your last Ballad reached me jnst as I was stepping iniv 
my chaise to go to Brocket Hall (Lord Melbourne's), so I took 
it with me, and exhibited both that and Qtenfivlas willi 
great success. I must not, however, conceal from yon, that 
nobody understood the Lady Flora of Glengyle to be a dis- 
guised demon till the catastrophe arrived ; and tliat the opin- 
on was universal, that some previous stanzas ought to be io- 
troduced descriptive of the nature and ortice of the wayward 
Ladies of the iVood. William Lambe.i too(who wriiesgooil 

1 Now Lord Melbourne. ~Eo. 



APPENDIX ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



678 



verses himself, and, therefore, may be allowed to judge those 
»f other |»eople), was dtciiletUy for the omission of the last 
(tanza but one. These were llii.- only objeelions started. I 
Ihonght it as well that jou should know them, whether yOQ 
M,cnd to them or not. With regard to St. John's Eve, I like 
it much, and, instead of finding fault witii its broken metre, I 
approve of it highly. I think, in this last ballad, you have 
hit ofl" the ancient manner better than in your former ones. 
Glenlinlas, for example, is more like a polished tale, than an 
old Ballad. But why, inverse 6th, is the Baron's helmet 
hacked and hewed, if (as we are given to understand) he had 
assassinated his enemy ? Ought not lore to be torn ? Tore 
Beems to me not English. In verse 16th, ttie last lice is word 
for wonl from Oil Morricc. 21si, ' Floor^ and ^ bower' are 
not rhymes," &c. Sac. &c. 

The gentleman noticed in the following letter, as partaker in 
the author's heresies" respecting rhyme, had the less occasion 
lo justify such license, as his own have been singularly accu- 
rate. Mr. Smythe is now Professor of Modern History at Cam- 
bridge. 

"London. January 24, 1799. 
" I must not omit telling you, for your own comfort, and 
ihat of all such persons as are wicked enough to make bad 
rhymes, that Mr. Smythe (a very clever man at Cambridge) 
look great pains the other day to convince me, not merely that 
1 bad rhyme might pass, but that occasionally a bad rhyme 
was better than a good one III!!! I need not tell you that 
be left me as great an infidel on this subject as he found me. 
» " Ever yours, 

" M. G. Lewis." 

The next letter respects the Ballad called the *' Fire King," 
•tated by Captain Medwin to be almost all Lewis's. This is 
an entire misconception. Lewis, who was very fond of his 
idea of four elementary kings, had prevailed on me to supply 
a Fire King. After being repeatedly urged to the task, I sat 
down one day after dinner, and wrote the " Fire King," aa it 
was published in the " Tales of Wonder." The next extract 
gives an account of the manner in which Lewis received it, 
which was not very favorable ; but instead of writing the greater 
part, he did not write a single word of it. Dr. Leyden, now 
no more, and another gentleman who still survives, were sit- 
ting at my side while I wrote it ; nor did my occupation pre- 
»ent the circulation of the bottle. 

Leyden w-rote a Ballad for the Cloud King, which is men- 
Iwed in the ensning extract. But it did not answer Mat's 



ideas, either in the color of the wings, or som^ point of costanM 
equally important ; so Lewis, who was olherwiJ-e fond ol th« 
Ballad, converted it into the Elfin King, and v.rote a Cicud 
King himself, to finish the hierarchy in tlie way desired. 

There is a leading mistake in the passage from Captain Metl- 
win. " The Minstrelsy of the Border" is spoken of, hut what 
is meant is the " Tales of Wonder." The former work con 
tains none of the Ballads mentioned by Mr. Medwin — the lat- 
ter has them all. Indeed, the dyna.'jty of Elemental Kings 
were written entirely for Mf. Lewis's publication. 

My intimate friend, William Clerk, Esq., was the person who 
heard the legend of Bill Jones told in a mail-coach by a sea 
captain, who imagined himself to have seen the ghost to which 
it relates. The tale was versified by Lewis himself, I forget 
where it was published, but certainly in no miscellany or publi- 
cation of mine. 

[ have only to add, in allusion to the passage 1 have quoted, 
that I never wrote a word parodying either Mr. Coleridge or 
any one else, wliich, in that distinguished instance, it would 
have been most ungiacioas in me to Imve done ; for which ilia 
reader will see reasons in the Introduction to '' The t^ay of th*^ 
Last Minstrel." 

"London, 3d Ftbruanj, 1800 
" Dear Scott, 

"I return you many thanks for your Ballad, and the Ex 
tract, and I shall be very much obliged to your friend for the 
' Cloud King.' I must, however, make one criticism upon the 
Stanzas which you sent me. The Si)irit, being a wicked one, 
must not have such delicate wings as pale blue ones. He has 
nothing to do with Heaven except to deface it with storms; 
and therefore, in ' The Monk,' I have fitted him with a pair of 
sable pinions, to which I must request your friend to adapt hit 
Stanza. With the others I am much pleased, as I am with 
your Fire King ; but every body makes the same objection *o 
it, and expresses a wish that you had conformed your Spirit to 
the description given of him in ' The Monk,' where his office 
is to play the Will o' the Wisp, and lead travellers into bogs, 
&c. It is also objected to, his being removed from his native 
land, Denmark, to Palestine ; and tiiat the office assigned to 
him in your Ballad has nothing peculiar lo the ' Fire King,' 
but would have suited Arinianes, Beelzebub, or any othei 
evil spirit, as well. However, the Ballad itself I think very 
pretty. I suppose you have heard from Bell respecting tht 
copies of the Ballads. I was too much distressed at the tinu 
to write myself," &c. &c. 

"M. G. L'* 



-"j-.,-^ ,^^'-.-z.--^-r, 



574 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CONTRIBUTIONS 



TO 



MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. 



limitations of tl)c Ancient Ballab. 



^[Ijomas tl)£ Hl)snur. 



IN THREE PARTS. 



PAET FIRST. ANCIENT. 



f Ew personages are so renowned in tradition as 
rhomas of Erclldoime, known by the appellation of 
Tlie Rhymer. Uniting, or supposing to unite, in 
his person, the powers of poetical composition, and 
of vaticination, liis memory, even after the lapse of 
five humlred years, is regarded with veneration by 
his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain 
history of this remarkable man would be indeed 
difficult ; but the curious may derive some satis- 
faction from the particulars here brought together. 

It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and 
probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was 
Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, 
two miles above its junction with the Tweed. 
The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out 
as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition 
bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont ; 
and that the appellation of The Hhymer was con- 
ferred on Inm in consequence of his poetical com- 
positions. There remams, nevertheless, some doubt 
upon the subject. In a charter, which is subjoined 
it length,' the son of our poet designed himself 
' Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas 
RymouT of Ercildoun," which seems to imply that 
the, father did not bear the hereditaiy name of- 
Learmont ; or, at least, was better known and dis- 
tinguished by the epithet, which he had acquired 
by his personal accomplishments. I must, how- 
ever, remark, that, down to a very late period, the 

1 See Appendix, Ntte A. 

8 The lines alluded to are these . — 



practice of distinguishing the parties, even in for 
mal writings, by the epithets wliich had been bo- 
stowed on them from personal circumstances, in- 
stead of the proper surnames of then' families, was 
common, and indeed necessary, among the Bordef 
cltuis. So early as the end of the tliirteeuth cen- 
tury, when surnames were hardly introduced in 
Scotland, tliis custom must have been universal 
There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in suppos 
ing our poet's name to have been actually Lear- . 
mont, although, in tliis charter, he is distinguished 
by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. 

We are better able to ascertain the period at 
which Th<imas of Ercildoune lived, being the latter 
end of the thnteenth century. I am inclined to 
place his death a Uttle farther back than Mr. Pink 
erton, who supposes that he was alive in 130C 
(List of Scottish Poets), wliich is hardly, I think, 
consistent with the charter already quoted, by 
wliich his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, 
conveys to the convent of the Trinity of .Soltr.i, 
the tenement which he possessed by inheritance 
(hcreditarie) in Ercildoune, with all claim which lie 
or his predecessors could pretend thereto. From 
this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, 
since we find the son disposing of the family prop- 
erty. Still, however, the argument of the learned 
historian wiU remain unimpeached as to the time 
of the poet's biith. For if, as we learn from Bai^ 
bom-, his prophecies were held in reputation'^ aa 
early as 1R06, when Bruce slew the Red Cimimin, 
the .s.anctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinkerton'e 
words) the uncertainty of antiquity, nm.st have 
already involved his character and writings. In 
a charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, which 
tinfortimately wants a date, the Rhymer, a neitt 

" I hope tliat Thomas's prophecl*. 
Of Erceldonn, shall truly be. 
In liini," &u 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



57b 



neighbor, and, if we may tiust tradition, a friend 
of the fuiuily, appears as a witness. — Ohartulary 
of Mel rose. 

It cannot oe doubted, that THomas of ErcU- 
] doune was a remarkable and important person in 
I liis own time, since, veVy shortly after his death, 
i we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. 
! Wbi^ther ho himself made any pretensions to the 
' first of tliese characters, or whether it was gra- 
tuitously conferred upon him by the crcduUty of 
\ posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may 
I believe JIackenzie, Learmont only versified the 
prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspii-ed nun of 
j a convent at Haddington. But of tliis there seems 
' not to be the most distant proof. On the coritra- 
; ry, all ;mcient avithora, who quote the Rhymer's 
prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been 
emitted by himself. Thus, in Winton's Chronicle — 

** Of tins fycht quilum spak Thomas 
Of Ersyliloune, that saytl in derne, 
There siild meit stalwartly, slarke and steme 
He sayd it in iiis prophecy ; 
But how he wist it was/cr/T/." 

Book viii. chap. 32. 

rhere could have been no ferly (marvel) in 
Winton's eyes at least, how Thomas came by Ms 
knowledge of futm'e events, had he ever heard of 
the inspired mm of Haddington, which, it cannot 
be doubted, would have been a solution of the 
mystery, much to the taste of the Prior of Loch- 
leven.' 

Whatever doubt.s, however, the learned might 
h;ive, as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic 
ekill, the vulgar had ng hesitation to ascribe the 
whole to the intercour.se between the bard and 
Ihe Queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that 
Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the 
Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, 
which made him afterwards so famous. After 
a«ven years' residence, he was permitted to return 
to '.he e.irth, to enlighten and astonish his coimtry- 
m^n by his prophetic powers ; still, however, re- 
maining bound to return to his royal mi.strcss, 
when she should intimate her pleasure.' Accord- 
ingly, while Thomas was making merry with his 

' Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the his- 
tory of Wallace, expresses the same doubt as to the source of 
n prophetic kno\%'ledge : — 

•' Thomas Rhymer into the I'aile was than 
With the minister, which was a worthy man. 
He used oft to that reli^jious place ; 
The people deemed of wil he meikle can, 
And 80 he told, though that they bless or ban, 
lu rule of war whether they tint or wan : 



friends in the Tower of ErcUdotme, a person camu 

running in, and told, with marks of fear and aston- 
ishment, that a hart and hind had left the neigh- 
boring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, 
paraduig the street of the village.' The prophet 
instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed 
the wonderful animals to the forest, whi^nce he 
was never seen to return. According to the pop 
ular belief, he still " drees his weird" in Fairv 
Land, and is one day expected to revisit eartt. ' 
In the mean wliile. liis memory is held in the most 
profound respect. The Eddon Tree, from beneath 
the shade of wliich he delivered his prophecies, 
now no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by 
a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neigh- 
boring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Bum 
(Gobliii Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural vis- 
itants. The veneration paid to liis dwelling-place 
even attached itself in some degree to a person, 
who, within the memory of man, chose to set up^ 
liis residence in tlie ruins of Learmont's tower. 
The name of tliis man was Miuray, a kind of 
herbalist ; who, by dint of some knowledge In sim- 
ples, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical 
machine, and a stuffed alligator, added to a sup- 
posed communication with Thomas the Rhymer, 
Uved for many years in very good credit as a 
wizard. 

It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dis- 
miss a person so important in Border tradition as 
the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a 
simple commentary upon the following ballad. It 
is given from a copy, obtained from a lady residing 
not far from Ercildoune, corrected .and enlarged 
by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy 
however, as might be expected, is far more minute 
as to local description. To this old tale the Editor 
has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a 
kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly 
ascribed to the Rhymer ; and a TliirJ Part, en- 
tirely modern, founded upon the tradition of hia 
having returned with the hart and hind, to tlu! 
Land of Faery. To mtike bis peace with the 
more severe antiquaries, the Editor has prefixea 
to the Second Part some remarks on Learmont's 
prophecies. 

Which happened sooth in many divers jise * 

I cannot say by wTOng or righteousness. 

It may be deemed by division of grace," &c. 

History uf IVailacSj Book li. 

'^ See the Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed to Tumlane, Bof 
dcr Minstrelsy, voi. ii. ji. 254. 

3 There is a singular resemblance betwixt this tradition, and 
an incident occurring in the life of Merlin CaledonioB, which 
the reader will find a few pages onw.-inl8. 



I 



576 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)oma3 tl)c HIjjomer. 



rAUT FIBST. 



TanE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ;' 

A ferlie he spied wi' liis ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk. 

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 
At ilka tett- of her horse's mane, 

Hung fifty siUer bells and nine. 

True Tliomas, he puU'd aff liis cap. 
And louted low down to his knee, 

" All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." — 

" no, O no, Thomas," she said, 

" That name does not belang to me ; 

1 am but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
That am liither come to visit thee. 

" Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 

" Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 

Sure of your bodie I will be." — 

- Betide me weal, betide me woe. 

That weird shaU never dauuton me." — ' 
Syne he has kiss'd lier rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 

" True Tliomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years, 

Through weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, 

Tlie steed flew swifter than the wind. 

O they rade on, and farther on ; 

Tlie steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
Until they reach'd a desert wide. 

And living laud was left behind. 

" Light down, Hght down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ; 

- Hontly Bank, and the adjoining ravine, called, from imme- 
morial tradition, the liymer's Olcn, were ultimately included 
In the domain of Abbotsford. The scenery of this glen forms 
the background of Edwin Landseer's portrait of Sir Walter 
!*cott, painted in 1833. — Ed. 

' That weird, ^-c— That destiny shall never frighten roe. 



Abide and rest a little space, 

And I will shew you ferlies three. 

" see ye not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset witli thorns and briers? 

That is the path of righteousness. 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see ye not that braid braid road, 

Tliat lies across that lily leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness, 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

" And see not ye that bonny road. 
That winds about tlie fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I tliis night maun gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun liold your tongue, 

"Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if ye speak word in Elflyn land, 

Ye'U ne'er get back to yoiu: ain couutrie." 

they rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded thro' rivers aboon the kne* 
And they saw neither sun nor moon. 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae sterj 
light. 

And they waded thro' red blude to the knee 
For a' tlie blude that's shed on earth 

Rms tlu'o' the springs o' that couutrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — ^ 

" Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 

It will give thee the tongue that ctin nevel 
Ue."— 

" My tongue is mine ain," True Thoma.j .wd ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 

1 neither dought to buy nor soU, 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer. 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — ■ 

" Now holdthy peace !" the lady said, 
" For as I say, so must it be." — 

He has gotten a coat of the even clotli. 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past. 
True Thomas on earth was never seen * 

3 The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs li 
that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Kno* ledge 
and that the garden was the terrestrial paradise. The Kplff 
nance of Thomas to be debarred the use of falsehood when h< 
might find it convenient, has a comic effect. 

4 See Apnendiv Note B 



OONTRIEUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



5lt 



$\]oma3 t\]e llljgmer. 



PART SECOND. 



ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. 

The propliecies, a.^ciibeil to Thomas of Ercil- 
ioune, have becQ the principal nipans of securing 
to him remembraucp " amongst tlie sons of his 
people." The authoi- of Sir Tristrem would long 
ago have joined, in the vale of obUvion, " Clerk of 
Tranent, who wrote the adventme of Schir Ga- 
wain," if, by good hap, the same current of ideas 
respecting antiquity, wliich causes Virgil to be 
regarded as a magician by the Lazzaroni of Na- 
ples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the 
prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself 
atfected it during his life. "We know, at least, for I 
certain, that a behef in his supernatural knowledge 
^as current soon after his death. His prophecies 
are alluded to by Barbour, by Winton, and by 
Heury the Minstrel, or Blind Harrji, as he is usu- 
ally termed. None of these authors, however, give 
the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, 
but merely narratu, hktorically. his having pre- 
dicted the events of which they epeak. The ear- 
li<?st of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is 
now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a 
MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas 
of Ercildoune to a question from the heroic Count- 
ess of March, renowned for the defence of the 
Castle of Dunbiir against the Enghsh, and termed, 
m the familiar dialect of Iier time, Black Agnes of 
Dunhar. This prophecy is reraai'kable, in so far 
OS it bears very httle resemblance to any verses 
pubhshed in the printed copy of the Rhymer's 
supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows : — 

" La Countesse de Donbar demantte a Thomas de Esse- 
dounequant laffuerre d^ Escocc prendreit fyn. Eyl t^a 
repoundy et dijt. 

VIThen man is mad a kyng of a capped man ; 

When man is levere otlier mones tliyng than his owen ; 

When londe thouys forest, ant forest is felde ; 

When hares kendles o' tlie her'stane ; 

When Wyt and Wille werres togedere ; 

When mon malies stables of kyrkes, and steles castels with 
stye ; 

When RokesboroQghe nys no burgh ant market is at Forwy- 
leye ; 

When Bamboome is donged with dede men ; 

When men iedes men in ropes to bnyen and to sellen ; 
1 1 When a qnarter of whaty whete is chaanged for a colt of ten 
markes ; 

Wlien prmie (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisonn ; 

When a Scot ne me liym hude ase hare in forme thai the En- 
glish ne shall hym fynde ; 

When ryclit ant wronge astente the togedere ; 

When laddcs weddcth lovedies ; 

When Scottes tlen so faste, that, for fante of shep, hy drown- 
eth hemselve ; 

When shal this be ? 

ifonthei in thine tvms ne in mine ; 
73 



Ah comen ant gone 

Wilhinne twenty winter ant one." 

Pinkerton's /*or;n«,/rom Maitland's MSS. quoting 
from Uarl. Lib. 2353, F. 127. 

As I have never seen the MS. from which Mr. 
Pinkerton makes tliis extract, and as the date oi 
it is fixed by liim (certainly one of the most able 
antiquaries of our age) to the reign of Edwara I. 
or II., it is with great diiEdence that I luizarJ a 
contrary opinion. There can, however, I lelif-c. 
be httle doubt, that these prophetic verses arc u 
forgery, and not the production of our Thomas the 
Rhymer. But I am inclined to beheve them of a 
later date than the reign of Edw.ard I. or II. 

The gallant defence of the c;istle of Dunbar, by 
Black Agnes, took place in the year ISS"?. The 
Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the 
charter, by his sori, in the Appendix). It seems, 
therefore, very improbable, that the Countess of 
Dunbar could ever have an opportimity of consult- 
ing Thomas the Rhymer, since that would infer 
that she was married, or at least cugaged in state 
matters, previous to 1299 ; whereas she is de 
scribed as a young, or a middle-aged woman, at 
the period of her being besieged in the fortress 
which she so well defended. If the editor might 
indulge a conjecture, he would suppose, that the 
prophecy was contrived for th': encouragement of 
the English invaders, during the Scottish wars ; 
and that the names of the Countess of Dunbar 
and of Thomas of Ercildoune, were used for the 
greater credit of the forgery. According to tlu» 
hypothesis, it seems likely to have been composed 
after the siege of Dunbar, which had made the 
name of the Countess well known, and consequently 
in the reign of Edward III. The whole tendency 
of the prophecy is to aver, that there shall be no 
end of the Scottish war (concerning which the 
question was proposed), till a final conquest fif the 
country by England, attended b;* all the usual se- 
verities of war. "When the t :ltivated country 
shall become forest," says the piophecy ; — "when 
the wild animak shall "inhabit th abode of men ; — 
when Scots shall not be able to escape the EngUsh, 
should they crouch as hiU'es i;. their form'^ — all 
these denunciations seem to refer to tiie time oi 
Edward III., upon whose victories the prediction 
was probably foimded. The mention of the ex- 
change betwixt a colt worth ten marks, and a 
quarter of " whaty [indifferent] wheat," seems to 
allude to the dreadfid fiunine, about the year 1S88. 
The independence of Scotland wa.s, howevei, iis 
impregnable to the mines of superstition, as to the 
steel of oiu" more powerful and more wealthy neigh- 
bors. The war of Scotland is, th;mk God, at au 
end ; but it is ended without her people having 
either crouched hke hares in theu- form, or bemg 
drowned in their flight, " for faute of ships," — thank 



676 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



God for that too. — The prophecy, quoted in the 
preceding page, is probably of ths same date, and 
intended for the same purpose. 

A luinute search of the records of the time 
would, probably, thi'ow additional light upon the 
allusions contained in these ancient legend.?. 
Among various rhymes of prophetic import, "which 
vre at this day current amongst the people of 
Teviotdale, is one, supposed to be pronounced by 
Thomas the Rhymer, presagmg the destruction of 
his habitation and family : 

*' The hare sail kittle [litter] on my hearth stane, 
And there will never be a Laird Learmont again." 

The first of these lines is obviously boiTowed from 
that m the MS. of the Harl. libiary.— "When 
hares kendles o' the her'stane" — an emphatic im- 
age of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted 
in the prophecy of Waldhave, pubhshed by Andro 
Hart, 1G13: 

" This is a true talking that Thomas of tells, 
The hare shall hirple on the hard [hearth] stane." 

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous historian, 
seems to have been a firm believer in the authen- 
ticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name 
of Thomas of Ercildoune. " The prophecies, yet 
extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon ho was com 
motdy called Thtnnas the Rhymer, may justly be 
admired ; having foretold, so many ages before the 
miion of England and Scotland in the ninth degree 
of the Bruce's blood, with the succession of Bruce 
himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other 
divers particulai's, which the event hath ratified 
and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth 
his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that 
he did foretel the same to the Earl of March, the 
day before it fell out ; saying, ' That before the 
next daj' at noon, such a tempest should blow, as 
Scotland had not iblt for many years before.' The 
next morning, the day being clear, and no change 
appearing in the :ur, the nobleman did challenge 
Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He 
replied, that noon was not yet passed. About 
which time a post came to advertise the earl of 
the king liis sudden death. ' Then,' said Thomas, 
this is the tempest I foretold; and so it shall 
prove to Scotland.' Whence, or how, he had tliis 
knowledge, can hardly be afiirmed ; but sure it is, 
that he did divine and answer truly of many tilings 
to come." — Spottiswoode, p. 47. Besides that no- 
table voucher, Master Hector Boece, the good 
archbishop might, had he been so minded, have 
referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alex- 
nnder's death That lustorian calls our bard " ru- 
ralis iUe vatrs," — Fokdun, lib. x. cap. 40. 

What Spottiswoode calls "the prophecies ex- 
^uut in Scottish rhyme," are the metrical produc- 



tions ascribed to the seer of Ercildoune, which, 
with many other compositions of the same nature 
bearing the names of Bede Merlin, Gildas, ana 
other approved soothsayers, are contained in one 
small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Ed in. 
bm-gh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims the 
prophet of Ercildoune as a brother-professor of his 
art, founding upon the various ailegoricai and em- 
blematical allusions to heraldry) intimates the ex- 
istence of some etu'Uer copy of his prophecies than 
that of Andro Hart, which, however, be docs not 
pretend to have seen.' The late excellent Lord 
liailes made these compositions the subject of a 
dissertation, published in his Reniarks on the His- 
tory of Scotland. His attention is chiefly directed 
to the celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned 
by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing that the crown*- 
of England and Scotland should be united in thv. 
person of a King, son of a French Queen, and re- 
lated to the Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord 
Hailes plainly proves, that tliis prophecy is per- 
verted from its original purpose, in order to apply 
it to the succession of James VI. The groundwork 
of the forgery is to be found in the prophecies of 
Berlington, contained in the same collection, and 
rims thus * 

" Of Bruce's left side shall spring out a leafe, 
A3 neere as the ninth degree ; 
And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland, 
In France farre beyond the sea. 
And then shall come again ryding, 
Willi eyes that many men may see. 
At Aberladie he shall light, 
With hempen helteres and horse of tie. 

However it happen for to fall, 

The lyon shall be lord of all ; 

The If'rench duen shall bearre the sonne, 

Sliall rule all Britaiiine to the sea ; 

Ane from the Bruce's blood shal irocoe alut, 

As necr as the ninth degree. 

Yet slial there come a keene knight over the **»lt m., 
A keene man of courage and bold man Oi arm'.a ; 
A duke's son dowbled [i. e. dubbed], a borr mt.i in T'anea 
That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmas; 
After the date of our Lord 1513, and thrice three thereafter; 
Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself. 
Between thirteen and thrice three the tlireip shall be ended. 
The Saxons shalj never recover after." 

Tliere camiot be any doubt that this prophecy 
was intended to excite the confidence of the Scot- 
tish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scot- 
land, who arrived from France in 1515, two years 
after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of 
Flodden. The Regent was descended of Bruce by 
the left, i. e. by the female side, within the ninth 
degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of 
BotJogne, liis father banished from his country — 

* See Appendix, Note C 




'fleemit of fair Scotland." His arrival must ne- 
cessarily be by sea, and his landing' was expected 
it Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a 
duke's son, dubbed kuiglit ; and nine years, from 
1613, are :dlowed him by the pretended prophet 
for the aceonipHshment of the salvation of liis coun- 
try, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister 
and rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite 
the confidence and spirit of the country. 

The prophecy, put in the name of our Tliomas 
the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to 
a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer 
upon a land bfside a he, who shows him many em- 
blematical visions, described in no mean strain of 
poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flod- 
den and Pinkie, to the national distress which 
followed these defeats, and to future h;ilcyon days, 
^vliich are promised to Scotland. One qnotation 
"• two will be sufficient to establish this fuUy : — 

" Our Scottish King sal come fol keene, 
The rsti lyoii bearelh he ; 
A teildered jirrow sharp. I ween. 
Shall make him wiiike and wane to flee. 
Oat of the field he sliall be led. 
When he is bluilie and woe for blood ; 
Vet to his men shall he say, 
' For God's love turn you againe, 
And give yon sutherne folk a frey ! 
Why should I lose, the right is mine ? 
My date is not to die this day.' " 

Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers 
to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular re- 
ports concerning the doubtful fate of James IV. ? 
Allusion is immedi.ately afterwards made to the 
death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, 
who fought and fell with his sovereign : — 

" The sternes three that day shall die, 
That bears the harte in silver sheen." 

The well-known arms of the Douglas family are 
the heart .and three stars. In another place, the 
battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name : — 

" At Pinken Cinch there shall be spilt 
Much gentle blood that day ; 
There shall the bear lose the guilt. 
And theeagill bear it away." 

To the end of aU this allegorical and mystical 
rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by 
Andro Hart, a new edition of Berhngton's verses, 
before quoted, altered and manufactured, so as to 
bear reference to the accession of James VI., which 
had just then t.tken place. The insertion is made 
with a peculiar' degree of awkwardness, betwixt a 
question, put by the narrator, concerning the name 
and abode of the person who showed him these 
itrange matters, and the answer of the prophet to 
that question : — 

" Then to the Beime ooald I say. 

Where dwells thou, or in what coantrie ? 

rOr who shall rale the isle of Britaoe, 



Fr«m the north the south «ey ? 

A French queene shall bear the Sonne, 

Shall rule all Britaine to the sea ; 

Wbicli of the Bruce's blood shall come. 

As neere as the nint degree : 

I frained fast what was his name. 

Where that he came, from what country.] 

In Erslingtoun 1 dwell at hame, 

Thomas Rymour men cals me." 

There is surely no one, who "nyll not conclude) 
with Lord Hailcs, that the eight lines, enclosed io 
brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrower 
from Berlington, with such alterations as might 
render the supposed prophecy applicable to the 
union of the crowns. 

While we are on this subject, it may be propei 
briefly to notice the scope of some of the other 
predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy 
of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of 
the nation, during the regency of Alb.any, so those 
of Sybilla aud Eltraine refer to that of the Earl ol 
Arran, afterwards Duke of Chatellierault, during 
the minority of Mtiry, a period of similar calamity 
Tliis is obvious from the following verses •— 

" Take a thoasand in calcnlation. 
And the longest of the lyon. 
Four crescents under one crowne. 
With Saint Andrew's croce tbrise. 
Then threescore and thrisp three : 
Take tent to Merling trnely. 
Then shall the wars ended be, 
And never again rise. 
In that yere there shall a king, 
A duke, and no crown'd king : ' 

Becans the prince shall he yong, 
And tender of yeares." 

The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, 
when the Scottish Regent, by means of some suc- 
cors derived from France, was endeavoring to re 
p.air the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie 
Allusion is made to the supply given to the " Mold- 
warte [England] by the fained hart" (the Earl of 
Angus). The Regent is described by liis bearing 
the antelope ; large supplies are promised from 
France, and complete conquest predicted to Scot-' 
land and her allies. Thus was the same hack- 
neyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest 
of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The 
Regent was not, indeed, till after tliis period, cre- 
ated Duke of Chatelherault ; but that honor was 
the *)bject of his hopes and expectntion.s. 

The name of our renowned soothsiiyer is liber- 
ally used as an authority, tliroughout all the 
prophecies published by Andro Hiu-t. Besides 
those expressly put in his name, Gildas, anothet 
assumed personage, is supposed to derive hii 
knowledge from him ; for he conclutlea thus :— - 
" True Thomas me told in a troublesome time, 
In a harvest morn at Bldnnn hills." 

Tlte Prophecy of Qilia* 



. In the prophecy of BerUngton, already quoted, 
we are told, 

" MarveJlou3 Merlin, that many men of tells, 
And Thomas's sayifsgs comes all at once." 

While I am upon the subject of these prophe- 
cies, may I be permitted to call the attention of 
antiquaries to Merdwynn Wyllt, or Merlin the 
Wild, in whose ^ame, and hy no means in that of 
Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthiu', the Scot- 
tish prophecies are issued ? That this personage 
resided at Drummelziar, and roamed, like a second 
Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweed dale, in re- 
morse for the death of his nephew, we learn from 
Fordun. In the Scotichronkon, lib. 3. cap. 31, is 
an account of an interview betwixt St. Kentigern 
and Merlin, then in this distracted and miserable 
state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, 
from his mode of life. On being commanded by 
the saint to give an account of iiimself, he says, 
that the penance which he performs was imposed 
on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody 
contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which 
battle he had been the cause. According to his 
own prediction, he perished at once by wood, earth, 
and water ; for, being pursued with stones by the 
rustics, he fell from a rock into the river Tweed, 
and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there 
for the purpose of extending a fishing-net : — 

' Sudc pcrfossus, lapide percussus, ct unda, 
HfEC iria Mtrtintim fertur inirc nccem. 
Sicquc ruit, mcrtiustjuefuit ligno(]iie prehensus , 
Et fecit vatpm per terna pcricula. vcTuvi." 

But, in the metrical liistory of Merlin of Cale- 
donia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from 
the traditions of the Welsh bards, this mode of 
death is attributed to a page, whom Merlin's sis- 
ter, desirous to convict the prophet of falsehood, 
because he had betrayed her intrigues, introduced 
to him, under three various disguises, inquiring 
each time in what manner the person should die. 
To the first demand Merlin answered, the party 
should perish by a fall from a rock ; to the second, 
that he should die by a tree •,'and to the third, that 
he should be drowned. The youth perished, while 
hunting, in the mode imputed by Fordim to Mer- 
Un himself. 

Fordun, contrary to the French authorities, con- 
fctmds this person with the Merlin of Arthur ; but 
Toncludes by uiforming us, that many believed 
him to be a different person. The grave of Mer- 
lin is pointed out at Drummelziar, in Tweeddale, 
beneath an aged thorn-tree. On the east side of 
the chm'chyard, the brook, called Pausayl, falls 
into the Tweed; and the following prophecy 
ia said to have been current concerning their 
tmion: — 



•' When Tweed ami Pausayl join al Mer!i-*fi gvave, 
Scotland and England shall one monarch have.' 

On the day of the coronation of James VL, tht 
Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the 
Pausayl at the prophet's grave. — Penntcuick's 
Hihtory of Tweeddale, p. 26. These circumstancea 
would seem to infer a communication betwixt the 
southwest of Scotland and Wales, of a nature pe- 
cuharly intimate ; for I presume that Merlin would 
retain sense enough to choose for the scene of his 
wanderings, a country having a language and man- 
ners similar to his own. 

Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylves- 
ter, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots dur- 
ing the reign of James Y. Waldliave,' under 
whose name a set of prophecies was published, 
describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law ; he 
hears a voice, which bids liim stand to his defence 
he looks around, and beholds a flock of hares and 
foxes^ pursued over the mountain by a savagft 
figure, to whom he can hardly give the name ol 
man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition 
leaves the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him 
with a club. Waldhave defends himself with his 
sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses 
to let liim arise till he swear, by the law and lead 
he Uves upon, " to do him no harm." This done, 
he permits him to arise, and mai'vels at his strange 
appearance : — 

" He was formed like a freike [man] all his four qoarters ; 
And then his chin and his face haired so thick, 
With haire growing so grime, fearful to see." 

He answers briefly to Waldhave's inquiry con- 
cerning hb name and natiu'e, that he " drees his 
weird," i. e. does penance in tlrat wood; and, hav- 
ing liinted that questious as to his own state are 
offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody con- 
cerning futurity, and concludes. — 

" Go musing upon i^lerlin if thon wilt : 
For I mean no more, man, at this time." 

This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt 
MerUn and Kentigern in Fordua These prophe- 
cies of Merlin seem to have been in request in the 
minority of James V. ; for, among the amusements 
with wliich Sir David Lindsay diverted that prince 
during his infancy, are, 

" The prophecies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin." 

Sir David Lindsay's Epistle to the King. 

And we find, \a Waldhave, at least one allusioB 

1 I do not know whether the person here mean* be Wal* 
have, an abbot of Melrose, whe died in the odor of saactltf 
about 1160. 

2 See Appendix, Note D. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



*5W 1 



io tie very ancient prophecy, aiUlressod to the 
Countess of Dunbiir : — 

" This is a trae token that Tht^mas of telU, 
When a ladile with a ladyt tiu go over the fields." 

The original stands thus : — 

'* When laddes weddeth lovedies." 

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have been 
cum ut about the time of the Regent Morton's 
execution. When that nobleman was committed 
to the charge of his accuser. Captain .J.ames Stew- 
art, newly created Earl of Arran, to be conducted 
to his trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says, that 
he asked, " ' Who was Earl of Arran ?' and being 
answered that Captain .James was the man, after 
a short p.ause, he said, ' And is it so ? I know then 
what I may look for V meaning, as was thought, 
that the old prophecy of the ' Falling of the heart' 
by the mouth of Arran,' should then be fulfilled. 
Wliether this was Ms mind or not, it is not known ; 
but some spared not, at the time when the Ham- 
iltons were banished, in which business he was 
held too earnest, to say that he stood in fear of 
that prediction, and went tliat course only to dis- 
appoint it. But if so it was, he did find liimself 
now deluded ; for he fell by the mouth of another 
Arran than he imaguied." — Spottiswoode, 313. 
The fatal words alluded to seem to be these in 
the prophecy of Merlin : — 

" In the moothe of Arr.ine .a selcouth shall fall, 
Two hloodie hearts shall be taken with a false traine. 
And dertly dung down without any dome." 

To return from these desultory remarks, into 
which I have been led by the celebrated name of 
Merlin, the style of all tnese prophecies, published 
by Hart, is very much the same. The measure 
is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of 
Pierce P/owman's Visions ; a circumstance which 
might entitle us to ascribe to some of them an 
earher date than the reign of J.amea V., did we 
not know that Sir Galloran of Galloway and Ga- 
waine and Gologras, two romances rendered al- 
most unintelligible by the extremity of affected 
aUiteration. are perhaps not prior to that period. 
Indeed, although we may allow that, during much 
earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those 
celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scot- 
land, yet those published by Hart have obviously 
been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the 
political purposes of different periods, that it may 
be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the case of Sir 
John Cutler's transmigrated stockings, very little 
of the original materials now remains. I cannot 
■efrain fiom indulgmg my readers with the pub- 

t The heart was the cogni/.rmce of Moilon. 
* The Rev. R. pleming, pastor of a t^c»teh congregatMn in 
tjOhdon, pnolished in 1701. " Dis-conrees on the Rise and Fall 



Usher's title to the last jirophecy, as it containi 
certain ciu'ious information concerning the Queen 
of Sheba, who is identified with the Oumspan 
Sibyl : " Here foUoweth a prophecie, pronounced 
by a noble queene and matron, called Sybilla, 
Regina Austri, that Ciune to Solomon. Through 
the wliich she compiled four booke.s. at the ir- 
stance of the said King Sol, and utliers divers; 
and the fourth book was directed to a noble king, 
called Baldwine, King of the broad isle of Britain 
in the which she maketh mention of two nol)!*- 
princes and emperours, the which is called Leones. 
How these two shall subdue and overcome all 
earthlie princes to their diademe and *rowne, and 
also be glorified and crowned in the heaven iimong 
saints. The first of these two is Constantinus 
Magnus ; that was Leprosus, the son of Saint He- 
lena, that found the croce. The second is the sbct 
king of the name of Steward of Scotland, the 
which is our most noble king." With such editors • 
and commentators, what wonder that the text be 
came unintelligible, even beyond the usual oraci. 
lar obscurity of prediction I 

If there still remain, therefore, among these pre, 
diction.s, any verses having a-claim to real antiqin- 
ty, it seems now impossible to discover them fronp 
those which are comparatively modern. Never 
theless, as there are to be found, in these composi- 
tions, some uncommonly wild and m.asctiline ex 
pressions, the Editor has been induced to throw a 
few p.assages together, into the sort of ballad to 
■vghich this disquisition is prefixed. It woiJd, in- 
deed, have been no difficult matter for him, by a 
judicious selection, to have excited, in favor ol 
Thomas of Ercildoune, a share of the admiration 
bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Rob- 
ert Fleming.' For example ; — 

" But then the lilye thai be loosed when they least think ; 
Then clear king's hlood sha! quake for fear of death ; 
For churls shall chop oft' heads of their chief beirns. 
And carfe of the crowns that Christ halh appointed. 

Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise ; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken ; 
^'eculars shall sit in spiritual seats, 
Occupying offices anointed as they were." 

Taking the lily for the emblem of France, can 
there be a more plain prophecy of the murder of 
her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, rinrl 
the liesolation of her hierarchy ? 

But, without looking farther into the signs ol 
the times, the Editor, though the least of all the 
prophets, cannot help thinking, that every true 
Briton will approve of his application of the last 
prophecy quoted in the ballad. 

of Papacy," in whlch'he expr«9-sed his bellel', founded on a 
text in the Apocalypse, that the French Monarchy wonld l» 
der"o some remarkable Iromlllallon about 1794. — Ed. 



-.82 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently 
1 apriated during tlio last ceuturv, probably to fa- 
vor the pretensions of the unfortunate family of 
Stuai't. For the proplietic renown of Gildas and 
Bede, see Fordun, lib. iii. 

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predic- 
tions, it may be noticed, that smid'ry rhymes, 
passmg for his prophetic effusions, are still current 
among tlie Tulgar. Thus, he is said to have 
prophesied of t!ie very ancient family of Haig of 
Bemerside, 

"Betide, betide, wbate'er betide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemeiside." 

The grandfather of the present proprietor of 
Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady 
brought him a male heir. The common people 
trembled for the credit of their favorite soothsayer. 
Tile late Mr. Haig was at length bora, and their 
behef in the projihecy confirmed beyond a shadow 
of doubt. 

Another memorable prophecy bore, th.at the Old 
Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the 
Abbey, should " fall when at the fullest." At a 
very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a 
piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The 
alarm, for the fidfilment of the words of the seer, 
became universal ; and happy were they who 
were nearest the door of the predestined edifice. 
The church was in consequence deserted, and has 
never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon 
a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a 
beautiful specimen of Saxo-Gothic architecture, 
that the accompMshment of this prophecy is far 
distant. 

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
Beems to have been founded on that sort of insight 
into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound 
and combining judgment. It runs thus : — ' 

'* At Eldon Tree if yoa shall be, 
A brigg ower Tweed you there may see." 

The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the com'se of the river ; and it was 
easy to foresee, that when the country should be- 
come in the least degree improved, a bridge would 
'ot» somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, 
you now see no less than three bridges from that 
elevated situation. 

. Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but 
more commonly taking his title from his castle of 
Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of 
Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Ercildoune 
ts said to have delivered to him his famous proph- 

1 An exact reprint of these prophecies, from the edition of 
Waldegrave, in 1603, collated with Hart's, of 1615, from the 
H)py in tlie Abbotsford Library, was completed for the Ban- 



ecy of King Alexander's death, the Editor ha» 
chosen to introduce liim into the following ballad 
All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's 
pubUcatiou.' 



^Ijoinaa tl)e Hljumcr. 



PART SECOND. 



When seven years were come and gane, 
The sun bliuk'd fair on pool and stream ; 

And Thomas l.ay on Huntlie bank, 
Like one awaken'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, ' 

He saw the flash of armor flee, 
And he beheld a gallant knight 

Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong; 

Of giant make he 'pear'd to be : 
He stir'r'd his horse, as he were wode 

Wi' gilded spurs, of fiiushion free. 

• 

Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas I 
Some uncouth ferlies show to me." — 

Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave I 
Thrice welcume, good Dunbar, to me 1 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave I 
And I will show thee curses three. 

Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane. 
And change ttie green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar this very hour. 
From Ross's hills to Solway sea." — 

" Ye lied, ye Ued, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lee.' - 

He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; 

He shoVd him a rock beside the sea, 
Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed," 

And steel-dight nobles wiped their ee. 

" The neist curse hghts on Branxton liills : 
By Flodden's high and heathery side, 

Shall wave a banner red as blude. 

And chieftains throng wi' meikle pridu 

" A Scottish King shall come full keen. 
The ruddy lion beareth he ; 

natyne Club, cnder the care of the learned antiquary. Ml 
David Laing of Edinburgh.— En. 1833. 

- King Alexander, killed by a fall from bis honf, lie& 
Kinghorn. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



583 



4. feather'd arrow sliarp, I ween, 
Shall luike him wink and wane to <iee. 

' When he is bloody, and all to b'pjde, 
Thus to his men he still sh'^l' ?ay — 

' For God'9 sake, turn yc hack 'i/;ain, 
And give yon southsm foLk a fray I 

Why should I lose, the right is mine i 
My doom is not to die tlos day." 

' Yet turn ye to the extern hand. 
And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 

How forty thousand spearmen stand. 
Where y on n.nk river meets the sea. 

"There ."hpol the lion lose the gylte, 
And the libbards bear it clean away ; 

At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much gentil bluid that day." — 

" Enough, enough, of cmse and ban ; 

Some blessings show thou new to me. 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie, Oorspatrick said, 

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me !" — 

" The first of blessing j T 'b')ll thee show, 
Is by a burn, that's c'.l''d of bread ;' 

Where Saxon meu rh^ll tine the bow, 
And find their urrows lack the head. 

" Beside that b'ig'^, out ower that bum, 
• Where the water bickereth bright and sheen. 
Shall many a fallen courser spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle keea 

" Beside a headless cross of stone. 

The libbards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon bluid sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know. 
So thick the corses there shall be." — 

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
" True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man sliall rule the isle Britain, 
Even from the north to the southern sea ?" — 

" A French Queen shall bear the son. 

Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 
He of the Bruce's blood shall come. 

As near as in the ninth degree. 

" The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride over ocean wide. 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." 

> The nncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland con- 
•eming the fate of James IV., is well known. 

* One of Thomaa'a rhymes, preserved by tradition, runj 
*tu — 



Sljomaa tl)£ Rljumrr 



PART THIRD. MODERN. 



BY WALTER SCOTf. 

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among his 
contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated 
romance of Sir Tristrem. Of tliis once-admired 
poem only one copy is now known to exist, wliich 
is in the Advocates' Library. The Editor, in 1804, 
published a small edition of thi" curious work ; 
which, if it does not revive the reputation of the 
bard of ErcildoUne, is at least the e.irliest speci- 
men of Scottish poetry hitherto pubh.shed. Some 
account of this romance has already been given to 
the world in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Ancient 
Poetry, voL i. p. 1 fio, iii. p. 41 ; a work to which 
our predecessors and our posterity are alike ftbli- 
ged ; the former, for the preservation of the best 
selected examples of their poetical taste ; and tht. 
latter, for a histoiy of the English language, wMch 
will only cease to be interesting with the exist- 
ence of our mother-tongue, and all that genius 
and learning have recorded in it. It is suificient 
here to mention, that so gi'eat was the reputation 
of the romance of Sir Tristrem, that few were 
thought capable of reciting it after the manner oi 
the author — a circumstance alluded to by Robert 
de Brunne, the annalist : — - 

" I see in song, in sedgeyng tale. 
Of Erceldoun, and of Ketulale, 
Now thame says as they Ihame wroght. 
And in thare saying it semes nocht. 
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem, 
Over gestes it has the stemc. 
Over all that is or was ; 
If men it said as made Thomas," &c. 

It appears, from a very ciuious MS. <il the 
thirteenth century, penes Mr. Douce of London, 
containing a French metrical romance of Sir Tris- 
trem, that the work of our Thomas the Rhymer 
was known, and referred to, by the minstrels oi 
Normandy and Bretagne. Kaving arrived at a 
part of the romance where reciters were wont to 
differ in the mode of telling the story, the French 
bard expressly cites the authority of the poet M 
Ercddoune : 

'■ PluauTS de noB granter ne valent, 
Co que del naim dire se snlent, 
Ki femme Raherdin dut ainer, 
Li naim redut Tnstram ntlrrer, 

*' The bom of broio 
Shall run fow reid." 
Bannock-bnm is the brook here meant. The Scot; gl«o u>« 
name of bannock to a thick round cake of unleavened broad. 



E enUtscke par grant engin, 
Quant it afole Kaherdin ; 
Pur test plai € pur cest mat, 
Enveiad Tristram Guvernal, 
En Eagletcrrc pur Ysolt : 
Thomas ico granter nc volt, 
Et si volt par raisun mostrcr, 
Q«' ico ne put pas esteer,^' &c. 

Yhe tale of Sir Trislrem, as nairated in the 
£dinbur;;h MS., is totally different from the volu- 
minous romance in prose, originally compiled on 
the same subject by Rusticien de Pulse, and 
analyzed by M. de Tressan ; but agrees in every 
essential particular with the metrical performance 
just quoted, which is a work of much higher an- 
tiquity. 

The following attempt to commemorate the 
Rhymer's poetical feme, and the traditional ac- 
co'int of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, 
being entirely modern, would have been placed 
with greater propriety among the class of Modern 
Ballads, had it not been for its immediate con- 
nection with the first and second parts of the 
eame story. 



(i[|)oma3 tl)c HIjgmer. 



PART XniRD. 



When seven years more were come and gone, 
Was war through Scotland spread. 

And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyon' 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then aU by bonny Coldingknow," 
Pitch'd palliouns took their room. 

And crested helms, and spears a-rowe, 
Glanced gayly through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ;' 
rhey roused the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee.* 

' Ruberslaw and Dunyon, are two hills near Jedburgh. 

' An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family 
ff the name of Home. One of Thomas's prophecies is said 
o have run thus : — 

"Vengeance I vengeance I when and where ? 
On the house of Coidingknow, now and ever mair I" 

The spot is rendered classical by its having given name 
fo the beantiful melody called the Broom o' the Cowdcn- 

IttOiCS. 

3 Enscniie — War-cry, or gathering word. 



The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 
In Learmont's high and ancient hall : 

And there were knights of great renown, 
And ladies, laced in pall. 

M'o'' lacked they, whUe they sat at dine, 

The music nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighs° of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand. 

When as the feast was done : 
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords lean'd on their swords, 

And hearken'd to the tale. 

In numbers high, the witching tale 

TTie prophet pour'd along ; 
No after bard might e'er avaU' 

Those numbers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
As, buoyant ori the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears.' 

He sung King Ai'thur's Table Round : 

The Warrior of the Lake ; 
How com'teous Gawaine met the wound* 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, 

The notes melodious swell ; 
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days. 

The knight of Lionelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A venom'd wound he bore ; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand : 

No medicine could be found. 
Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had probed the rankhng woimd 

* Toiwoodlee and Caddenhead are |)lacw in Selkirkshire ; 
both the property of Mr. Pringle of Torv.oodlee. 

6 Quaighs — Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped l» 
gether. 

6 See Introdoction to this ballad. 

' This stanza was quoted by the Edinburgh Reviewer, of 
18U4, as a noble contrast to the ordinary humility of the gefr 
nine ballad diction. — Ed. 

e See, in the Fabliaui of Monsieur le Grand, elegantlv t>sn» 
lated by the late Gregory Way, Esq., the taie of the Kni^hi 
and the Sword. [Vol. ii. p. 3.] 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



586 



With g^entle hand and soothing tongue 

She bore the leech's part ; 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, 

He paid Ler with his heart. 

fat.al was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom'il in evil tide, 
The maid mu.st be rude Cornwall's queen, 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 

Their loves, their woes,* the gifted bard 

In faii'y tissue wove ; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 

In gay confusion strove. 

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 

High rear'd its glittering head ; 
And Av.alon's enchanted vale 

In all its wonders spread. 

Brangwain was there, and Segramore, 
And fieud-born Merlin's gramarye ; 

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 
who could sing but he ? 

Through many a maze the winning song 

In changeful passion led, 
Till bent at length the listening tlu-ong 

G'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His iincieut Wounds their scars expand, 

TTith agony his heart is wrung : 
where is Isolde's lilye hand, 
I And where her soothing tongue ? 

8he .comes ! she comes ! — lilce flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps Hy : 
one comes ! she comes ! — she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Join'd in a kiss his parting breath ; 

The gentlest pau-. that Britain bare, 
United are in death. 

There paused the harp : its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silen- guests still bent around, 

for still they seeni'd to hear. 

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : 
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; 

But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gaimtlet dry. 

* Sclcouth —Wondrous. 

* An ancient scat, upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire. In a 
•opolar edition of tiie titst part of Thomas the Rhvmer, the 
^aiiy Queen Inns aiidressea I im : — 

7i 



On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, 

The mists of evening close ; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower, 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 

Dream'd o'er the woeful tale ; 
Wlien footsteps light, across the bent. 

The warrior's ears assail 

He starts, he wakes ; — " What, Richard, ho I 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
Wliat venturous wight, at dead of night, 

Dare step where Douglas lies !" — 

Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth' sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by side. 

As white as snow on Fairuiilie." 

Beneath the moon, ■with gesture proud. 

They stately move and slow ; 
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd 

Who mai'vel as they go. 

To Learmont's tower a message sped. 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from hi3 bed 

And soon his clothes did on. 

First he woxe pale, and tiien woxe red , 
Never a word he sp.ake but tlu'ee ;— 

" My sand is run ; my thread is spun • 
Tills sign regardeth me." 

The elfin harp his neck around, 

In minstrel guise, he hung ; 
And on the wind, in doleful sound. 

Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went. ; yet turn'd him oft 

To view his ancient hall ; 
On the gray tower, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moonbeams fall ; 

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen, 

Danced shimmering in the ray ; 
In deepening mass, at distance seen, 

Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

" Farewell, my fathers' ancient tower . 

A long farewell," said he : 
" The scene of pleasiu'e, pomp, or power 

Thou never more shalt be. 

" Gin ye wad meet wi' me again. 
Gang to the hoiiny banln of Faimalie.** 
Faimalie is now one of the seats of Mr. Pringle of ClftiW 
M. P. for Selkirksliire. 1833. 



■.S6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" To Learmont's name no foot of earth 


And there, before Lord Douglas' face, 


Shall here again belong, 


With them he cross'd the flood. 


And, on thy hospitable hearth, 




The hare shall leaye her young. 


Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed 




And spurr'd him the Leader o'er. 


"•Adieu ! adieu !" again he cried, 


But, though he rode with lightning speed. 


All as he turn'd him roun' — 


He never saw them more. 


" f areweU to Leader's silver tide ! 




Farewell to Ercildoune !" 


Some said to hiU, and some to glen. 




Their wondrous course had been; 


The hart and hind approach'd the place, 


But ne'er in haunts of living men 


As lingering yet he stood; 


Again was Thomas seen. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A.— P. 574. 

From the Chartulary of the Trinity House of Soltra, 

Advocates'' Library, W. 4. 14. 

ERSYLTON. 

' Omnibus has literas visoris vel andituris Thomas de Ercil- 
doun filius el heres Thorns Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in 
Domino. NoverJtis me per fuslem et bacolum in pleno jndi- 
cio resignasse ac per presentes qnietem claraasse pro me et here- 
dibus meis Magistro ilonins S.incta; Trinilatis de goitre et fra- 
tribus ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum omnibus per- 
linentibus suia quam in tenemeiito de Ercildoun hereditarie 
tenui renunciando de loto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure 
et clameo quae ego seu antecessores mei in eadera terra alioque 
^mpore de perpetuo habuimua sive de futuro habere possumus. 
tn cujus ri'i tesiimonio presentibus his sigillara raeum apposui 
data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post festum Sanctorum 
Apostolornm Symonb et Jade Anno Domini Millcsimo cc. 
Nonagesimo Nono. 



Note B.— P. 676. 

The reader is here presented, from an old, and unfortnnately 
an imperfect MS , with the undoubted original of Thomas the 
Rhymer's intrigue with the Q-ueen of Faery. It will afford 
great amusement to those who would study the nature of tra- 
ditional poetry, and the changes effected by oral tradition, to 
compare tliis ancient romance with the foregoing ballad. The 
same incidents are narrated, even the expression is often the 
bame ; yet the poems are as ditferent in appearance, as if the 
older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by 
ft poet of the present day. 

Incipit Prophcsia Thoma de Erseldoun, 

In alande as I was lent, 
In the gryking of the day, 
Ay alone as I went, 
In Huntle bankys me for to play ; 
I saw the throstyl, and the jay. 
Ye mawes movyde of her song 
Ye wodwale sange notes gay, 
That al the wod about range. 
'n that longyng aa I lay, 



Undir nethe a dem tre, 

I was war of a lady gay, 

Come rydyng ouyr a fairle". 

Zngh I suld sitt to domysday, 

With my long to wrabbe and wfj 

Certenly all hyr aray, 

It beth neuyer discryuyd for me. 

Hyr palfra was dappyll gray, 

Sycke on say neuer none ; 

As the son in somers day, 

All abowte that lady schone. 

Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone, 

A semly syght it was to se, 

Bryht with mony a precyous stone 

And compasyd all with crapste ; 

Stones of Qfyens, gret plente, 

Her hair about her hede it hang. 

She rode oucr the farnyle, 

A while she blew, a while she sang^ 

Her girths of nobil silke they were, 

Her bocnls were of beryl stone, 

Sadyll and brydil war - -; 

With sylk and sendel about bedone, 

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne, 

And hyr croper of the arase, 

Her brydil was of gold fine, 

On euery syde fornulhe hang bells tia 

Her brydil reynes - - - 

A semly syzl - - - - 

Crop and patyrel - - - - 

In every joynt - - - - 

She led thre grew houndes in a leash, 

And ratches cowpled by her ran ; 

She bar an horn about her halse, 

And undir her gyrdil mene flene, 

Thomas lay and sa - - - 

In the bankes of - - - - 

He sayd Yonder is Mary of Might, 

That bar the child that died for me, 

Cerles hot I may speke with tliat lady bfigB^i 

Myd my hert will breke in three ; 

I schal me bye with all my might, 

Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tre. 

Thomas rathly up her rase, 

And ran ouer mountayn hye, 

If it he sotlie the story says. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



587 



Ho met her e-jyn at Eldyn Tre. 
Tl'omas knelyd down on his kne 
Utiilir npthe tlie prenewood spray, 
And sayd. Lovely lady, thou rue on me, 
Queen of Heaven as you may well be. 
But I am a lady ofanotlier countrie, 
If I be pareld nio?t of prise, - 
I ride after the wild fee. 
My patches rinnen at my devys. 
.f thou be jiarehi most of prise, 
And rides a lady in Strang foly, 
lovely lady, as thou art wise, 
Giue yoQ me leue to lige ye by. 
Do way, Thomas, that were Ibly, 
I pray ye, Thomas, late me be, 
That sin will fordo all my bewtie. 
Lovely ladye, rewe on me. 
And euer more I shall with ye dwel*, 
Here my trowth I plyght to thee, 
Where you belienes in heuin or hell. 
Thomas, and you myght lyge me by, 
Undir nethe this grene wode spray, 
Thou would tell full hastely, 
That thou had layn by a lady gay. 
Lady, mote I lyge by the, 
Undir nethe the grene wode tre, 
For all the gold in chrystenty, 
Suld yon neuer be wryede for me. 
Man on molde you will me marre, 
And yet hot you may haf your will, 
Trow yoB well, Thomas, yoo chenysl ye warn 
For all my bewtie wilt you spill. 
Down lyghted that lady bryzt, 
Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 
And as ye story sayth full ryzt, 
Seuynlymes by her he lav. 
She sayd, Man, yon lyst thi play, 
What berde in bonyr may dele with thee. 
That maries me all this long dav ; 
I pray ye, Thomas, lei me be. 
Thomas stode up in the stede. 
And behelde the lady gay, , 

Her heyre hang down about hyr hede, 
The tana was blak, the other gray, 
Her eyn semyt onte before was gray, 
Her gay clethyng was all away, 
That he before had sene in that stede 
Hyr body as blow as ony bede. 
Thomas sighede, and sayd. Alias, 
Me thynke this a dullfull syght, 
That thou art fadyd in the face, 
Jefore yon shone as son so bryzt. 
Tak thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone 
At gresse, and at eoery tre, 
This twelmonth sail you with me gone 
Medyl erth yoo sail not se. 
Alas he seyd, ful wo is me, 
[ trow my dedes will werke me care, 
Jesn, my sole tak to ye, 
Whedir so euyr my body sal fare. 
She rode furth with all her myzt, 
Undir nethe the derne lee, 
It was as derke as at midnizt, 
And euyr in water unto the kne ; 
Through the space of days thre, 
He herde but swowyng of a flode ; 
Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me, 
Now I spyll for fawte of fode ; 
To a garden she lede him tyte, 
There was fruyte in grete plenle, 
Peyrea and appless ther were rype, 
The date and the tlamese, 



The figge and ala fy.liert tre ; 

The nyghtyngflle bredyng in her neste. 

The papigaye ahovit gan (le, 

T!ie throatyii'ock sang wald hafe no rest. 

He pressed to puUe fruyt with his hand, - 

As man for faule that was faynt ; 

She eeyd, Thomas, lat al stand. 

Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt. 

Sche seyd, Thomas, I the hyzt, 

To lay thi hede upon my kne, 

And thou shalt see fayrer syght, 

Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way, 

That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn ? 

Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay, 

Whan synful sawles haf derayed their { fiyn*. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way. 

That lygges lawe undir the ryse ? 

Streight is the way, sothly to say, 

To thejoyes of paradyce. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, 

That lygges ouyr yone how ? 

Wide is the way, sothly to say. 

To the brynyng fyres of helle. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell. 

That standes ouyr yone fair hill 1 

Of town and tower it beereth the belle. 

In middell erth is none like theretill. 

Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye, 

I pray thee curteis man to be ; 

What so any man to you say, 

Loke thu answer none hut me. 

My lord is servyd at yche messe, 

With XXX kniztea feir and f re ; 

I shall say syttyng on the dese, 

I toke thy speche beyone the le. 

Thomas stode as still as stone. 

And behelde that ladye gaye ; 

Than was sche fayr, and ryche anone, 

And also ryal on hir palfreye. 

The grewhoundes had fylde thaim on the Aet%. 

The raches coupled, by my fay, ~ 

She blewe iier home Thomas to chere, 

To the castell she went her way. 

The ladye into the hall went, 

Thomas folowyd al her hand ; 

Thar kept her mony a lady gent, 

With cnrtasy and lawe. 

Harp and fedyl both he faude, 

The getern and the sawlry, 

Lut and rybid ther gon gan, 

Thair was al manerof mynstralsy, 

The most fertly that Thomas thoghl, 

When he com emyddes the tlore, 

Fourly hertes to quarry were broght. 

That had been befor both long and store. 

Lymors lay lappyng blode, 

And kokes standyng with dressyng knyfOi 

And dressyd dere as thai werwode. 

And rewell was ihair wonder. 

Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre, 

All that leue long day. 

Ladyea that were gret of gre, 

Sat and sang of rych array. 

Thomas sawe much more in that p1ac«. 

Than I can descryve, 

Til on a-duy, nlns, alas, 

My lovelye ladye sayd to me. 

Bosk ye, Thomas, yoa must agayn, 

Here yon may no longer be : 

Hy then zerne that you were at hame^ 

' sal ye bryng to Eldy Tre 



688 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thomas answerd with heuy 

And said, Lowely ladye, lat ma he, 

For I sny ye certeiily here 

flat' I be bol the space of dayes three. 

Sothiy, Thomas, as I telle ye, 

Yon hath ben here thre yeres, 

And here you may no longer be ; 

And I sal tele ye a skele. 

To-morrow of helle ye foule fende 

Amang our foike shall chase his fee ; 

For you art a larg man and an hende, 

Trowe you w^le he will chnse thee. 

Fore all the golde that may be, 

Fro hens unto the worldeg ende, 

Sail you not be betrayed by me, 

And thairfors.itl yon hens wende. 

She broght bym euyn to Eldyn Tre, 

Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 

In Huntle bankes was fayr to be, 

Tlier hreddes syng both nyzt and day. 

Ferre onyr yon inonlayns gray, 

Ther hatlie my facon ; 

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. 



The Elfin Queen, after restoring Thomas to earth, pours 
forth a string of prophecies, in which we dislingoish references 
lo the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Edward 
III. The battles of Dupplin and Halidon are mentioned, and 
also Black Agnes, Countess of Dunbar. There is a copy of 
this poem in the Museum of the Cathedral of Xjincoln, an- 
other in the collection in Peterborough, but unfortunately they 
are all in an imperfect state. Mr. Jamieson, in his curious 
Collection of Scottish Ballads and Songs, has an entire copy 
of this ancient poem, witii all the collations. The lacun<£ of 
the former editions have been supplied from his copy. 



Note C. 



ALLUSIONS TO HERALDRY. — P. 578. 

' Tlie muscle is a square figure like a lozenge, but it is al- 
ways voided ofihe Jield. They are carried as principal figures 
by the name of Learmont. Learmont of Earlstoun, in the 
Merss, carried or on a bend azure three muscles ; of whicli 
family was Sir Thomas Learmont, who is well known by the 
name of Tlionias the Riiymer, because he wrote iiis propliecies 
in rhimo." This prophetick herauld lived in the days of King 
Alexander the Third, and prophesied of his death, and of many 
other remarkable occurrences; particularly of the union of 
Scotland with England, which was not accomplished until the 
reign of James the Sixth, some hundred years after it was fore- 
told by this gentleman, whose prophecies are much esteemed 
by many of t!ie vulgar even at this day. I was promised by a 
friend a sight of iiLs prophecies, of which there is everywhere 
to be had an eitiwme, which, I suppose, is erroneous, and dif- 
fers in many things from the original, it having been oft re- 
printed by some unskilful persons. Thus many things are 
amissing in the small book which are to be met with in the 
srigina!, particularly these two lines concerning his neighbour, 
Bemerside ; — 

' Tyde what may betide, 
Haig shall be laird of Bemerside.* 

And indeed his prophecies concerning that ancient family have 
hitherto been true ; for, since tliat time to this day, the Ilaigs 
have been lairds of that place. They carrie, Azure a saltier 
cantoned with two stars in chief and in base argent, as many 
crescents in the flanques or ; and for crest a rock proper, 
with this motto, taken from the above written rhyme — ' Tide 
►hat may.' '' — Nisbk' in Marks of Cadency, p. 158. — He 



adds, " that Thomas' meaning may be understocd by herattldi 
v/hen he speaks of kin^domg whose insignia seldom vary, bat 
that individual families cannot be discovereil, either becsase 
they have altered their bearings, or because they are jioirted 
out by their crests and exterior ornaments, which are changed 
at the pleasure of ll» bearer." Mr. Nisbet, however, com- 
forts himself for this obscurity, by reflecting, that "we may 
certainly conclude, from his writing?, that herauldry was in 
good esteem in his days, and well known to the vulgar."-- 
Ihid. p. 100. — It may be added, that the publication of pre- 
dictions, either printed or hieroglypiiical, in which noble fami* 
lies were pointed out by their armorial bearings, was, in vhe 
timeofO-ueen Elizabeth, extremely common ; and llie inflo- 
ence of such predictions on the minds of the common people 
was so great as to occasion a prohibition, by statute, of proph- 
ecy by reference to heraldic emblems. Lord Henry Howard 
also (afterwards Earl of Northampton_) directs against tbii 
practice much of the reasoning in his learned treatise, entitled, 
'* A Defensation against the Poyson of pretended ProphecieB." 



Note D.— P. 680. 



The strange occupation in which Waldhave beholds Meriai 
engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage ip 
Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. Th» 
poem, after narrating that the projthct had fled to the forest 
in a state of distraction, proceeds to mention, that, looking 
upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned from his astifr 
logical knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, 
upon the ne.\t morning, to take another husband. As he bad 
presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised 
her a nuptial gift (cautioning iier, however, to keep the bride- 
groom out of his sight), lie now resolved to make good hii 
word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lessM 
game in his neighborhood ; and, having seated himself upon a 
buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, 
where Guendolen resided. But her lover's cariosity leading 
him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade Me^ 
lin's rage was awakened, and he slev/ him with Uie stroke oJ 
an antler of the stag. The original runs thus : — 

" Dixcrat : et silvas ct saltus circuit omncs, 
Ccrvorumqnc g-reges ngmcn cotlegit in unum, 
Et damns, capreasque simul ; cervaqite Tesedit, 
Et, veniente die, covipcllens agmina pros se, 
Fcstinans vadit quo nuhit Qucndolaina, 
Postquam venit eo, pacienter ipse coegit 
Cervns ante fores, proclamans , ' Qucndolmna, 
Qucndol<£naf vcni, te talia viuncra spectant. 
Ocius ergo tenit suhridens Qiicndoltina, 
Oestariqiie virum ccrvo miratiir, et ilhim 
Sic parer»>viro, tanttim quoque posse ferarum 
Uniri niimcriim quas pro: se solus agebat, 
Sicut pastor oves, quas duccrc sucvit ad her bit 9. 
Stabat ab ezcelsa sponsus spectando fenestra 
In solio mirans cquitem, risumque movebat, 
Jist ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis eaaet 
Calluit, cTtcmpla dimilsit cornua ccrvo 
Quo gestabatur, vibrataquejccit in ilium, 
Et caput illius penitiis contrivit, cumque 
Reddidit exaniman, vitamquc fugaoit in auriut ; 
Oeius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervu7a 
Diffugiens egit, silvasquc redire paravit.** 

For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from 
aM?. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I 
was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr. Rilson. There 
is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and eniertain* 
ins Specimens of Early English Rowances, published 6» 
Mr. EUis. 



I 



I 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



58t 



^ I e n f i n I a 



OB, 



LOR^) RONALD'S CORONACH 



The simple traditioD, upon which the following 
stanzas ai*e founded, runs thus : While two High- 
land hunters were passing the night in a solitary 
botlnt (a hut, built for the pui'pose of hunting), and 
making merry over theu' venison and whisky, one 
of them expressed a wish that they had pretty 
lasses to complete their party. The words were 
scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young wo- 
men, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing 
and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by 
the siren who attached herself particularly to him, 
to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspi- 
cious of the f:ur seducers, continued to play upon 
a trump, or Jew's-harp, some strain, consecrated 
to the Virgin Mary. Day at length ciime, and the 
temptress vanished. Searcliing in the forest, he 
found the bones of his unfortunate fi-iend, who had 
been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into 
whose toils he had fallen. The place was from 
thence called the Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the 
Highlands of Perthshire, not fai- from Callender in 
Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now 
belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as 
well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, 
m times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Mac- 
gregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas 
lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called 
ill,- Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoir- 

' ,. ;ire momitains in the same district, and at no 

t distance fi-om Glenfinlas. The river Teith 

-L-9 Callender and the Castle of Doune, and 

- the Forth near Stirhng. The Pass of Lenny 

lUiediately above Callender, and is the princi- 

accesa to the Higlilands, from that town. 

iienartney is a forest, near BenvoirUch. The 

whole fi I ms a sublime tract of Alpme scenery. . 

This ballad first appeared in the Tales of Won- 
der? 



® lenfinla0, 



OK, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH 



' For them the viewless forms of air obey, 

Their hiiiding heed, and at their beck repalf , 

They know what spirit brews the stormfal day 
And lieartless oft, like moody madness stare, 

To see the phantom-tra^n tlieir secret work ])repr.re.'* 

CoLLINf 



" HONE a rie' ! hone a rie' !^ 
The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 

And fall'n Glenaxtney's stateliest tree ; 
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more 1" — 

O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
The cliief that never fear'd a foe, 

How matcliless was thy broad claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell,* 

How, ou the Teith's resounding shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell. 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills, in festal day, 

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree,* 
While youths and maids the Ught stratbapev 

So nimbly danced with Highland glee I 

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's sheU, 
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 
ne'er to see Lord Ronald more 1 



I Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung 
Jjr the aged of the clan. 

' In 1801. See ante, p. 567.— The Bcenery of this, the an- 
ihor's first serious attempt in poetry, reappears in tbe Lady of 
^ Lake in Waverley, and in Rob Roy. — Ed. 



3 O hone a Tie* signifies — " Alas for tbo piinc« a 
chief." 

* The term Sassenach, or Sa."ton, is applied by the HigbluM^ 
er^ to their Low-Country neighbors. 

6 See Appendix. Note A 



590 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



From distant isles a chieftain came, 
Tlie joys of Ronald's balls to find, 

And chase with him the dark-brown game, 
That bomids o'er Albiu's hills of wind. 

'Twas Moy ; whom in Colmnba's isle 
Tho seer's prophetic spirit found,* 

As, ^\ ith a minstrel's fire the while. 
He waked his harp s harmonious sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 
Wiich wandering spirits shrink to hear ; 

And many a lay of potent tone. 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 

High converse with the dead they hold. 

And oft espy the fated slu-oud. 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 

O so it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The Cliiefs h.ave ta'en their distant way. 

And scour'd tlie deep Glenfinlas glen. 

No vassals w.ait their sports to aid. 

To watch their safety, deck their board ; 

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid. 
Their trusty guard, the HiglJand sword. 

Three summer days, tlu-ough brake .and dell, 
Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 

And still, when dewy evening fell, 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The solitary cabin stood. 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Wliich murmurs thi'ough that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 
When three successive days had flown ; 

An d summer mist in dewy balm 
Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, 

Afar her dubious radiance shed, 

' Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise, 
Tlicii' silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
Ae many a pledge he quaffs to Moy 

i See Appendix. Note B. 



" What lack we here to crown our bliss. 
While thus the pulse of joy beats liigh? 

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss. 
Her panting breath and melting eye S 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades. 
This momiug left their father's pile 

The faii'est of our mountain maids, 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, 
And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

" But thou mayst teach that guardian fair 
While far with M.ary I am flown, 

Of other hearts to ce;ise her care, 
And find it hard to guard her owa 

" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt sep 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Urunindful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twLxt tear and smile 

" Or, if she choose a melting tale. 

All underneath the greenwood bough 

Win good St. Oran's rule prevail," 
Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" — 

" Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, 
No more on me sh.ill rapture rise. 

Responsive to the panting breath. 
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

1 bade my harp's wild wailings flow. 
On me the Seer's sad spirit came. 

" The last dread curse of angry heaven, 
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, 

To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
Tlie gift, the future ill to know. 

" The bark thou saw'st, yon summer mom, 

So gayly part from Oban's bay. 
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

" Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's powei 

As marcliing 'gainst the Lord of Downe, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

3 Fe« Appendix. Note C. 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO MINSTRELSY. 59i 


"Tbou only saw'st their tartans' wave, 
As I'^wa Benvoirlich's side they wound, 

Heard'st but the pibrocli,'' auawcring brave 
To many a taiget clanking round. 


And by the watch-fire's glinmermg light, 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

A huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 


' 1 beard tht groans, I mark'd the tears, 
I saw the wound his bosom bore, 

When on the serried Saxon spears 
Ho pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 


All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, 
As, bending o'er the*dying gleam. 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 


" And thou, who bidst me think of bUss, 
And bidst my heart awake to glee, 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 
That heart, Ronald, bleeds for thee I 


With maiden blush, she softly said, 
" gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. 

In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 


" I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; [now . . . 
The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and 

No more is given to gifted eye !" 


" With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow. 
The mountain dirk adorns his side. 

Far on the wind liis tartans flow !" — 


" Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour 1 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, 
L Because to-moiTow's storm may lour ! 


" And who art thou ? and who are they V 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

" And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?" — 


" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
ClangUlian's Cliieff ain ne'er shall fear ; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 


" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide. 
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle. 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side. 
The castle of the bold Glengyle. 


' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell. 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." 

He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell. 
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew 


1 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer. 

Our woodland course this morn we bor« 
And haply met, while wandering hero. 

The son of great Macgillianore. 


Within an hour return'd each hound ; 

In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; 
They howl'd in melancholy sound, 

Then closely couch'd beside the Seer 


" aid me, then, to seek the pan-. 
Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 

Alone, I dare not venture there, 

Wliere walks, they say, the shrieking ghost"— 


No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams. 

As, btoding o'er the dying flame. 
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 


" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; 

Then, first, my own sad vow to keep. 
Here will I pour my midnight prayer, 

Wliich stUl must rise when mortals sleep."— 


Sadden the hounds erect their ears. 
And sudden cease their moaning howl ; 

Cljce press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shive ring limbs and stifled growL 


" first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way 1 

For I must cross the haunted brake, , 
And reach my father's towers ere day." — 


Dntouch'd, the harp began to ring. 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive every strmg. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 


" First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 
And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 

Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 
So shall we safely wend our way." — 


■ Tartans— The fell Highland drees, made of the checkered 
rnffw termed. 


« Pibroch — A piece of martial masic, adapted to toe Higb 
land bagpipe. 



592 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'' shame to knighthood, strange and foul 
Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 

And shroud thee in the monkish cowl. 
Which best befits thy sullen vow. 

" Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 

'AHien gayly rung thy raptur'd lyre 
To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame. 

And higli his sable locks arose. 
And quick liis color went and came. 

As fear and rage alternate rose. 

" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 

I lay, to her and love resign'd, 
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. 

Or eail'd ye on the midnight wind ! 

•' Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 

He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme. 
And thrice St. FiUan's powerful prayer ; 

Then tmn'd him to the eastern clime, 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; 

And loud, and liigh, and strange, they rung, 
As many a magic change they find. 

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form, 
Till to the roof her stature grew ; 

Then, minghng with the rising storm. 
With one wild yeU away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwmd.s tear : 
The slender hut in fi'agments flew ; 

' See Appendix, Note D. 

" Lewl3 s coliecnon proaacea aiSO wnat acotl jnsfiy calia 
sa ' first serious attempts in verse ;' and of these 'he earliest 
iweears to have been the Glentinlaa. Here the scene is laid in 
iiie most favorite liistrict of his favorite Perthshire Highlands ; 
»nd tire Gaelic tradition on wliich it was founded was tar more 
jju!\y to .Iil.w Cit the secret strength of his genius, as well as 
to arrest the ieelings of his countrymen, than any subject with 
Irbtch the Ktores of German diablerie could have supplied 



But not a lock of Moy's loose h.'ur 
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale, 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, 
And die amid the northern skies. . 

The voice of thtmder shook the wood. 
As ceased the more than mortal yell 

And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next dropp'd from high a rcangled arm ; 

The fingers stram'd a half-drawn blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm, 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field, 

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; 

That arm the broad claymore couUl wield, 
Wliich dyed the Teith with Saxon gore 

Woe to Moneira's sullen riUs ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' dre.iry glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hills 

Shall draw the himter's sliaft ajjen I 

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 

And we — behind the Cliieftain's shield, 
No more shall we in safety dwell ; 

None leads the people to the field — 
And we the loud lament must swell. 

hone a rie' ! hone a rie' 1 
The pride of Albin's Une is o'er ! 

And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! 



hira. It has been alleged, however, that the poet makes a 
German use of his Scottish materials ; that the legend, u 
briefly told in the simple prose of his preface, is more njffcting 
than the lofty and sonorous stanzas themselves ; that the 
vague terror of the original dream loses, instead of gaining, by 
the expanded elaboration of the detail There may be some, 
thing in these objections : but no man can pretend to be at 
impartial critic of the piece which first awoke his own childiiH 
ear to the power of poetry and the melody of verse. ' — Ijljf cj 
Scott, vol. ii. p. S5. 



i 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



593 



APPENDIX. 



Note A* 

JJl J iU:ed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree.— V. 589. 

TnK firw Jghted by the Higlilandere, on the first of May, in 
iomplianctf with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are 
(ermed The Beltane~tree. It is a festival celebrated with va- 
licQS snperstitioas rites, both in the north of Scotland and 
In Wales. 



Note B. 



TTte seer^s prophetic spirit found. — P. 590. 

1 can only describe the second siglit, by adopting Dr. John- 
eon's definition, who calls it " An impression, either by the 
mind Qpon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which 
things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were 
present." To which I wonld only add, tiiat tlie spectral ap- 
pearances, tiius presented, osually presage misfortune ; that the 
faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it ; and 
that they usnally acquire it while themselves Dcder the pres- 
■ore of melancholv. 



I 



Note C. 



Will good St. Gran's rule prevail 7— P. 591. 



St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was 
buried at Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather 
dobioQS. According to tbe legend, he consented to be buried 
Alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of liie soil, who ob- 
flmcted the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba 
caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days 
had elapsed ; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the as- 
ftstants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, 
Aor a future «tate ! He had no time to make further discov- 
eries, for Columba cause;* ..tie earth once more to be shovelled 
over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and 
•Jie cemetery, was called Relig Ouran ; and, in memory of his 
rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, 
or be buried in that pltce. This is the rule alluded to in tfa* 
poem. 

•»5 



Note D, 

And thrice St. Filla^,'s powerful prayer. — F. 593. 

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy foun* 
tains, &c., in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, ar 
Abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife ; from which situation he re- 
tired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurcliy, A. D. 649. 
While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand 
was observed to send forth such a splendor, as to ifford light 
to that with which he wrote ; a miracle which s:ived many 
candles to the convent, as St. Fillan u^ed to spend w bole nights 
in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicnted to ihJa 
saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St 
Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7, teils us, that 
Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and 
luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it 
carried at the head of his army. Previous to the Battle of 
Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of iittle faith, ab- 
stracted the relic, and deposited it in a place of security, lest K 
should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo ! while Rob- 
ert wasaiTdressing his prayers to tbe emi)ly casket, it was ob- 
served to open and shut suddenly ; and, on inspection, riie 
saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine 
as an assaratn.^ of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But 
though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan shoultl 
assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at 
Killin, opon Loch Tay. 

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802. there ts a copy of a 
very curious crown grant, dated lltli July. 1487, by which 
James fIL confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Stratfa- 
fillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exereiso and enjoyment of a 
relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral 
staff called the U,uegrich, which ho nnd his predecessors are 
said to have possessed since the daysof Kobert Bruce. As the 
Quegrich was used to core diseases, this document is probably 
the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. 
The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther 
observes, that additional particulars, coi^ erning St. Fillan, are 
to be found in Bellenden's Boece, B<>'ik4, folio ccxiii., and 
in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1772. |ip. 11, 15. 

See a note on the lines in the first cai>tu of Marmioo. 

" Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can phrensied dreams dispel, 
And tbe crazed brain restore," 8lc — £s 



ftV4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^I)c €\)t of St. M)n. 



SMAn.Ho'siK, or Siaallholm Tower, the scene of 
the following ballad, is situated on the northern 
boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of 
wild roclis, called Sandiknow'-Crags, the property 
of Hugh Scott, Esq., of Harden [now Lord Pol- 
warth]. The tower is a high square builduig, sur- 
rounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The cir- 
cuit of the outer court, being defended on three 
eides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only 
fi'om the west, by a steep and rocky path. The 
apartments, as is usual in a Border keep, or for- 
tress, are placed one above anotlier, and commu- 
nicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof are two bar- 
tizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. Tlie 
umer door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron 
gate ; the distance between them being nine feet, 
the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the ele- 
vated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen 
many miles in every direction. Among the crags 
by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is 
called the Watc/ifuld, and is said to have been the 
Btation of a beacon, in the times of war with Eng- 
land. Without the tower-courf is a ruined chapel. 
Brotlierstone is a heath, in the neighborhood of 
Sm.iylho'me Tower. 

Tliis ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's 
Tales of Wonder. It is here published, with some 
additional illustrations, particularly an account of 
the battle of Ancram Moor; which seemed proper 
in a work upon Border antiquities. The catastro- 
phe of the tale i-- founded upon a well-known Irish 
tradition.' Tliis incient fortress and its vicinity 
formed the seen.' of the Editor's infancy, and 
seemed to claim fi-om him this attempt to cele- 
orate them in a Border tale.' . 



' " Tin's place* is rendered interesting to poetical readers, 
»T its having been tlie residence, in early life, of Mr. Walter 
Scott, who has celebrated it in his ' Eve of St. John.' To it 
he prooably alludes in the introduction to the third canto of 
Marn.tOn. 

' Then rise those crags, that monntain tower. 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.' " 

Scots Mag. March, 1809. 

> The following passage, in Dr. Henry y'OTiE^s .Appendix 
to the JintJdote against ditheism, relates to a similar phenom- 
tnon : — " I confess, that the bodies of devils may not be only 
warm, but sindgingly hot, as it was in him that took one of 
Uelaucthon's relations by the hand, and so scorched her, that 

rhe fann-hoiue in the innnediatfi vicinity of Smailhclm. 



^e €vt of St. loljn. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurr'd his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way. 

That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 

His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew. 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack' was braced, and his helmet 
was laced, 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron return'd in three days space, 

And his looks were sad and sotu*; 
And weary was liis courser's pace, 

As he reach'd his rocliy tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor* 

Ran red with Enghsh blood ; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, 

His acton pierced and tore. 
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 
He held him close and still ; 

she bare the mark of it to her dying day. But tne exanipnsi 
of cold are more frequent ; as in that famous story of Cuntins. 
when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, u 
she lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice ; and so did the spirit' 
claw to Anne Styles."— £rf. 1662, p. 135. 
^^ See the Introduction to the third canto of MarmlOD. . . 

" It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of softest greet* ; 
And well (he lonely infant knew 
Receises where the wallflower gr«w," &c. — l<D. 
* The plate-jack is coat-armor: the vaunt- brace, or warn- 
brace, armor for the body ; the sj-erthe, a ba.Ue-axe. 
^ See Appendix, Note A. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 


f nd he whistled thrice for his little foot-page 


" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 


His name was English Will. 


I dare not come to thee ; 




On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : 


■' Come thou hither, iny little foot-page, 


In thy bower I may not be.' — 


Come hither to my knee ; 




Though thou art young, and tender of age. 


" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight 1 


1 think thou art true to me. 


Thou shouldst not say me n.ay ; 




For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet. 


;■ " Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. 


Is worth the whole summer's day. 


And look thou tell me true ! 




Since I from Smayliio'me tower have been, 


" ' And I'll chain the blood-liound, :md the w:irdi;i 


What did thy lady do f— 


shall not sound. 




And rushes shall be strew' d on the stair; 


" My lady, eadi night, sought tne lonely light 


So, by the black rood-stone,' and by holy St 


That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 


John, 


For, from height to height, the beacons bright 


I conjure thee, my love, to bo there 1' — 


Of the EngUsh foemea told. 




- 


" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the niah 


•■The bittern clamor'd from the moss. 


beneath my foot. 


'JTie wind blew loud and shrill ; 


And the warder his bugle should not blow, 


Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 


Yet there sleepeth a priest in the ch.amber to the 


To the cu-y Beacon Hill. 


east. 




And my footstep he would know.' — 


" I watch'd her steps, and silent came 




Where she sat her on a stone ; 


" ' fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east ; 1 


No watchman stood by the dreary flame, 


For to Dryburgh^ the wiiy he has ta'en ; 


It burned iill alone. 


And there to say mass, tiU three days do pass, 




For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 


' The second night 1 kept her in sight, 




Till to the fire she came. 


" He turn'd him around, .and grimly he frown'd ; 


And. by Mary's might 1 an Armed Ivnigtt 


Then he laugh'd right scornfully — 


Stood by the lonely flame. 


' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that 




inight. 


'■ And many a word that wirhke Wd 


May as well say mass lor me : 


Did speak to my lady there ; 




But the rain fell fast, .and loud blew the blast, 


" ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirit* 


And I heard not what they were. 


have power, > 




In thy chamber will I be.' — ' 


"The third night there the sky was £akr, 


With that he was gone, and my lady left alor* 


And the mountain-blast was still, 


And no more did I see." 


As again I watch'd the secret pair, 




On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 


Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, 




From the dark to the blood-red high. 


" And I heard her name the midnight hour. 


" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou haai 


And name this holy ere ; 


seen. 


And say, ' Gome this night to thy lady's bower ; 


For, by Maiy, he .shall die !"— 


Ask no boll! Baron's leave. 






" His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red 


"'He Ufts his spear -with the bold Buccleuch ; 


light; 


His lady is all alone ; 


His pltime it was scarlet and blue ; 


The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, 


On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bonnd, 


On the eve of good St. John.' — 

LI 


And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 


1 I fhe'D'ick-rcod ^f Melrose was a crucifix ol" black marble. 


Honorable the Earl of Bnclian. It belonged to tlie ord3r 01 


I Hid ofsaperior iip.ictity. 


Premonstratenses. — [The ancient Barons of Newmains wen 


y ' • Dr,r'jor?h AbK/ is beattifally situate on the banks of the 


nhimately represented by Sir Walter Scott, whose remaiuB DOW 


twoed. After its dis»':.lution, it became Ihe property of the 


repose in tlie cemetery at Drvbnrgh.— Ed.1 


4aI!ibartoDS of Newm&iDs. ond i" now the seat of liie Right 





596 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


' Thnu liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 


And oft to himself he said, — 


Loud dost thou lie to me ! 


"The worms around him creep, and his bloooj 


For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. 


grave is deep 


All under the Eildon-tree." — ' 


It cannot give up the dead 1" — 


'' Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 


It was near the rmging of matin-beU, 


For I heard her name his name ; 


The night was wellnigh done. 


And that lady bright, she called the knight 


When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, 


Su: Richard of Coldinghame." — 


On the eve of good St. John. , 


The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow. 


The lady look'd through the chamber fair, 


From high blood-red to pale — 


By the hght of a dying flame ; 


" The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is 


And she was aware of a knight stood there — 


stiff and stark — 


Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 


So I may not trust thy tale. 




• 


" Alas 1 away, away !" she cried. 


" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 


" For tlie holy Vugin's sake !" — 


And Eildon slopes to the plain. 


" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 


Full three niglits ago, by some secret foe, 


But, lady, he will not awake. 


That gay gallant was slain. 






" By Eildon-tree, for long nights three. 


"The varying light deceived thy sight, 


In bloody grave have I lain ; 


And the wild winds drown'd the name ; 


The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, 


For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks 


But, lady, they are said in vain. 


do sing, 




For Sur Richard of Coldinghame 1" 


" By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair straiui 




Most foully slain, I fell ; , 


He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower- 


And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, 


And he mounted the narrow stair, [gate. 


For a space is doom'd to dwell. 


To the bartizan-seat, -where, witli maids that on 




her wait, 


" At our trysting-place,' for a certain space, 


He found his lady fair. 


I must wander to and fro ; 




But I had not had power to come to thy 


That lady sat in mournful mood ; 


bower. 


Look'd over hill and vale ; 


Had'st thou not conjured me so." — 


Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's" wood. 




And all down Teviotdale. 


Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 




'* How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 


• Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright !" — 


And art thou saved, or art thou lost !"— 


•' Now hail, thou Baron true ! 


The vision shook Ms head ! 


What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? 




What news frfliu the bold Buccleuch ?" — 


" Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life ; 




So bid thy lord beheve : 


*The Ancram Moor is red with gore. 


That lawless love is guilt above. 


For many a soutliron fell ; 


This awful sign receive." 


4nd Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, 




To watch our beacons well." — 


He laid liis left palm on an oaken beam ; 




His right upon her hand ; 


The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said : 


The lady slirunk, and fainting sunk, 


Nor added the Baron a word : 


For it scorch'd Uke a fiery brand. 


Then she stepp'd down the stau- to her chamber fair, 




And so did her moody lord. 


The sable score, of fingers four, 




Remains on that board impress'd ; 


in sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd 


And for evermore that lady wore 


and turn'd, 


A covering on her wrist. 


' Eildon is a liigti hill, terminating in three conical sQinmita, 


where Thomas the Rhymer ottered his prophecies. 8c«p.ilK 


iirectly above the town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins 


'J Merloun is the beautiful seat of Lord Polwarth. 


•f • magnificent moaasterv Eildon-tree ia said to be the spot 


3 Trysling-place — Place of rendezi oas. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



591 



There ifl a nun in Dryburgh bower, 

Ne'er looks upon the 8un ; 
There is a, monk in Melrose tower, 

He speaketh word to none. 

- See Appendix, Note B. 

*' The next of these compositions was, I beheve, the Eve of 
Nt John, in wliieh Scott re-]>popIe3 the tower of Stnailliolm, 
the awe-iiiapiriiig haunt of his infancy ; and here he touclies, 
for the first time, the one superstition whicii can still be ap- 
pealed to wim full and perfect effect ; tlie only one which lin- 
gers in ir-p-** \v>g since weaned from all sympathy with the 
j^^chinerv *i" vitches and goblins. And surely tliis mystery 
*U nevet »«ftched with more thrilling skill than in that noble 



That nun, wlio ne'er beliolds the day,' 

That monk, who speaks to none— 
That nun was Sniaylho'me's Lady guy, 

That monk the bold Baron. 

ballad. It is the first of his original pieces, too, in which h« 
uses the meusnre of Ins own favorite Minstrels ; a measure 
which the monotony of mediocrity had loi:g .uiJ successfully 
been laboring to degrade, but in itseJf adequate to the expre** 
sion of tke highest thought-s, as well as the gentlest emotions; 
and capable, in fit hands, of as rich a variety of music as any 
other of modern times. This was written al Wrfrloun-houM 
in the autumn of 17'J9.*'— /.j/e of Scott, vol. li. p. 26. Se« 
ante, p. 568. 



APPENDIX. 



^OTE A. 

BATTLE OF AKCRAM MOOR. — P. 594. 

Lord 6vers, and Sir Brian Latonn, dnring the year 1544, 
committed the most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish fron- 
tiers, compelling most of the inhabitants, and especially tlie 
men of Liddesdale, to take assurance untler the King of Etig- 
latd. Upon ihe nth November, in that year, the sum tolal 
of tiieir depredations stood thus, in the bloody ledger of Lord 
EverB : — 

Towns, towers, barnekynes, paryshe churches. ba.still 

houses, burned and destroyed, . , . 192 

Scots slain, ..... 403 

Prisoners taken, ..... 816 

Nolt (cattle) 10.386 

Shepe, ...... 12,492 

Nags and geldings, • . . . . 1,296 

Gnyt, . . . . . . .200 

Bolls of com, ..... 850 

Insight gear, Uc. (furniture) an incalculable quantity. 

Mitrdin's State Papers, vol. i. p. 51. 

For these services Sir Ralph Evers was made a Lord of Par- 
hament. See a strain of exulting congratulation upon his pro- 
motion poured forth by some contemporary minstrel, in-vol. i. 
p. 417. " ■ ' 

The King of England had promised to these two barons a 
feudal grant of the country, which they h:id thus reduced to a 
desert ; upon hearing which. Archib.il(l Donglas. the seventh 
Earl of Angus, is said to havt- eworn to write the deed of in- 
vestiture upon their t^kins, with sharp pens and bloody ink. in 
menlment for their having defaced the tombs of his ancestors 
it Melrose. — Qodscrofl. In 1545, Lord Evers and Latoun 
again entered Scotland, with an army consisting of 3000 mer- 
cenaries, 1500 English Borderers, and 700 assured S-cotlisb 
men, chiefly Armstrongs, Turnbulls. and other broken clans. 
In this second incursion, the English generals even exceeded 
iheir former cruelly. EveR burned the lower of Broomhouse, 
frith its lady (a noble and aged woman, aays Lesley), and her 



whole family. The English penetrated as far as Melrose, 
which they had destroyed last year, and which they now again 
pillaged. As they returned towards Jedburgh, they were fol- 
lowed by Angus at the head of 1000 horse, who was shortly 
alter joined by the famous Norman Lesley, with a body of 
Fife-men. The English, being jjrobably unwilling to cross the 
Teviol while the Scuts hung upon their rear, halted ujion An- 
cram Moor, above the village of that name; and the Scottish 
general was deliberating •whether to advance or retire, when 
Sir Walter Scott,' of Buccleuch, came up at full sjieed with a 
small but chosen body of his retainers, the rest of whom were 
near at liand. By the .idvire o]' tliis experienced warrior (tc 
whose conduct Pitscottie and Buchanan ascnue the success ol 
the engagement), Angus withdrew from the height which he 
occupied, and drew up his forces behind it. ujion a piece of 
low Hal ground, called Paniet^beugh. or Paniel-heugh. The 
spare horses being sent to an eminence in llieir rear, appeared 
to the English to be the main body of the Hcots in the act of 
flight. Under this persuasion, Evers and Latoun Iniiried pre- 
cipitately forward, and having ascended the hill, which their 
foes had abandoned, were no less dismayed than astonished to 
find the phalanx of Scottish spearmen drawn up. in firm array, 
upon the flat ground below. The t^cots in their turn became 
the assailants. A heron, roused from the marslies by the la- 
molt, soared away betwi.xt the encountering armies: " O !" 
exclaimed Angus, " that 1 had here my white goss-hawk, that 
we might all yoke at once V—Oodacruft. The English, 
breathless and fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full 
in their faces, were unable to withstand the resolute and des- 
perate charge of the Scottiyb lances. No '^ooner had they bfr 
gun to waver, than their own allies, the assured Borderen 
who had been waiting the event, threw aside tlieir re<l crosses, 
and. joining their countrymen, iiiAde a most merciless slaaghtct 
among the English fugitives, the pnrsoers calling upon eaek 
other to " renieniber Broomhoufe !" -Lkslkv, p. 478. 

In the battle fell Lord Evers, anil his son, together with Sn 
Brian Latoun, and 800 Englishmen, many t>f whom were pei^ 
sons of rank. A thouMind prisoners were taken Among 
these was a patriotic alderman of Loudon, Read by nnxne 
who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion of a 



1 Tbi* «'liiuT baa faiind no inatancH upon record, of this family ha\'iDg 
taken nasiirnnce with" England. H<-nc© they usually sntfored dri-'adfully 
from iIk- Englisli fmiyfl. In August, 1544 (the year preceding the battle), 
Ibe wbol<: lanrl» beli^nging to Buccleuch, in Wont Teviotdale, were harried 
ly Ever* ; the outworki, or barmkin, of the tower of Brankholtn burned ; 
lucbl 9cottfl tlalo, ibirly mn^e prisouera, and toy imrtenae prey of horsea. 



cattle, and alipep, carried off. Thr lands upiin Kale Water, bel^iiijroif k 

the same cLioftain, H'l-re ttif) phmder-d, and much spoil obtnined ; tbirl> 

, Scotta eluin, and tbe Mom Tower (a fortreM near Eckford) fmojbecf Mr| 

I B<trt, Thua Buccl'.'urh haif a long account to fettle at Ancntni Moov.- 

j MtJRDlN'B SlaU Paptra, pp. 46,46. 



^.P8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



benevolence, demnnled from l)ie city by Henry VHI., was 
Bent by royal authoiity to «erve against the Seors. These, at 
•ettling his ransom, lie lound still more exorbitant in their 
exactions than the monarch. — Redpath's Border History, 
p. 563. , 

Evera was moch regretted by King Henry, who swore to 
nvenye his death upon Angoa, against whom he conceived 
himsfelf to have particular grounds of resentment, on account 
ef favors received by the oarl at ins hands. The answer of 
An2ii» was worthy of a Uouglas : " Is onr brothei^in-law of- 
fended,"' said he, " that 1, as a good Scotsman, have avenged 
my ravaged country, and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, 
Dpon Ralph Evere ? They were better men than he, and I 
was bound to do no less — and will he take my life for that? 
Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetable :3 I can keep 
myself there against all his English host." — Godscroft. 

Sneh was the noted battle of Ancram Moor. The spot, on 
which it was fought, is called Lilyard's Edge, from an Ama- 
zonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tra- 
dition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as 
Squire Witherington.' The old people point out her monu- 
ment, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have 
been legible within this century, and to have run thus : 

" Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. 
Little was her stature, but great was her fame; 
Upon the English louns she laid inony thumps, 
. And, when her legs were cutted oft", she fought upon her 
hvoraps." 

Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose. 

It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of 
Lord Evers held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English 
monarch. "I have seen," says the historian, "under the 
broad-seale of the said King Edward I., a manor, called Ket- 
nes, in tlie county of Forfare, in Scotland, and neere tlie fur- 
tiiest part of the same nation northward, given to John Ure 
and his heires, ancestor to the Lord Ure, that now is, for his 
se^-iee -lone in these partes, with market, &c., dated at Laner- 



1 Angus had married the 

vni. 

. 9 Ktmetable, now called Cftlmtablo, 



of James IV., mster to King Henry 
a mountaiDous tract at the head 



cost, the 20th day of October, anno regis, 34."— Stowr'» 
Jinnnls, p. 210. Tiiis grant, like that of Henry, must hav« 
been dangerous to the receiver. 



Note B. 
That Ttun who ne er beholds the day. — P. 597. 

The circumstance of the nun, " who never saw the day," u 
not entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an ur.fortunate 
female wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among 
tlie ruins of Dryburgli Abbey, which, during the day, she 
never quilted. When night fell, she issued from this miserabla 
habitation, and went to the house of Mr. Ilalibnrton of New- 
mains, the Editor's great-grandfather, or to that of Mr. Ere* 
kine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighborhood. From 
their charity, slie obtained such necessaries as she could be 
prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted 
her candle, and returned to her vault, assuring her friendly 
neighbors, tliat, during her absence, her habitation was ar- 
ranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name of 
Fatlips ; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy iron 
shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to 
dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regard- 
ed, by the well-informed, with compassion, ay deranged in hei 
understanding ; and by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. 
The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of life sha 
would never explain. It was, however, believi-d to have been 
occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man to 
whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. 
Her lover never returned. He fell during tlie civil war of 
1745-6, and she never more would behold the light of day. 

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate wo- 
man lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatu- 
ral being, witli which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed 
imagination, and few of the neighboring peasants dare enter it 
by night.— 1803. 

of Bou^losdule. (See notee to Castle DftDgeroaa, Wavorley Not^U, toI. 
xlvli.] 
3 See Chevy Chaat. 



(Habuou) i£astU. 



The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the an- 
;u>nt baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, 
are situated upon the precipitous banks of the 
river Evan, about two miles above its junction 
with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclu- 
sion of the Civil Wars, during the reign of the un- 
foitunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Ham- 
ilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and, 
rery nearly, their total ruia The situation of the 
"uins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and 
creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawUng 
toiTent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the 
immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of im- 
mer^o oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, 



which anciently extended through the south of 
Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. 
Some of these trees meivsure twenty-five feet, and 
upwards, in circumference ; and the state of decay, 
in wliich thev now appear, shows that they have 
witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole 
scenery is included in the magnificent and exten- 
sive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There was 
long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scot- 
tish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their 
being extirpated, about forty years ago,' Their 
appeai'ancje was beautiful, being milk-white, with 

' The breed had not been entirely citirpated. There re- 
mained certainly a magnificent herd of these caM'" in Cadyoif 
Forest within these few years. 1833 — E>. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



59« 



hlack muzzles', horns, and hoofs The bulls are de- 
Bcribed by ancient authors m hiving white manes ; 
but those of latter days had lost that pecuharity, 
perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.' 

In detmUng the death of the Regent Murray, 
which is made the subject of the following ballad, 
it would be injustice to my reader to use other 
words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose account 
of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece 
of historical jiaiuting. , 

" Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person 
who committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to death soon after the battle of 
Langside, as we have aheady related, and owed 
his life to the Regent's clemency. But part of his 
estate had been bestowed upon one of the Re- 
gent's favorites,' who seized his house, and turned 
out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open 
fields, where, before next morning, she became 
furiously mad. This injury made a deeper im- 
pression on liim than the benetit he had received, 
* and from that momeiit he vowed to be revenged 
of the Regent. Ppjrty rage strengthened and in- 
flamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the 
HamUtons, applauded tlie enterprise. The max- 
ims of that age justified the most desperate course 
he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed 
the Regent for some time, and watched for an op- 
portimify to strike the blow. He resolved at last 
to w;ut till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, 
through which he was to pass in his way from Stir- 
ling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden 
gallery,' which had a window towards the street ; 
spread a feather-bed on the floor to hinder the noise 
of his feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth 
behind him, that his shadow might not be observed 
from without ; and, after all this preparation, 
calmly expected the Regent's approach, who had 
lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. 
Some intlistinct information of the danger which 
threatened liim harl been conveyed to the Regent, 
and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved 
to return by the same gate through which he had 
entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. 
But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and 
he himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded 
dir^'i-.t'.y along the street ; and the throng of peo- 
ple obhging him to move very slowly, gave the 
assassm time to take so true an aim, that he shot 
aim, with a single bullet, through the lower part 
Df his beUj and killed the horse of a gentleman 



1 They were formerly kept in the park at Dromlanrig, and 
IK still to be seen at CliiUingham Castle, in Northumberland. 
For their nature and ferocity, see Notes. 

* This was Sir James Bellenden, Lord Jastice-Cterk, whose 
■hameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the catastrophe in 
lie text. — Spottiswoode. 

This projectini! ealleri is still sliowD. The house to which 



who rode on his other side. His followers m 
stantly endeavored to break into the house whence 
the blow had come ; but they found the door 
strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced 
open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,' which 
stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got 
far beyond their reach. The Regent died the same 
night of his wound." — History of Smllniid, book r 

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, wtiet* 
he was received in triumph ; for the ashes of the 
houses in Clydesdale, which had been buraed by 
Murray's array, were yet smoking ; and party pre- 
judice, the habits of the age, and the enormity ol 
the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to justify 
the deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this 
fierce and determined man left Scotland, and 
served in France, under the patronage of the fam- 
ily of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recom- 
mended by having avenged the cause of their 
niece. Queen Mary, upon her ungr.ateful brother. 
Do Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made 
to engage him to assas.sinate Caspar de Coligni, 
"the famous Admiral of France, and the buckler oi 
the Huguenot cause. But the character of Both 
wellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary 
trader in blood, and rejected the offer with cor 
tempt and indignation. He had no authority, he 
said, from Scotland to commit murders in France ; 
he had avenged his own just quarrid, but lie would 
neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of an- 
other man. — Tlmanus, cap. 46. 

Tlie Regent's death liappened 23d January, 
1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contera 
porary historians, according to their religious or 
party prejudices. Tlie triumph of Blackwood in 
unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat ol 
Bothwellhaugh, " who," he observes, " satisfied, 
with a single ounce of lead, liim whose sacrUegioua 
avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of 
St. Andrews of its covering ;" but he ascribes it to 
immediate divine inspu-ation, and the escape of 
Hamilton to little less than the muaculous inter 
ference of the Deity. — Jebb, vol. ii. p. 203. With 
equal injustice, it was, by other.s, made the ground 
of a general national reflection ; for, when Mather 
urged Berney to assassinate Bm'leigh, and quoted 
the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellliaugh, the 
other conspirator answered, " that neyther Poliroi 
nor Hambleton did attempt their I'nterpryse, with- 
out some reason or consideration to lead them to 
it ; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment 

it was attached was the property of the Archb'-shop of St. An 
drews, a natural brother to the Duke ui Ohate'herault. and 
uncle to Bothwellliaugh. This, amon^ oilier circanislances, 
seems to evince the aid which Bothwellliaugh received *'roBl 
his clan in effecting his purpose. 

< The gut of Lord John Hamilton, Commendator o a» 
broalb 



«00 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Jr rewarde ; the other, upon desperate m i nd of re- 
venge, for a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the 
report goethe, according to the vyle trayterous 
lysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes." 
— MuEDiNS State Papers, toL L p. 197. 



(tabgon) (Haatle. 

ADDRESSED TO 
THE RIGHT HONORABLE 

LADY ANNE HAMILTON." 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers. 

The song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaulted wall. 

And echoed light the dancer's bound. 
As mirth and music cheer'd the haU. 

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins l.lid. 

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
And tune my harp, of Border frame. 

On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride. 
From pleasure's Fighter scenes, canst turn 

To draw obhvion's pall a-side, 

And mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid I at thy command, 
Again the crumbled halls sliall rise ; 

Lo 1 as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns — the present flies. 

'Vhere, with the rock's wood-cover'd side. 
Were blended late the ruins green, 

iise tmxets in fantastic pride. 
And feudal banners flaunt between : 

Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagg'd with thorn and tanghng sloe. 

The ashler buttress braves its force. 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

1 Eldest daughter of Archibald, ninth Dnite of Hamilton. 
-Ed. 

2 The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was 
lames, Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelheraolt, in France, and 



'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 

And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonhght beam. 

Fades slow their light ; the east is gray ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 

And merry hunters quit the bower. 

The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dasliing o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein 

First of his troop, the Chief rode on ;' 
Hia shouting merry-men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the moimtain wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks bound. 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain. 

For the hoarSe bugle's warrior-sound 
Has roused their mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn 

Wlat suUen roar comes down the gale. 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase. 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 

Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band. 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 

Aim'd well, the Cliieftain's lance has flown ; 

StruggUng in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 

Soimd, merry himtsmen ! sonnd the prysf f 

'Tis noon — against the knotted i,ak 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Cm-Is through the trees the slender smoke, 

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the Chieftain*mark'd his clan, 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown. 

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 

fir^t peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was ap|ioiDttNl 
hy Queon Mary her lieutenant-general in S(.otland, undef Ibt 
singular title of her adopted f-.ther. 
3 See Appendix Note A 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 601 


" Why filb not BothwellhauGrh his place, 


And, reeking fiom the recent deed. 


Still wont our weal and woe to share ! 


He dash'd liis carbine on the ground. 


■Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 




Why shares he not our hunter's fare ?" — 


Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear 




In good greenwood the bugle blown. 


Sterr. Claud replied," with darkening face 


But sweeter to Revenge's ear, 


(Gray Paisley's liaughty lord was he), 


To drink a tyrant's dying groaa 


" At merry feast, or buxon- chase, 




' No more the warrior wil. thou see. 


" Tour slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 




At dawning mora, o'er dale and down. 


' Few suns have set since Woodliouselee" 


But prouder base-})orn Murray rode 


Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 


Through old Linlitligow's crowded town. 


When to his hearths, in social glee. 




The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 


" From the wild Border's humbled side,' 




In haughty triumph marched he, 


" There, wan from her maternal throes, 


While Knox relax'd liis bigot pride. 


His Margaret, beautif\il and mild, 


And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see 


Sate in her bower, a pallid rose. 




And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 


" But can stern Power, with all liis vatmt, 




Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. 


" change accursed I past are those days 


The settled heart of Vengeance daunt. 


False Murray's ruthless spoilers came. 


Or change the purpose of Despair ? 


And, for the heartii's domestic blaze. 




Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 


" With hackbut bent,' my secret stand, 




Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, 


" What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 


And mark'd, where, mingling in his bahd. 


Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, 


Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bowv. 


Her ai-ms enfold a shadowy cliild — 




Oh I is it she, the pallid rose ? 


" Dark Morton,' girt with many a spear, 




Murder's foul minion, led the van; 


" The wilder'd traveller sees her glide, 


And clash'd their broadswords m the rear 


And hears her feeble voice witli awe — 


The wild Macfarlane.-i' plaided clan.' 


' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride 1 




And woe for injured Botliwellhaugh 1' " 


" Glencairn and stout Parkhead' were nigh. 




Obsequious at then- Regent's rein. 


He ceased — and cries of r:ige and grief 


And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, 


Burst mingling from tlie kindred band. 


That saw fair Mary weep in vain." 


Aud half arose the kindling Chief, 




And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 


" 'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, 




Proud Mun-ay's plumage floated high ; 


But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock. 


Scarce could his trampling charger move. 


Rides headlong, with resistless speed. 


So close the minions crowded nigh." 


Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 




Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;' 


" From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, 




Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along, 


Whose cheek is p:de, whose eyeballs glare, 


And liis steel trmiclieon, waved on high, 


As one some vision'd sight that saw, 


Seeni'd marshalling the iron throng. 


Whose hands are bloody, loose liis hair ? — 




'Tis he ! 'tiSt he 1 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 


" But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 




A passing .shade of doubt and awe * 


From gory selle,' and reeling steed, 


Some fiend was whispering in iiis breaat, 


Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound. 


' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh I' 


: S«e Appendii, Note B ' Ibid. Note C. 


' or this noted person, it is enough to say, that he waa ao 


> Ibid. Note D, 


tive in tlie marder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to thli 


* Selte — Saddle A word nsed by Speoser, and other a» 


of Darnley. 


nent antliors. 


« See Appendix, Note G. 


68t.e Appendix, Note E. 


3 Ibid. Note H. 


"IbiJ NoleF 
78 


10 Ibid. Note I ' " Ibid. Note K. 



602 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



** The death-shot parts — the rharger springs- 
Wild »ises tumulfs startling roar! 

And MujTay's plumy li'^lmet rings — 
— Rings on the groand, to rise no more. 

** What joy the raptured youth can feel. 
To heai* bi;r love the loved one tell — 

Or he, w);o broaches on his steel 
The n olf, by whom his infant fell I 

•* But dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy, 
To hear him groan his felon soul. 

" My Margaret's spectre ghded near ; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw ; 
And shriek'd in his death-deafen'd ear, 

* Remember injured Bothwellhaugh !* 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault I 
Spread to the wind thy banner'd tree !* 

Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow I — 
Mun-ay is fall'n, and Scotland free !" 



» An oak, Iialf-«awn, with the motto through, 
eognizance-of the family of Hamilton. 



! an ancient 



" Scott spent the Christmas of 1801 at Hamilton Palace, in 
LiJnarkshire. To Lady Anne Hamilton he had been intro- 
laceJ by her friend. Lady Charlotte Campbell, and both the 
.ate anii the present Dukes of Hamilton appear to have par- 
taken of Lady Aime's admiration for Glenfinlas, and the Eve 
of St. John. A morning's ramble to the majestic roins of the 
old baronial ca*s*!e on the precipitous banks of the Evan, and 
among the adjoining remains of the primeval Caledonian foi^ 
eat, suggested to him a ballad, not inferior in execution to any 
that he had hitherto produced, and especially interesting as the 
first in which he grapples with the world of picturesque inci- 
dent unfolded in the authentic annaU of Scotland. With the 
magnificent localities before hi.Ti, he skilfully interwove the 
laring assassination of the Regent Murray by one of the dans- 
men of 'the princely Hamilton.' Had the subject been ta- 
ken op in al"^ter years, we might have had another iMarmion or 
Heart of Mid-Lothian ; for in Cadyow Castle we have th» ma- 
terials and outline of more than one of the noblest ballads. 

'* About two years before this piece began to be handed about 
m Edinburgh, Thomas Campbell had made his appearance 



Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
"Murray is fall'n, and Scotland freed! 

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame t" 

But, see ! the minstrel vision fails — 

The glimmering spears are seen m> >'nor« : 

The shouts of war die on the gales. 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high. 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins He 

The banner'd towers of Evandale. 

For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed, 

And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed. 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids who list the minstrel's tale; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale ! 

there, and at once seized a high place in the literary world bj 
his ' Pleasures of Hope.' Among the most eager to welcomi 
him had been Scott ; and I find the brother^bard thus express 
ing himself concerning the MS. of Cadyow : — 

*' ' The verses of Caiiyow Castle are perpetually ringing b 
mv imagination — 

' Where, mightiest of the beasts of chase 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

The mountain bull comes thundering on' — 

and the arrival of Hamilton, when 

' Reeking from the recent deed. 

He dash'd his carbine on the gronnd.' 

I have repeated these lines so often on the North Bridge, that 
the whole fraternity of coachmen know me by tongue as I pass. 
To be sore, to a mind in sober, serious street-walking humor, it 
must bear an appearance of lunacy when one stamps with tht 
hurried pace and fervent shake of the head, which strong, pith 
poetry excites.' " — L-ife of Scott, vol. ii. p. 77. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

•sound thepryscl 



-P. 600. 



i'ryse — The note blown at the death of the game. — In Ca^ 
tdonia olim frcqucns erat sylvcstris quidam bos, nunc vero 
rarior, qut, colort candidissimo, jubam densam et demissam 
instar leonis gestat, truculcnins ac ferus ab humano gencre 
abhorrens, ut qutEcunque homines vet manibus contrcetdrint, 
vel halitu perfiavcrint, ab iis multos post dies omnino absti' 
i^tjUAt. jid hoc tanta audaeia hnic hovi indita erat, ut 



non solum irritatus equites furenter prostemeret, sed 1U 
tantillum laces situs omnes promiscue homines cornibus at 
uvgulis pcterit ; ac eanum, qui apud no$ ferocissimi sunt^ 
impetus plane eontcmneret. Ejus carucs cartilaginosm, »ea 
saporis suavissimi. Erat is olim per illam vastissimam 
CalcdoniiB sylaam frcqucns, sed humana ingluvie jam aa* 
sumptus trihus tantum locis est rcliqiius, Strivilingii, Cui* 
bernaidi<E, et KincarniiB.--hESL£Vs, Scoiis Descriptio, p. 
13.— [See a note on Castle Dangerous, Waverley Novel* 
vol. xlvii. — Ed ] 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



60S 



Note B. 

Stern Claud replied.— P. 601. 

jord Claud Hamilton, second son of tlie Duke of Chatel- 
fcerault, and con.inendator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a 
iistinguislifil part duiing the troubles of Queen Mary's reign, 
»nd ren:»A?d unalterably attnclied to tbe cause of that on- 
for'.3ri»te princess. He led the van of her army at the fatal 
o&tlle of Langside, and was one of tbe commanders at the 
Raid of Stirling, wliich had so nearly given complete success 
tft the Queen's faction. He was ancestor of the present Mar- 
\ou of Abercorn 

Note C. 

Woodhouselee. — P. 601. 
Thia barony, fctretching along the banks of the Esk, near 
Auchendinny, belonged to Bothwellhacgh, in right of his 
wife. The ruins of the mansion, from whence she was expel- 
led in tbe brutal manner whicli occasioned her death, are still 
to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report 
tenants ibem with the restless ghost of th^ Lady Bolhwell- 
liaugh ; whom, however, it confounds with Lady Anne Both- 
well, whose Lament is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious 
of hef rights, tliat a part of the stones of the ancient edifice 
having been employed in boilding or repairing the present 
Woodhouselee, she lias deemed it a part of her privilege to 
haunt that house also ; and, even of very late years, has ex- 
cited considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. 
This is a more remarkable vindication of the rights of ghosts, 
u t)ie present Woodhouslee, which gives his title to the Hon- 
orable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the College of 
Justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland bills, distant 
at least four miles from her proper abode. She always ap- 
•cars in white, and with her child in her arms. 



Note D. 
Drives to the leap kis jaded steed. — P. 601. 
Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh. being closely pur- 
wed, "after that spur and wand had failed him, he drew forth 
w dagger, and slrocke his horse beiiind, wiiilk caused the 
borse to leap a very brode stanke [i. e. ditch], ky whilk means 
ne escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the boises." — 
Birrel's Diarij, p. 18. 



NoteK 

From the wild Border* s humbled side.—F. 601. 
Murray's death look place shortly after an expedition to the 
Borders ; which is thus commemorated by the author of his 
Elegy :- 
*' So having stabliscbt all things in this sort, 
To Liddisdaill agane he did resort, 
Throw E%visdail, Eskdail, and all the daills -ode he. 
And also lay three nights in Cannabie, 
Whair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before 
Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir sa sair ; 
And, that ihay suld na mair thair thift allege, 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge. 
Syne wardit thame. whilk maid the rest keep ordour ; 
Than mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the Border." 

Scottish Poems, \6th century, p. 232. 



I NoteF. 

Ifith hackbut beiit.~P. 601. 
Backbut bent — Guncock'd. Tbe carbine, with which the 
iQCeat waa shot, is preserved at Hamilton Palace It is a 



brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, 
what is rather e,xIraonlinary, apjn'iir-i to have been ntled <M 
indented in the barrel. It liad a inLiichlock, for which a mod- 
ern hrelock Iiait been injudiciously substituted. 



Note G. 

The wild Jilacfarlancs* plaided clan. — P. 601. 

This clan of Lennox Higlilanders were attached to the Re 
gent Murray. Hollinshed, speaking of the battle of Langside, 
says, *' In this batayle the valiancie of an Heiland gentleman, 
named Maefarlane, stood the Regent's part in great sleede ; 
for, in the Iiottest brunte of the fighte, he came up with twc 
hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so manfully gava 
in upon the (lankes of the Queen's people, that he was a great 
cause of the disordering of them. This Maefarlane had been 
lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some out- 
rage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyta 
of the Countess of Murray, he recompensed that clemencie by 
tliis piece of service now at this batayle." Calderwood's ac- 
count is less favorable to the Macfarlanes. He states that 
" Maefarlane, with his Highlandmen, fled from the wing 
where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood nearest 
to them in the Regent's battle, said, ' Let them go ! I shall fill 
their place better:' and so, stepping forward, with a company 
of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now 
spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by 
force, being before almost overthrown by the avannt-guard auf} 
harquebusiers, and so were turned to flight." — C.*.LDERWOOD'fl 
MS. apiid Keith, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight of the 
vanguard, but states it to have been commanded by Morion, 
and com])osed chjgfly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew. 



Note H. 

Olencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh. — P. GOL 

The Earl of Glencaini was a steady adherent of the Regent, 
George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl 
of Morton, wliose horse was killed by tbe same ball by wbic^ 
Murray fell. 
> 



Note I. 

haggard Lindesaif s iron eye. 

That saw fair Mary weep in vain. — P. 60L 

Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and 
brutal of the Regent's faction, and, as suirli, was employed to 
extort Mary's signature to the deed of resignation presented to 
her in Lochleven castle. He discharged his commission with 
the most savage rigor; and it is even said, that when the 
wee|iiiig captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes from 
the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iroo 
glove. 



Note K. 



So close the minions crowded nigh. — P. 601. 
Not only had the Regent notice of the intended attempt 
upon his life, but even of the very house from which it wa; 
threatened. Witii that infatuation at which men wonde* ^ 
after such events have liajipened, lie deemed it would bo a 
sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. 
But even this was prevented by the crowd ; so that BothwcH 
hangh had time to take a deliberate aim. — Spottiswoodb 
p. 233. Buchanan. 



®l)c ^rau Brotl)cr. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The imperfect state of this ballad, ■which was 
written several years ago, is not a circumstance 
affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar 
interest wliich is often found to arise from ungrati- 
fied curiosity. On the contrary, it was the Editor's 
inteiition to have completed the tale, if he had 
found himself able to succeed to his own satisfac- 
tion. Yielding to the opiaion of persons, whose 
judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friend- 
pbip, is entitled to deference, he has preferred 
inserting these verses as a fragment, to his inten- 
tion of entirely suppressing them. 

The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, 
regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
near Lasswade, m Mid-Lothian. This building, 
now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally 
named Burndale, from the following tragic adven- 
ture. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, 
to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beau- 
tiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by 
the Abbot of Newbattle, a richly endowed abbey, 
upon tlie banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the 
Marquis of Lothiaa Heron came to the knowledge 
of tills circumstance, and learned also, that the 
lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the 
connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this 
house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He 
formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, unde- 
terred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical 
character, or by the stronger claims of natural 
affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy 
night, when the objects of his vengeance were 
engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a 
stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, 
which he had caused to be piled against the house, 
and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dweU- 
ing, with all its inmates.' 

The scene with which the ballad opens, was 
suggested by the following curious passage, ex- 
tracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one of 
the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect 
of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles 11. and 
his successor, James. This person was supposed 
by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed him- 

1 This tradition was communicated to me by John Clerk, 
Psq.. of Eldin. author of an Kssmfupon J^aval Tactics, who 
viU be remembered by posterity, as having taught the Genios 



self, to be possessed of supernatural gifts ; for thd 
wUd scenes which they frequented, and the con- 
stant danger's which were incurred through theil 
proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom 
of superstition, so general in that age. 

" About the same time he [Peden] came to An- 
drew Normand's house, in the parishof AUoway, 
in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at lught in his 
barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning 
upon a chair-back, with his face covered ; when he 
lifted up Ills head, he said, ' They are in this hous* 
that I have not one word of salvation imto ;' he 
hiilted a httle again, saying, ' This is strange, that 
the devil will not go out, that we may begin oai 
work !' Then there was a woman went out, ill- 
looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying 
hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the 
same. It escaped me. in the former passages, 
what Jolm Muirhead (whom I have often men- 
tioned) told me, th.at when he came from Ireland 
to Galloway, he was at family-worship, and giving 
some notes upon the Scripture read, when a very 
ill-looking m.au came, and sat down witliin the 
door, at the back of the hallan [partition of the 
cottage] : immediately he halted and said, ' There 
is some unliappy body just now come into this 
house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my 
mouth !' This person went out, and he insutfd 
[went on], yet he saw him neither cotue in nor go 
out." — The Life and Projihecies of Mr. Alexander 
Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at Nexo Gleidme. 
in Galloway, part ii. § 26. 

A friendly correspondent remarks, " that the 
incapacity of proceeding in the performance of » 
religious duty, when a contaminated person is 
present, is of much higher antiquity than the era 
of the Reverend Mr. Alexander Peden." — Vide 
Hijgini Fabulas, cap. 26. " Medea Corintho end, 
Athenas, ad .jEgc^im Pandionis fimm devenit in 
hospitium, eique nupsit. ; 

" Postea sacerdos Diance Medeam exagi- 

tare coepit, regigne negabat sacra caste facere posse, 
eo quod in ea civitate esset nmlier venefica et «(!«/* 
rata ; tunc emdatur." 

of Britain to concentrate her thunders, and to tnuncb then 
against her foes with an unerring aim. 



I 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO MINSTRELSY. 60* 


S[|)c ©rag Brotljcr. 


His unblest feet his native seat, , 
'Mid Eske's fair woods, regaui ; 


Thb Pope he was saying the high, high mass, 


Tliro' wootls more fair no stream more sweet 


All on Saint Peter's day, 


Rolls to the eastern main. 


With the power to him given, by the saints in 




heaven. 


And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 


To wash men's sins away. 


And vassals bent the knee ; 




For all 'mid Scothmd's cliiefa of fame, 


The Pope he was sajTng the blessed mass, 


Was none more famed than he. 


And the people kneel'd around, 




And from each man 8 soul his sins did pass, 


And boldly for his country, still. 


As ho kiss'd the holy giound. 


In battle he had stood. 




Ay, even when on the banks of Till 


And all, among the crowded throng. 


Her noblest pour'd their blood. 


Was still, both limb and tongue. 




While, through vaulted roof and aisles aloof. 


Sweet are the paths, passing sweet 1 


The holy accents rung. 


By Eske's fail- streams that run, 




O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep, 


At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear. 


Impervious to the sim. 


And falter'd in the sound — 




And, when he would the chalice rear. 


There the rapt poet's step may rove. 


He diopp'd it to the ground. 


And yield the muse the day ; 




There Beauty, led by timid Love, 


" The breath of one of evil deed 


May shun the tell-tale ray ; 


Pollutes our sacred day ; 




He has no portion in our creed. 


From that fair dome, where suit ia paid 


No part in what I say. 


By blast of bugle free," 




To Auchendinny's hazel glade,' 


" A being, whom no blessed word 


And haunted Woodhouselee.' 


To ghostly peace can bring ; 




A. wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd. 


Who knows not Melville's beechy grove * 


Recoils each holy thing. 


And Roshn's rocky glen,' 




Dalkeith, wliich all the virtues love,' 


" Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise 1 


And ckssic Hawthornden V 


My adjuration fear I 




t charge thee not to stop my voice, 


Yet never a path, from day to day. 


Nor longer tarry here 1" — 


The pilgrim's footsteps range. 




Save but the solitary way 


Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd. 


To Burndale's ruin'd grange. 


In gown of sackcloth gray ; 




Far joimieying from his native field, 


A woeful place was that, I ween 


He first saw Rome that day. 


As sorrow could desire ; 




For nodding to the fall was each crumbling 


For forty days and nights so drear, 


wall. 


I ween he had not spoke. 


And the roof was scathed with firo. 


And, save with bread and water clear. 




His fast he ne'er had broke. 


It fell upon a summer's eve. 




While, on Carnethy's head. 


Amid the penitential flock. 


The last faint gleams of the sun's lo'Ti beams 


Seem'd none more bent to pray ; 


Had streak'd the gray with red ; 


But, when the Holy Father spoke, 




He rose and went his way. 


And the convent bell did vespers teU, 




Newbattle's oaks among. 


Again unto bis native land 


And mingled with the solemn knell 


His weary course he drew. 


Our Ladye's evening song : 


To Lothian's fair and fertile strand. 




And PentUnd's mountains bine. 


> e«e Appendix, Notei I u> 7 



606 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The heavy knclI, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the wind, 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As liis wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place. 

Wliich did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

** Now, Christ thee save !" said the Gray Bro- 
ther; 

" Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" come ye from east, or come ye from west, 
Or bring rehques fi-om over the sea ; 

Or come ye from the shi-ine of St. James the 
divine, 
Or St. John of Beverley ?"— 

1 The contemporary criticism on this noble ballad was all 
^eble, but laudatory, with the exception of the following re- 
Hark : — "Tlie painter is jostly blamed, whose figures do not 
correspond with his landscape — who assembles banditti in an 
Elysium, or bathing loves in a lake of storm. The same adap- 
tation of parts is expedient in the poet. Tiie stanzas — 

■ Sweet are thy paths. O passing sweet I' 
to 

' And classic Hawthornden,' 

disagreeably contrast with the mysterious, gloomy character 
of the ballad. Were these omitted, it would merit high rank 
for the terrific expectation it excites by the majestic intro- 
duction, and tiie awful close." — Critical Review, November, 
1803.— Ed. 



" I come not from the shrine of St. Jamei" th» 
divine. 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a ciu*3e from our father, the Pope, 

Wliich for ever will cling to me." — 

" Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so I 

But kneel thee down to me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly e'ls, 

That absolved thou mayst be." — 

" And who art thou, thou Gray Brother. 

That I should shrive to thee, [and heaven 
When He, to whom are given the keysi of earti 

Has no power to pardon me ?" — 

"01 am sent from a distant clime. 

Five thousand miles away. 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, 

Done here 'twist night and day." 

The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand. 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye.* 



" Then came The Gray Brother, founded on another f;aDe^ 
stition, which seems to have been almost as ancient as the be- 
lief in ghosts ; namely, that the holiest service of tiie al*^ 
cannot go on in the presence of an unclean person — a heinoui 
sinner unconfessed and unabsolved. Tlie fragmentary form ol 
this poem greatly heightens tlie awfulness of i^s i-npression ; 
and in construction and metre, the verses which real'y belsng 
to the story appear to me the happiest that have ever beer 
produced expressly in imitation of the ballad of the middle 
age. In the stanzas, previously quoted, on tlie scer.ery of th« 
Esk, however beautiful in themselves, and however interest- 
ing now as marking the locality of the compos'"-.;(in, h' mnrt 
be allowed to have lapsed into another strain, an'' (•rodo'^ a 
pannus puTpiirens which interferes with a»*'! mars »hcgenefiJ 
texture." — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 26. 



APPENDIX. 



Notes. I to 7. 

SCENERY OF THE ESK. — P. 6U5. 

* The barony of Pennycuik, the property of Sir George Clerk, 
iJart., is held by a singular tenure ; the proprietor being bound 
UJ sit upon a large rocky fragment called the Bockstane, and 
wind three blasts of a horn, wlien the King shall come to hunt 
jn the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. Hence the family 
lave adopted as thetr crest a demi-forester proper, winding a 



hom, with the motto, Free for a Blast. The beautiful mw 
eion-honse of Pennycuik is much admired, both on account ol 
the architecture and surrounding scenery. 

2 Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, belo^i Pennycuik 
the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq 
author of the Man of Feeling; iSc— Edition 1803. 

3 " Haunted Woodhouselee."--For the traditions connectM 
with this ruinous mansion, see Ballad of Cadyow CasUe, Notl^ 
p. 603 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



607 



* Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honorahle Lord 
Melville, to wliom it gives the title of Viscount, is deliglitfully 
Hluateil U|ion the Eske, [ear Lasswade. 

' The ruins of Roslin Castle, the haronial residence of the 
ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, which is sttll 
In beautiful preservation, with tlie romantic and woody dell 
in which ttiey are situated, belong to the Right Honorable 
the Gad of Rosslyn, the representative of the former Lords of 
Boslin. 

Ttin village and castle of Dalkeith belonged of old to the 
(amous Earl of Morton, but ia now the residence of the noble 
family of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Eske, 
arh'ch is tliero joined by its sister stream of the same name. 

' Hav.'tliarndeu, the residence of the poet Drummond. A 
boDse of more modern date is enclosed, as it were, by the 
rnios oi tl:e ancient castle, aud overhangs a treraendoos preci- 



pice upon the banks of the Eske, perforated oy winding cave*, 
which in former times were a refuge to the oppressed patriots 
of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who 
journeyed from London on foot in order to visit him. The 
beauty of this striking scene has been much injured of late 
years by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now 
looks in vain for the leafy bower, 

" Where Jonson sat in Drummond's social shade." 

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joino 
the sea at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such 
a varied succession of the most interesting objects, aa well ai. 
of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 1803. . . . : 
— The beautiful scenery of Hawlliornden has, since the above 
note was written, recovered all its proper ornament of wood 
1831. 



I 



iDar-Song 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS. 



" JVfnnius. -Is not peace the end of arms ? 

" CaratQ(:h. Not wll^re the cause implies ageneral conquest. 
Had we a diflerence with some petty isle. 
Or with our neighbors, Britons, for our landmarks, 
The taking in of some rebellious lord, 
Or making head against a shght commotion, 
After a day of blood, peace might be argued : 
But where we grapple for the land we live on. 
The liberty we hold more dear than life, 
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honors, 
And, with those, swords that know no end of battle — 
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbor. 
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance,- 
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest. 
And. where they march, but measure out more ground 

To add to Rome 

It must not be — No 1 as they are our foes, 

Let's use the peace of honor — that's fair dealing ; 

But in oar hands our swords. The hardy Roman, 

That thinks to graft himself into my stock, 

Mo'it first h'?gin his kindred under ground. 

And be alUed in ashes." ■ Bonduea. 



The follo"wmg War-Song was written during the 
apprehension of an invasion.' The corps of volun- 
teers to which it was addressed, was niised in 
1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed 
it their own expense. It still subsists, as the 
Right Troop of the Royal Mid- Lothian Light Cav- 
dry, coniinanded by the Honorable Lieutenant- 
colonel Dimdas.'* The noble and constitutiom^l 

Tne song originally appeared in the Scots Magazine for 
08.— Ed 



measure of arming freemen in defence of their own 
rights, was nowherfe more successfiU than in Edin- 
bm-gh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and 
disciplined volunteers, including a regiment o( 
cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps 
of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guna 
To such a force, above all others, mitrht, in similar 
cii'cumstances, be applied the exliortation of our 
ancient Galgacus : " Proi7ide ituri in acieni, et rna- 
jores vestros ct posteros cogitate" 1812. 



Id a r ^ S n g 



ROTAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS 

To horse ! to horse 1 the standard flie? 

The bugles sound the call ; 
The Galhc navy stems the seas. 
The voice of battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all 1 

From high Dimcdin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.' 

3 Now Viscoant Melville.— 1831. 
' The royal colors. 



608 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 

Dull HoUaiul's tardy train ; 
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn ; 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And. foan iug, gnaw the chain ; 

Oh ! had they mark'd the avenging call' 

Their brethren's murder gave, 
t)isuuion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown, 

Sought freedom in the grave 1 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born, 
Dress om- pale cheek in timid smile, 
To hail a master in our isle. 

Or brook a victor's scorn ? 

No I though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood, 
The sun, that ^ees our falling day. 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 

And set that night in blood 

' The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Goarda, on the 
f&tal lOtli August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to re- 
mark, that the passive temper with which tlie Swiss regarded 
Ibe death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered 
in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the 
progressive injustice, by wbicli the Alps, once the seat of the 



For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbribed, unbought, om- swords we draw, 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan the tri-color. 
Or footstep of invader rude. 
With rapine foul, and red with blood. 

Pollute our happy shore, — 

Then farewell home ! and farewell frieode 1 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mhigle in the title. 
Where charging squadrons furious ride. 

To conquer or to die. 

To horse 1 to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle-call ; 
Combined by honor's sacred tie, 
Oiu- word is Laws and Liberty I 

March forward, one and all I' 

most virtuous and free people upon the Continent, have, at 
length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and mililafy 
despot. A state degraded is half enslaved. — 1812. . 

2 Sir Walter Scott was, at the time when he wrote thu 
song, Uuartermaster of the Edinburgii Light Cavalry. 8m 
one of the Epistles Introductory to Marmion.- Ed. 



EID OF COIJTRIBUTKJKS TO MIMSTBELSr OF THE SCOTTISH BOSOEB. 



BALLADS FKOM THE GERMAN. 



GOV 



Ballabs, 



TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN. &c. 



tUilliam ont» £)eUn. 

[1796.'] 

on FATED FROM THE " LENOEE " OK EUttGEa. 



Tbe Author had resolred to omit the following 
Tersion of a well-known Poem, in any collection 
Thich he might make of hi.s poetical trifles. But 
the pubUshers having pleaded for it3 admission, 
the Author has consented, though not unaware of 
,he disadvantage at which this youtliful essay (for 
t wa.s written in 1795) must appear with those 
which have been executed by much more able 
hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, 
and that of Mr. Spencer. 

The following Translation was written long be- 
fore the Author saw any other, and originated in 
the following circumstances :— A lady of high rank 
in the literary world read this romantic tale, aa 
translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the cele- 
brated Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh. 
The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edin- 
burgh at the time ; but a gentleman who had the 
pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told 
him the story, and repeated the remarkable cho- 
rus — 

" Tramp I tramp I across Ihe land they epeede, 
Spla.sh ! splash I across the sea ; 
Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace ! 
Dost fear to ride with me 7" 

In attempting a translation, then intended only 
tO circulate among friends, tlie present Author did 
not hesitate to make use of tliis impressive stanza ; 
for which freedom he has since obtained the for- 
giveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it 
properly belongs. 

1 ThkChass and William and Helen ; Two Ballads, 

from the German of Gottfried Augustas Bijrger. Edinburgh : 

Printed by Mundell and Son. Royal Bank Close, for Mannera 

tad Miller, Pariiament Square ; and sold by T. Cadell, jbd., 

77 



WILLIAM AND HELEN 

I. 

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 

And eyed the dawning red : 
" Alas, my love, thou tarricst long I 

art thou false or dead !" — 

IL 
With gallant Fred'rick's prmcely powws 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a word from Judah'a wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 

HL 

With Paynim and with Saracen 

At length a truce was made, 
And every knight return'd to dry 

The tears his love had shed. 

IV. 

Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the lam'el in each plume^ 

The badge of victory. 

V. 

And old and young, and sire and son. 

To meet them crowd the way. 
With shouts, and mirth, and melody. 

The debt of love to j.a/. 

VI 

Full many a maid her true-love met, 

And eobb'd in his embrace, 
And tlutt'ring joy in tears and smiles 

Array'd full many a face. 

and W. Davies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to.— Bm 
" Essay on Imitations of t-^ Ancient Ballad." ante, o. 5Ci 
and Life of Scott, vol. i. chapters 7 and 8. 



610 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



vn. 

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the host in vain ; 
Foi none could tell her WUliam's fate, 

If faithless, or if slain. 

VIIL 
The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 
And in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 

IX. 

" O rise, my child," her mother said, 

" Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 
A perjured lover's fleeting heart 
No tears recall again." — 



" O mother, what is gone, is gone, 

What's lost for ever lorn : 
Death, death alone can comfort me ; 

had I ne'er been bom I 

XL 

" O break, my heart, — break at once I 
Drink my life-blood, Despair 1 

No joy remains on eartli for me, 
For me in heaven no share." — 

XII. 

" O enter not in judgment, Lord 1" 

The pious mother prays ; 
" Impute not guUt to thy fraU child I 

She knows not what she says. 

XIIL 
" say thy pater noster, child I 

turn to God and grace I 
His will, that tiirn'd thy bhss to bale, 

\Jan change thy bale to bUss." — 

XIV. 
' O mother, mother, what is bliss f 

mother, what is bale ? 
My William's love was heaven on earth, 

Without it earth is helL 

XV 
" Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, 

Since my loved WiUiam's slain ? 
I only pray'd for WiUiam's sake, 

And all m^ prayers were vain." — 

XVI. 
"O take the sacrament, my child, ' 

And (heck these tears that flow; 
By resignation's humble prayer, 

O hallow'd be thy woe 1" — 



xvn. 

"No sacrament can quench this fiie. 

Or slake this scorching pain ; 
No sacrament can bid the dead 

Arise and Uve again. 

xvin. 

" break, my heart, — break at once 1 

Be thou my god, Despair 1 
Heaven's lieaviest blow has fallen on me, 

And vain each fi'uitless prayer." — 

XIX. 
" enter not in judgment, Lord, 

With thy frail eliild of clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue has spoke 

Impute it not, I pray ! 

XX. 
" Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, 

And turn to God and grace ; 
Well can devotion's heavenly glow 

Convert thy bale to bliss." — 

XXL 

" mother, mother, what is bliss f 

mother, what is bale ? 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with him what were heU ?" — 

XXIL 
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, 

Upbraids each sacred power. 
Till, spent, she sought her sUent room, 

All in the lonely tower. 

XXIIL 
She beat her breast, she wrung her bands, 

Till sun and day were o'er. 
And through the glimmering lattice shone 

The twinklmg of the star. 

XXIV. 
Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell 

Tliat o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter I clatter I on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

XXV. 
The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 

XXVL 

And hark ! and hark ! a Imock — Tap I tap I 

A rustlhig, stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkhng staples rmg ; — 

At length a whispering voice. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



61] 



XXVII. 
Awako, awake, arise, my love ! 

How, Hi'leii, dost tliou tare ? [weep'st ? 

Wak'st thou, or sleep'st I laugli'st thou, or 

Ha3t thoujjlit on me, my fair ?" — 

XXVIIL 
" My love ! my love !— so late by night ! — 

I waketl, I wept for thee : 
Bloch have I borne since dawn of mom ; 

^VTiere, William, couldst thou be t" — 

XXIX. 

" We saddle late — from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
4nd to its bourne we botli return 

Before the matin-beU." — 

XXX. 

" rest this night within my arms. 

And warm thee in their fold ! 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind : — 

My love is deadly cold." — 

XXXI. 
■• Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush 1 

This niglit we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; 

i cannot stay till day. 

XXXII. 
" Busk, busk, and bonne ! Thou raount'st behind 

Upon my black bai'b steed : 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, 

We haste to bridal bed." — 

XXXIII. 

* To-night — to-night a hundred miles ! — 

dearest Wiiham, stay I 
The bell strikes twelve — dark, dismal hour 1 

O wait, my love, till day !" — 

XXXIV. 
" Look here, look here — the moon shines clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away I for ore the day 

We reach our bridal bed. 

XXXV. 
" The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; 

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee ! 
The feast is made, the chamber spread, 

The bridal guests await thee." — 

XXXVL 
Strong love prevail'd : She busks, she bounes. 

She mounts the barb behind. 
And round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 



XXXVIL 

And, hurry I hurry ! off they rode, 

As fast as fast might be ; 
Spurn'd from the cuurser's thundering heelt 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

xxxvin. 

And on the right, and on the left. 

Ere they could snatcli a view, 
Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain, 

And cot, and castle, flew. 

xxxix 

" Sit fast — dost fear ? — The moon shines clear- 
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold I 

Fear'et thou f — " no !" she faintly said ; 
" But why so stern and cold ? 

XL. 
" What yonder rings ! what yonder sings I 

Why slu-ieks the owlet gray ?" — 
" 'Tis deatli-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song. 

The body to the clay. 

XLL 

" With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, 

Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride, with my young bride. 

To deck om- bridal bed. 

XLIL 
" Come with thy choir, thou coflin'd guest, 

To swell our nuptial song ! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast I 

Come all, come all along I" — 

XLIIL 
Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the bier ' 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And, hurry I hurry 1 all the train 

The thundering steed pursues 

XLIV. 
And, forward I forward 1 on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring breath, 

As headlong on they speed. 

XLV. 
" William, why this savage haste I 

And where thy bridal bed ?" — 
" 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill. 

And narrow, trustless maid." — 

XLVL 
" No room for me ?" — " Enough for both ; — 

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course !" — 
O'er thundering bridge, through boiling atagt^ 

He drove the furious horse. 



512 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XLVIl 


Lvn. 


Tramp I tramp ! along the land they rode, 
Splash ! splash 1 along the sea ; 

The scom-ge is wight, the spur is bright, 
The flashing pebbles flee. 


Tramp 1 tramp 1 along the land they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 

The scourge is red, the spur diops blood. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 


XLVIII. 


LVIII. 


Flad past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower I 

;^n right and left fled past how fast 
Each city, town, and tower! 


" Hurrali 1 hurr.ah 1 well ride the dead ; 

Tlie bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed. 

For, Helen, here's my home." — 


XLIX. 


LIX. 


" Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear. 

Dost fear to ride with me ? — 
Hurrah 1 hurrali 1 the dead can ride 1" — 

" WiUiam, let them be I— 


Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door. 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a chmch and tower. 


L. 


LX. 


" See there, see there 1 What yonder swings 
And creaka 'mid whistling rain ?" — 

" Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 


With many a shriek and cry whiz round 
The birds of midnight, scared ; 

And rustling hke autumnal leaves 
Unhallow'd ghosts were heard. 


LL 


LXL 


" Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." — 


O'er many a tomb and tombstone palp 
He spurr'd the fiery horse. 

Till sudden at an open grave 
He check'd the wondrous course. 


LII. 


Lxn. 


And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash 1 
The wasted form descends ; 

And fleet as wind through hazel bush 
The wild career attends. 


The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 
Down drops the casque of steel. 

The cuii-ass leaves his shiinking sid^ 
The spur his gory heel. 


LIII. 


LXIII. 


Tramp! tramp ! along the land they rode. 
Splash ! spla.sh I along the sea ; 

The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 
Tlie flashing pebbles flee. 


The eyes desert the naked skull. 
The mould'ring flesh the bone. 

Tin Helen's lily arms entwine 
A ghastly skeleton. 


LIV. 


LXIV. 


How fled what moonshine faintly show'd t 
How fled what darkness hid ! 

How fled the earth beneath their feet. 
The heaven above their head 1 


The furious barb snorts fire and foam, 
And, with a fearful bound. 

Dissolves at once in empty air. 
And leaves her on the ground. 


LV. 


LXV. 


" Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines dear, 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Does faithful Helen fear for them ?"— 

" leave m peace the dead 1" — 


Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, 

Pale spectres flit along. 
Wheel round the maid in dismal daace. 

And howl the funeral song ; 


LVL 


LXVL 


" Barb ! Barb 1 methinks I hear the cock 

The sand wiU soon be run : 
Barb ! Barb 1 I smell the morning air ; 

The race i.'i well nigh done." — 


" E'en when the heart's with angui.sh clett, 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven 1" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



6U 



(JII)c InUb Cjtiutsman. 

This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of 
she M'iide Jdf/cr of the German poet Biirger. Tlie 
tradition upon which it is fouiuled bears, that for- 
merly a Wiklgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, 
oameJ Faulkenburg, was so much addicted to the 
pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely 
profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this 
unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other 
days consecrated to religious duty, but accompa- 
nied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon 
the poor peasants, who were under his vassalage. 
RTien this second Nimrod died, the people adopted 
a superstition, founded probably on the many va- 
rious uncouth sounds heai'd in the depth of a Ger- 
man forest, during the silence of the night. They 
conceiveil they etiU heard the cry of the Wild- 
grave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer of the 
deceased Imnter, the soumls of his horses' feet, and 
Jie rustling of the branches before the game, the 
jmek, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly ths- 
crimmated ; but the phantoms are raiel_v, if ever, 
visible. Once, as a benighted Chasaeur heard this 
infern;J chase pass by him, at the sound of the 
halloo, with wliich the Spectre Huntsman cheered 
his hounds, he could not refrain from ciying, 
" Gliiel zu Falkcnburrih !" [Good sport to ye 
Falkenburgh !] " Dost thou wish me good sport ?" 
answered a hoarse voice ; '• thou shalt share the 
game ;" and there was thrown at liim what seemed 
to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The dai'ing 
Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and 
oever perfectly recovered the personal effects of 
this ghostly gieeting. This tale, though told with 
Dome variations, is universally believed all over 
Germany. 

Tlie French had a similar tradition concerning 
an aerial hunter, who infested the forest of Foun- 
tainbleau. He was sometimes visible ; when he 
appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a 
tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be 
foand in " SuUy's Memoirs, " who says he was called 
Le Grand Veiieur. At one time he chose to hunt 
60 near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I 
mistake not. Sully himself, came out into the 
court, supposing it was the sound of the king re- 
turning from the chase. This phantom is else- 
where called Saint Hubert. 

The superstition seems to have been very gen- 
eral, as appears from the following fine poetical 
description of this phantom chase, as it was heard 
in the wilds of Ross-shire. 

" Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Ross, — 
So to the simple awain tradition tells, — 
Were wont with clans, ainl ready vassals throng'd, 
To wake the boondicg stag, or guilty wolf, 



There oft is lieani. at midnight, or at noon. 

Beginning faint, but rising still ninre loud. 

And neater, voice of hunters, and of hounds. 

And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far and keoa;— 

Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale 

Labors with wilder shrieks, and rifer din 

Of hot pursuit ; the broken cry of deer 

Mangled by throttling dogs ; the shouts of men. 

And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow liil'. 

Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale 

Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's eair 

Tingle with inward dread. Agtiast, he eyes 

The mountain's height, and all the ridges round. 

Yet not one trace of living wight discerns. 

Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands. 

To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear. 

To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend ; 

But wonders, and no end of wondering finds.*' 

Albania — reprinted in Scottis/i Descriptive Poemt 
pp. 167, 168. 

A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scot 
tish capuchin, related to his being buried on a hi! 
haunted by these unearthly cries of hmmds anr 
huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been de 
po.sited there, tlie noise was never heard more 
The reader will find this, and other miracles, re- 
corded in the life of Father Bonaventura, wliich ■ 
written in the choicest Itahan. 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN" 
[1196.'] 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-hoin. 
To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! 

His fiery com-ser snuffs the mon^ 

And thronging serfs their lord ptirsu& 

The eftger pack, from couples freed, 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brabe 

WhUe answering hound, and horn, and steed, 
The mountain echoes startUng wake. 

Tlie beams of God's own hallow'd day 
Had painted yonder spii-e with gold. 

And, calling sinful man to pray, 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had li U'd 

But still the WUdgrave onward ride* , 

Halloo, halloo ! and, luu'k again i 
When, spurring from opposing sides. 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the train 

Who was each Stranger, left and right. 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white, 
ITie left, the swarthy hue of hell. 

I Published (1796) with*\Villiam and Helen, ard entit M 

'ThK CHiCI." 



314 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The riglit-hand horseman, young and fair, 
His smile was like the morn of May ; 

The left, from ej'e of tawny glare, 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 

Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord 1 
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, 
. To watch the princely chase, afford ?" — 

" C'ease thy loud bugle's changing kuell," 
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice ; 

" And for devotion's choral swell, 
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. 

" To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear. 
Ton bell yet summons to the fane ; 

To-day the Warning Spirit hear, 

To-morrow thou mayst momn in vain." — 

•' Away, and sweep the glades along 1" 

The Sable Hunter hoarse rephes ; 
" To muttering monks leave matin-song, 

And bells, and books, and mysteries." 

The WUdgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, 
And, launchiug forward with a bound, 

" Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound i 

" Hence, if our manly sport offend I 
With pious fools go chant and pray : — 

Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend ; 
Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away !" 

The WUdgrave spurr'd his courser light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and liill ; 

And on the left and on the right, 
Each Stranger Horseman followed still. 

0p springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white than moimtain snow ; 

And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
" Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho !" 

A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 

He gasps the thundering hoofs below ; 
But, live who can, or die who may, 

Still, "Forward, forward 1" on they go, 

See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd ; 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman with toil embrown'd : 

' O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
* Earu'd by the sweat these brows ha'^e pour'd, 

In scorching hour of fierce July." 



Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound ! so basely bom, 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow I" — 

Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, 
" Hark forward, forwm-d, holla, ho 1" 

So said, so done : — A single bound 

Clears the poor laborer's humble pale ; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound. 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man and horse, and hound and horo. 

Destructive sweep the field along ; 
WhUe, joying o'er the wasted corn. 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng 

Again uproused, the timorous prey 

Scours moss and moor, and holt and hiU 

Hard rim, he feels his strength decay, 
And trusts for life his simple skilL 

Too dangerous soUtude appear'd ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill. 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 

FuU lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
" O spare, thou noble Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's httle all ; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care 1" — 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, 
But furious keeps the onward way. 

" Unmanner'd dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, 

Though human spirits, of thy sort, 
Were tenants of these carrion Idne I"— 

Again he winds his bugle-horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho I' 

And tlu-ough the herd, in ruthless scorn. 
He cheers liis furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near 
The murderous cries the stag appal, — 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 61. 


With blood besmear'd, and white with foam, 


And, from a cloud of swarthy red. 


Wliile bi^ the tears of anguish pour, 


Tlie awful voice of thunder spoke. 


He seeks, amid the forest's gloom 




The himible hermit's hallow'd bowei 


" Oppressor of creation fair 1 




Apostiite Spirits' harden'd tool ! 


But man and horse, and horn and hound, 


Scorner of God 1 Scoiu-ge of the poor 1 


Fast rattUng on his traces go; 


The measure of thy cup is fuU. 


The sacred chapel rung around 




With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho 1" 


" Be chased for ever through the wood , 




For ever roam the affrighted wild ; 


ill mild, amid the rout profane. 


And let thy fate instruct tlic proud. 


The holy hermit pour'd his prayer ; 


God's meanest creature is his child." 


' Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 




Revere his altar, and forbear! 


'Twas hush'd : — One flash, of sombre glare 




With yellow tinged the forests brown ; 


The meanest brute has rights to plead. 


Uprose the Wiklgrave's bristUng hair. 


Which, wroug'd by cruelty, or pride, 


And horror chiU'd each nerve and bono. 


Draw vengeance on the rutliless head : — 




Be warn'd nt length, and tm-n aside." 


Cold pom-'d the sweat in freezing rUl , 




A rising wind began to sing ; 


Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 


And louder, louder, louder still. 


The Black, wild whooping, points the prey : — 


Brought storm and tempest on its wing 


Alas 1 the Earl no warning heeds, 




But fi-imtic keeps the forward way. 


Earth heard the call ; — her entrails rend ; 




From yawning rifts, with many a yell, 


' Holy or not, or right or wrong. 


Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 


Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn ; 


The misbegotten dogs of hell. 


Not sainted martyrs' sacred song. 




Not God himself, shail make me turn 1" 


What ghastly Huntsman next arose. 




WeU may I guess, but dare not tell ; 


He spurs Ills horse, be winds his horn. 


His eye like midniglit iiglitning glows. 


" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" — 


His steed the sw.artliy hue of hell. 


But off, on wliirlwind's pinions bome, 




The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 


The Wildgra-se flies o'er bush and thorn, 




With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 


And horse and man, and horn and hound, 


Behind him hound, and horse, and horn. 


And clamor of the chase, was gone ; 


And, " Hark away, and holla, ho I" 


For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound. 




A deadly silence reigu'd alone. 


With wild despair's reverted eye. 




Close, close behind, he marks the throng 


Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; 


With bloody fangs and eager cry ; 


He strove in vain to wake his horn. 


In frantic fear he scours along. — 


In vain to caU : for not a sound 




Could from liis .inxious lips be borne. 


Still, still shall last the dreadful chaae. 




Till tune itself shall have an end ; 


He listens for liis trusty hounds ; 


By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space. 


No distant baying reach'd his ears : 


At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 


His courser, rooted to the ground, 




The quickemng spiu^ unmindful bears. 


This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 




That oft the lated peasant hear.s ; 


Still dark and darker frown the shades. 


Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross. 


Dark as the uarkness of the grave ; 


When the wild din invades his eaia 


And not a sound the still invades. 




Save what a distant torrent gave. 


The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 




For human pride, for hum.an woe. 


nigh o'er the sinner's humbled head 


When, at his midnight mass, he hears 


At length the solemn silence broke 


The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho 1" 



616 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



arje iFfrc=3Ettnji. 



' The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were 
Qpou him." — Eastern Tale. 

[1801.] 



TTiis hatiad was written at the request of Mr. Lewis, 
to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder.'" It is 
the third in a series of four ballads, 07i the sub- 
ject of Eletnentary Spirits. Tlie story is, how- 
ever, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, 
during the struggles of the Latin kingdojji of 
Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint- Alban, 
deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Chris- 
tians in 7nany combats, till he was finally routed 
ind slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, un- 
«r tJte walls of Jerusalem. 



Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an 

ear, 
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your 

glee. 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 

see you that castle, so strong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the teai' in her eye ? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand ? — 

"Now palmer, gray palmer, tell unto me, 
What news bring you home from the Holy Coun- 

trie ? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the 

land?"— 

" well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, 
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have 



A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 
O'er the palmer's gray locks the fair chain has she 

flung: 
" O palmer, gi'ay palmer, tliis chain be thy fee, 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 

"Anil, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ' 

I ruWi«l.iTl in 1801 See avte, p. 573. 



When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cros 

rush'd on, 
O saw ye hiivi foremost on Mo\mt Lebanon ?"- — 

" lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 
lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 
Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on 

high; 
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt 

faUs, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope in 

gone ; 
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon.'' 

she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her 

need; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land. 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on liis faith, or his knighthood, 

had he ; 
A heatheni.sh damsel his light lieai't had won. 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 

" Clu-istian, biave Christian, my love wouldst 

thou be ; 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee; 
Our laws and our worship on thee slialt thoi; 

take ; 
And tills thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou 

wake ; 
And tliis thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and 

hand. 
To drive the FraiJc robber from Palestine's land ; 
For my lord and my love then Coimt Albert I'll 

take. 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulemu's sake." I 

He has thrown by liis helmet, and cross-handled I 

sword, ; 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying liis Lord; 

He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, | 

For the love of the maiden of f;iir Lebanon. j 

And in the dread cavern, deep, deep nndei j 
ground, i 

Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



dii 



, He baa watcli'd until day'reak, but sight saw he 

I none, 

' Save tbe flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldjm amazed, 
Sore m iirmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed ; 
rh 'y search'd .all his garments, and, under his 
I wends. 

They found, and took from hira, his rosary beads. 

Again in tlie cavern, deep, deep under ground, 
He wateh'd the lone night, wliile the winds whis- 
tled round ; 
Far off was their mimnur, it came not more nigh, 
The flame burn'd unmoved, and naught else did 
he spy. 

Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was the 

King, 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they 

eing; 
They search'd Albert's body, and, lo 1 on lus breast 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 

The priests they erase»it with care and with pain. 
And the recreant return'd to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper tliere fell : 
It w:is his good angel, who bade him fai-ewell I 

High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolved to 

retreat ; 
But his heai't it was harden'd, his purpose was 

gone. 
When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce ptiss'd he the archway, the threshold scarce 

trode. 
When the wh'ds from the foui' points of heaven 

were abroad, 
They made each steel portal to rattle and ring. 
And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- 

King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh, 
The fire on the altar blazed bickeruig and high ; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. 

Unmeasured in heiglit, undistingui.sh'd in form. 
His breatli it was liglitning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Fliune. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-gUmmer'd through 

smoke. 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he 

bpoke : 



" With this brand shalt thou conquur, thus long 

and no more. 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore.* 

The cloud-shrouded Aabi gives the weapon ; and 

see I 
Tlie recreant receives tlie charmed gift on liis knee 
The thunders growl distimt, and faint gleam the 

fires, 
As, borne on the whu-lwind, the phantom retires. 

Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among. 
Though liis heart it was false, yet his arm it waa 

strong ; 
And the Red-cross wax'd faint and the Crescent 

came on, 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanoa 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave. 

The sands of Samaiir dnuik the blood of the brave ■ 

Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of 

Saint John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against Mm came on 

The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets repUed, 
The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each 

side; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew 
Till he pierced the thick timiult King Baldwii' 

unto. 

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did 

wield. 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-crosf 

shield ; 
But a Page tlirust him forwai'd the monarch before 
And cleft the proud turb.an the renegade wore, 
1 
So fell was the dint, th.at Count Albert stoop'd 
low 
! Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddlebow ; 
j And scarce had he bent to tlie Red-cross his head, 
I " Bonne Grace, Noire Dame .'" lie imwittiugly said 

Sore sigh'd tlie charm'd sword, for its virtue was 
o'er, 

It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
i But true men have said, that the hghtning's led 
j wmg 

, Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King 

! He clench'd his set teeth, and his gaunt'etcd hand; 
' He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the 
strand ; 
As back from the sti-ipling the broken casque 
I roU'd, 

You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets oi 
gold. 



618 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood- 
clotted hair ; 
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood. 
And dyed their long lances in Saiacen blood. 

The Si^'acens, Cm'dmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the ecaUop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; 
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead, 
From Bethaaida's fountains to Naphthah's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — 

Oh. who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd 'mid the 

slain! 
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee ? — 
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Eosalie 1 

The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound : 
Hor soul to high mercy Our Lady chd bring ; 
Hij went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell. 

How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it 

fell: 
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid their 

glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



jyrctierfcft anti aifce. 



[1801.] 



This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from 
d fragment introduced in (zOf^A^'s " Claudina von 
Villa Bella," wliere. it is siaiff hy a member of a 
gang of fmndittl, to engage the attention of the fam- 
ily, vjhlle his companions break hito the castle. It 
owes any little merit it may possess to my friend 
Mtt. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an extremely 
nide state ; aiui who, after some material improve- 
pients, published it in his " Tales of Wonder." 



FKEDEKiOfe leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure, 

Careless casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in liis prancing steed. 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's g.ay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 



Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone; 
Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 
Hope, and peace, and honor, flovm. 

Mark her breast's convulsive tlu-obsl 
See, the tear of anguish flows 1 — 

Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 
Loud the laugh of phi'ensy rose 

Wild she cm'sed, and wild she j'.ray'd ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faitliless Frederick onward rides ; 

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
MantUng o'er the mountain's sidea. 

Heard ye not the boding sound. 
As the tongue of yonder tower, 

Slowly, to the hiUs aroimd. 

Told the fourth, the fated hour 1 

Starts the steed, and aiufi's '.he air, 
Yet no cause of dread appeal's ; 

Bristles liigh the rider's hair. 

Struck with strange mysterious fea>& 

Desperate, as liis terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long nights, 
Wild he wander'd, woe the wliile ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright. 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seven'h sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ; 
While the deafening thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil, 

Wliere his head shall Frederick hide I 

Where, but in yon ruin'd aisle. 
By the lightning's flash descried ? 

To the portal, dank and low. 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound . 

Down a ruin'd staircase slow, 

Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long di'ear vaults before him lie I 
Ghmmering Ughts are seen to glide I- 

" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 
Deign a sinner's steps to guide I" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



61fi 



Often lost their quivering beam, 
Still the lights move slow before, 

Till they rest then- ghustly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 

(Tiundei ing voices fiom within, 
Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose ; 

As they fell, a solenui strain 
Lent its wild and wondrous close I 

Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death removed ; — 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that AUce loved. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke ; 

Four times, at its deaden'd swell, 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

A s the lengthen'd clangors die. 

Slowly opes the iron door I 
Straight a banquet met his eye, 

But a funeral's form it wore I 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

AU with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend, 

Long since number'd with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 

All arose, with thundering sound ; 
AU the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave, 
Wild their notes of welcome swell : — 

" Welcome, traitor, to the grave I 
Perjured, bid the light farewell 1" 



(Slje Battle oi ScmpacI). 



[1818.] 

These verses are a literal translation of an an- 
dent Swiss ballad .upon the battle of Sempacli, 
fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which 
the Swiss cantons established theh" independence ; 
the author, Albert Tchudi, denominated the Sou- 
ler, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was 

citizen of Lucerne, esteemed liighly among his 
countrymen, both for his powers as a Meisler- 
Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier ; 
10 that he might share the praise conferred by 
Collins on .^schylus, that — • 



" Not al«ne he nui^ed the poet's flame, 

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steel 

The circumstance of their being written by a 
poet returning from the well-fought field he de- 
scribes, and in which liis country's fortune was 
secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an interest 
which they are not entitled to claim from their 
poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more lit- 
erally it is translated, the more it loses its simpli- 
city, without acquiring either grace or strength • 
and, therefore, some of the faults of the verses 
must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a 
duty to keep as closely as possible to his originaL 
Tlie various puns, rude att'empts at pleasantry, 
and disproportioned episodes, must be set down 
to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. 

The military antiquary will derive some amuse- 
ment from the minute particulars which the mar- 
tial poet has recorded. The mode m which the 
Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the 
Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, wltich they de- 
fended with their long lances. The gallant Wink- 
elreid, who sacrificed Itis own life by rushing among 
the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he 
could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron 
battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. Wlien 
fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length o< 
their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their de 
fensive armor, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms 
a very unequal match for the light-armed moim- 
taineers. The victories obtained by the Swisf ov t 
the German cliivalry, hitherto deemed as foruih 
dable on foot as on horseback, led to important 
changes in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks 
from then- boots ere they could act upon foot, in 
allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often 
mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III., 
Archduke of Austria, called " The handsome man- 
at-arms," was slain in the Battle of Sempach, wit'' 
the flower of his chivalry. 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.' 

'Twas when among our linden-trees 
Tlie bees had housed in swarms 

(And gray-hair'd peasants say that these 
Betoken foreign arms). 

Then look'd we down to Willisow, 

Tlie land was all m flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

Witli all his army came. 

» This translation first appeared in Blackwood'fl Ediobot 
Magazine for February, 1818. — Ed. 



«20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Austrian nobles made their vow, 


The peaks they hew'd from their boot-poiut« 


So hot their heart and bold, 


Might wellnigh load a wain.* 


' On Switzer carles we'll trample now, 




And sLiy both young and old." 


And thus they to each other said. 




" Yon handful down to hew 


With clarion loud, and banner proad, 


Will be no boastful tale to tell, 


Frnm Zurich on the lake. 


The peasants are so few." — 


In martial pomp and fair array. 




Their onward march they make. 


The gallant Swiss Confederates there 




They pray'd to God aloud, 


'' Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 


And he display'd liis rainbow fair 


Ye seek the mountain strand. 


Against a swarthy cloud. 


Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 




In such a dangerous l;md. 


Then heart and pulse tlu-obb'd more and mor« 




With corn-age firm and high. 


" I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins. 


And down the good Confederates bore 


Before ye farther go : 


On the Austrian chivahy. 


A ekirmiyh in Helvetian hills 




May send yom* souls to woe." — 


The Austrian Lion' 'gan to growl, 




And toss his mane and tail ; 


" But where now shall we find a priest 


And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt. 


Our shrift that he may hear ?" — 


Went whistling forth like hail. 


" The Switzer priest' has ta'en the field, 




He deals a penance drear. 


Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there, 




The game was nothing sweet ; 


" Right heavily upon your head 


The boughs of many a stately tree 


He'U lay his h:md of steel ; 


Lay shiver'd at their feet. 


And with his trusty pai-tisan 




Your absolution deal." — 


The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, 




So close their spears they hud ; 


'Twas on a Monday morning then, 


It chafed the gallant Wiukelreid, 


Tlie corn was steep'd in dew, 


Who to his comrades said — 


And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 




When the host to Sempach ilrew. 


" I have a virtuous mfe at hom'!, 




A wife and infant son ; 


The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 


I leave them to my country's care, — 


Together have they joiu'd ;, 


This field shall soor, b<; won. 


The pith and core of manliood stern, 




Was none cast looks beliind. 


" Tliese nobles lay then* spears right thick. 




And keep ftiU firm array. 


It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 


Yet shall my charge their order break, 


And to the Duke he said. 


And make my brethren way." 


" Yon little b.-md of bfethren true 




Will meet us undismay'd." — 


He rush'd against the Austrian band. 




In desperate career, ■ 


'* Hare-castle,^ thou heart of hai*e 1" 


And with his body, breast, and hand. 


Fierce Oxensteru rephed. — 


Bore down each hostUe spear. 


" Shah see then how the game will fare," 




The taimted knight replied. 


Four lances .splinter'd on his crest, 




Six shiver'd in his side ; 


Ttere was lacmg then of helmets bright. 


Still on the serried files he press'd — 


And closing ranks amain ; 


He broke their rankt, and died. 


1 All the Swiss clergy who were able to bear arras fought .n 


turned upwards, and so long, that in some cases they wen 


fils patriotic war. 


fastened to tlie knees of liie wearer with small chains. ^Vh«* 




they alighted to fight upon foot, it woulil seem that the Arw 


In the original, Haasenstcin, or Hare-stone, 


trian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, thai 


3 This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, doring 


they might move with the necessary activity. 


iie middle ages of wearing boots with the points or peaks 


* A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



621 



This patriot's self devoted deed 

First tamed the Lion's mood, 
And the four forest cantons freed 

From thraldom by his blood. 

Right where his charge had made a lane. 

His valiant comrades burst, 
With sword, and axe, and partisan, 

And hack, and stab, and thrust. 

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, 

And granted ground amain, 
The Mountain Bull' he bent his brows. 

And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, 

At Sempach in the flight, 
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 

Hold many an Austrian Imight. 

It waa the Archduke Leopold 

So lordly would he ride. 
But he came against the Switzer churls. 

And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 

" And shall I not complain ? 
There came a foreign njbleman 

To milk me on the plain. 

" One thrust of thine outrageous horn 

Hiis gall'd the knight so sore. 
That to the churchyard he is borne, 

Tp range our glens no more." 

An Austrian noble left the stour. 

And fast the flight 'gan take ; 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At Sempach on the lake. 

Be and his squire a fisher call'd 

(His name was Hans Von Rot), 
" For love, or meed, or charity. 

Receive us in thy boat !" 

Their anxious caU the fisher heard. 

And, glad the meed to win, 
His shallop to the shore he steer' d. 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row'd his way, 
The noble to his foUower sign'd 

He should the boatman slay. 

' A pnn on the Urus, or wild-ball, which gives name u> 
IIS Canton of Uri. 

s Tlie translation of the Noble Moringer appeared originally 
b Itie Edinburgh Annual Register for 1816 (jtublished in 



The fisher's back was to them tum'd. 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw Ms shadow in the lake. 

The boat he overthrew. 

He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they stroT^ 
He stunn'd tliem with his oar, 

" Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 
You'll ne'er stab boatman more. 

" Two gilded fishes in the lake 

This morning have I caught, 
Tlieir silver scales may much avail. 

Their carrion flesh is naught." 

It was a messenger of woe 

Has Bought the Austrian land ; 

" Ah 1 gracious lady, evU news I 
My lord lies on the strand. 

" At Sempach, on the battle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there."— 

" Ah, gracious God I" the lady cried, 
" What tidings of despair 1" 

Now would you know the minstrel wigb* 

Who sings of strife so stern, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry man was he, I wot. 

The night he made the lay. 
Returning from the bloody spot. 

Where God had judged the day. 



®I)E Noble iHoringcr. 



AN ANCIENT BALLAD. 



TRANSLATED FKOM THE GERMAN 
[1819.=] 

The original of these verses occurs in a wllecin. . 
of German popular songs, entifleil, Sammlung 
Deutschen VolksUeder, Berlin, 1807, {.'.Mbliehed by 
Messrs. Busching and Von der Hagen, both, and 
more especially the last, distinguislied for theii 
acquaintance with tlie ancient popuhu c- «try and 
legendary histoiy of Germany. 

In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it ii 

1819). It was composed daring Sir Walter Scott's severe and 
alarming illness of April, 1819, and dictated, in the intervaii 
of exquisite pain, to his daughter Sophia, and his friend W* 
liam Laidlaw. — Ed. See lAfc of Scott, vol. vi. n It 



622 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



stated to hare oecn extracted from a manuscript 
Cliroaicle of Nicolaus Thomaun, chaplaiu to Saint 
Leonard in Weisenliorn, wliich bears tlie date 153S ; 
and the song is stated by tlie autlior to base been 
generally sung in the ueigliborhood at that early 
period. Thomann, as quoted by the German Ed- 
itor, seems faithfully to have believed the event 
he narrates. He quotes tombstones and obituiiries 
to prove the existence of the personages of the 
ballad, and discovers tliut there actually died, on 
the nth May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuffen, Count- 
ess of iilarstetten, who was, by birth, of the house 
of Sloringer. This lady he supposes to have been 
Moringer's daughter, mentioned in the ballad. He 
quotes the same authority for the death of Berck- 
hold Von Neuffen, in the same year. Tlie editors, 
on the whole, seem to embrace tlie opinion of Pro- 
fessor Smith of Uhn, who, from the language of 
the ballad, ascribes its date to tlie 15tli century. 

Tlie legend itself turns on an incident not pecu- 
liar to Germany, and which, perhaps, was not un- 
likely to happen ui more instances tlian one, when 
crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their 
disconsolate dames received no tidings of their 
fate. A story, very similar in circumstances, but 
without the mu-aculous machinery of Saint Thom- 
as, is told of one of the ancient Lords of Haigh-hall 
in Lancasliire, the patrimonial inheritance of the 
late Countess of Balcarras ; and the particulars are 
represented on stained glass upon a window in 
that ancient manor-house.' 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 

I. 
0, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian 

day, 
[t was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he 

lay; 

He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was 

as sweet as May, 
Aud said, "Now, lady of my heart, attend the 

words I say. 

IL 

"Tie I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant 
shrine, 

And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave 
the land that's mine ; 

Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou 
wilt pledge tliy fay, 

That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelve- 
months and a day." 

I See Introduction to *'T it Betrothed." Waverley Nove'e, 
•I. xxxvii. 



IIL 

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troub 

led in her cheer, 
"Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what orde( 

takest thou here ; 
And wlio shall lead thy vassal b.and, and hold thj 

lordly sway. 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art fai 

away !" 

IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thoo 

no care, 
There's many a va'iiant gentlaman of me holds 

living fair ; [my state, 

The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and 
And be a guarditm tried and true to thee, my 

lovely mate. 



"As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow 

which I have plight. 
When I am fai' in foreign land, remember thy true 

knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain 

were sorrow now. 
But gr.ant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath 

heard his vow." 

VL 

It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him 

bonne. 
And met him there liis Chamberlain, with ewer 

and with go-svn : • 

He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with 

miniver. 
He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his 

forehead fair. 

vn. 

" Now hear," he said, " Su- Chamberlain, true vas- 
sal art thou mine. 

And such the trust t'lat I repose in that proved 
worth of thine. 

For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and 
lead my vassal train. 

And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return 
again." 

vin. 

The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily 

said he, 
" Abide, my lord, and rtde your own, and take 

this rede from me ; 
That woman's faith's a brittle trust — Sovec 

twelve-months didst thou say ? 
I'll pledge me for no lady's truth bcyonc the 

seventh fair day." 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



628 



IX. 

The noble Biiron turn'd him round, his heart was 

full of care. 
His gallant Esquii'o stood him nigh, he was Mars- 

tettcn'a heir, 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou trusty 

squire to me, 
Wilt thou receive thia weighty trust when I am 

o'er the sea i 



"To watch and ward my castle strong, and to 

protect my land, 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal 

band ; • 

And pledge thee for my lady's faith till seven 

long years are gone. 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by 

S;iint John 8" 

XL 

Marstetten's heir "was bind and true, but fiery, hot, 
and young, 

And readUy he answer made with too presump- 
tuous tongue ; 
My noble lord, cast care away, and on your jour- 
ney v-end, [have end. 

And trust th'^f charge to me until your pilgrimage 

XIL 
Rely upos my plighted faith, which shall be truly 

tried, 
'o guard your lands, and ward yoiw towers, and 

with your vassals ride ; 
vnd for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and 

so dear, 
ril gage my head it knows no change, be absent 
thirty year." 

XIIL 
fhe noble Moringer took cheer when thus he 

heard liim speak, 
And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow 

left his cheek ; 
4 lonj, idieu he bids to all — hoists topsails, and 

away. 
And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelve- 

mcntha and a day. 

xrv. 

tt was tbe noble Moringer within an orchard 

Bler.i, 
WLen r-i the Baron's slumbering sense a boding 

vision crept ; 
And whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'Tis time, Sir 

Knight, to wake, 
thy lady and thv heritage another master take. 



XV. 

"Thy tower another banner knows, thy steedi 
another rein. 

And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vas- 
sal train ; 

And slie, the Lady of thy love, so faithful ones 
and fair. 

This night within thy fathers' hall she weds Mars 
tetten's heir." 

XVL 

It is lie noble Moringer starts up and tears his 

beard, 
" Oh Would that I had ne'er been born 1 what 

tidings have I heard I 
To lose my lordship and my lauds the less would 

be my care. 
But, God ! that e'er a squire imtrue should wed 

my Lady fair. 

xvn. 

" good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, " mj 

patron Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my 

vow I [nam 9, 

My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endm'e the 
' shame." 

XVIIL 

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard 
his pilgrim's prayer. 

And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'ei 
power'd liis care ; 

He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd be- 
side a rill. 

High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a 
mill. 

XIX. 

The Moringer he started up as one fi-om speU nn 

bound, 
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all 

aroimd ; 
" I know ray fathers' ancient towers, the mUl, the 

stream I know. 
Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer*!, nia 

pilgrim's woe 1" 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he 

drew. 
So alter'd was his goodly form that none theil 

master knew ; [charity, 

The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, foi 
Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings maj 

there be i" 



t>24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXL 

Tlie miller ansTvered I'im again, " He knew of little 
news. 

Save tliat the Lady of the land did a new bride- 
groom choose ; 

Her husband died in distant land, such is the con- 
stant word, 

Hia death sita heavy on our souk, he was a worthy 
Lord. 

XXIL 

" Of him I held the little mill which wins me living 

free, 
Ood rest the Baron in his grave, he stiU was kind 

to me I 
And wl-?n Saint Martin's tide comes round, and 

millers take their toll, 
The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both 

cope and stole." 

XXIIL 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began. 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and 

weary man ; 
" Now help me, every saint in heaven that can 

compassion take, 
To gain the entrance of my hall this woeful match 

to break." 

XXIV. 
His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad 

awl slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and hand, were 

heavy all with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy 

Lady say, 
A pilgiim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor 

for a day. 

XXV. 

" Pve wander'd many a weary step, my strength 
is wellnigh doie, 

And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no mor- 
row's sun ; 

I nray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's 
bed and dole, 

And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-loved 
husband's soul." 

XXVI. 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame 
before, 

' A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the 
castle-door ; 

And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for har- 
bor and for dole. 

And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's 
soul." 



XXVIL 

The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do up th« 
gate," she said, 

" And bid the wanderer welcome bo to banquet 
and to bed ; 

And since he names my husband's name, so that 
he Usts to stay. 

These towers shall be his harborage a twelve- 
month and a day." 

XXVIIL 
It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal 

broad, 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold 

strode ; ^ 

"And have thou thanks, kind heaven;" he said, 

" though from a man of sin. 
That the true lord stands here once more hia 

castle-gate within." 

XXIX. 
Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad 

and slow ; [Lord to know ; 

It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe 

and wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little 

space so long. . 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come 

was evening hour, 
The time was nigh when new-made bndcs retire 

to nuptial bower ; 
" Our castle's wont," a brid<;s-man eCd, 'hith been 

both firm and long. 
No guest to harbor in om' halls tUl he shall chant 

a song." 

XXXL 
Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he 

sat by the bride, 
" My merry minstrel folk," quoth be, " hay shahn 

and harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must fling a lay, the castle's rule 

to hold. 
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and 

with gold." — 

XXXII. 
" Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas ths»'> the 

pilgrim sung, 
" Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks luB 

heavy tongue ; 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as 

rich as tliine. 
And by my side as fair a bride with all her chamu 

was mine 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



G2d 



XXXIII. 

• But time traced funows on my face, and I grew 
sUv&r-hair'd, 

For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left 
this brow and beard ; 

Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's 
latest stage. 

And niingls with your bridal mirth the lay of fro- 
zen age." 

XXXIV. 

It was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that 

hears, 
And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was 

dimm'd with tears ; 
She bade her g.alLant cupbearer a golden beaker 

take, 
And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her 

sake. 

XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the 

■wine 
A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so 

fine: 
Now hsten, gentles, to my song, it tells you but 

the sooth, 
Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his 

bridal truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one kindly 

deed, 
And should my better days return, full rich shall 

be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so 

gay, 

And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the p.alm- 
er gray." 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon 
denied, 

The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the 
bride ; 

" Lady," he said, " your reverend guest sends this, 
and bids me pray, 

That, m thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVHL 

The ring hath caught the Lad/s eye, she views it 
cfose and near, 

Then you might hear her shriek aloud, " The Mor- 
inger is here !" 
7B 



Then might you see her start from seat, while tears 

in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best 

can tell. 

XXXIX. 

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and everj 

saintly power. 
That had return'd the Moringer before the mid 

night hour ; 
And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was 

there bride, 
Tliat had like her preserved her trotli, or been so 

sorely tri»fl 

XL. 

" Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to con 

<itaDt matrons due. 
Who keep the troth that they have plight, so stead 

fastly and true ; 
For comit the term howe'er you will, so that you 

count aright, 
Seven twelve-months and a day are out when bells 

toll twelve to-night." 

s 

XLL 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falcliion there 

he drew. 
He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his wea 

pon threw ;» 
" My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were 

the words he said, 
" Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take 

thy vassal's head." 

XLII. 

The noble Moringer he smiled, ii:ul then aloud did 
eay, 

" He gathers wisdom that hath ronm'd seven twelve- 
months and a day ; 

My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks 
her sweet and fair, 

I give her for the bride you lose, and name her foi 
my heir. 

XLIIL * 

" The yovmg bridegroom hath youthfid bride, the 

old bridegroom the old, 
■Wlose faith was kept till term and tide so puno- 

tuaUy were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my 

castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a da> too 

late." 



026 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

(The Efl-King is a goblin that haunts the Black 
Forest in TImringia. — To be read by a candle 
particularly long in the snuff ^ 
% 

0, WHO rides by night thro' the woodland so wild ! 

It is the fond father embracing his child ; 

And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, 

To hold Iiimself fast, and to keep himself warm. 

" O father, see yonder ! see yonder !" he says ; 
" My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze ?" — 
" 0, 'tis the Erl-King witli his crown and his shroud." 
" No, my son, it is but a. dark wi'eath of the cloud." 

{The Erl-King speaks.) 
" O come and go with me, thou lovehest child ; 
By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguUed ; 
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, 
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy," 

" 0, father, my father, and did you not hear 
The Erl-King whisper so law in my ear ?" — 

* 17ff7, " To Miss Christian Rutherford. — I Bend a gob- 
lin itory. Yon see I have not altogellier lost the faculty of 
Tbyming. 1 afsure you there is no small impndence in attempt- 



" Be stiU, my heart's darling — my child, be at eas* ; 
It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees," 

Erl-King. 
" wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy ? 
My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy ; 
She shaU bear thee so lightly thro' wet and ihro' 

wild. 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child '' 

" father, my father, and saw you not plain. 
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past thro the 

rain ?" — 
" yes, my loved treasm-e, I knew it full soon ; 
It was the gray willow that danced to the moon,'' 

Erl-King. 
" come and go with me, no longer delay, 
Or else, silly child, J will drag thee away." — 
" father ! father ! now, now keep yom- hold, 
The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold 1" 

Sore trembled the father ; he spurr'd thro' the wild 
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child •, 
He reaches his dwelhng in doubt and in dread. 
But, clasp'd to hia bosom, the infant was deadT 

ing a version of that ballad, as it has been translated by Lewii 
. . '. . W. S."—Life, vol. i. p 378. 



S8D OF BALI ADS FROM THE aEBHAB 



CiJrical a nit iHisccllancoits jptcccs, 

IN THE ORDER OF THEIR COMPOSITION OR PUBLICATION. 



FBOM yiBQIL. 



1782.— ^TAT. 11. 



" Scctt's autobiogi'aphy tells us thai his tranala- 
hons in verse from Horace and Virgi] were often 
approved by Dr. Adams [Rector of the High School, 
Edinburgh]. One of these little pieces, written in 
a we;xk boyish scrawl, witliin pencilled marks stiU 
visible, had been carefully preserved by his moth- 
er ; it was found folded up in a cover, inscribed 
by the old lady — 'My Walter s first lines, 1782.'" 
-LoCKHAET, Life of Scott, vol. I p. 129. 

In awful ruins jEtna thunders nigh. 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which, stiU as they aspire, 
From their dark sides there burets the glowing 

fire ; 
At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd. 
That Uck the stars, and in the smoke are lost : 
Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn, 
TSnits huge rocks, which instantly are home 
With loud explosions to the starry skies, 
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies. 
Then back again with greater weight recoils, 
While jEtna thundering from the bottom boils. 



»n a STJuntrer Storm. 



1783.— JEt. 12. 



" In Scott's Introduction to the Lay, he alludes 
to an original effusion of these ' schoolboy days,' 
prompted by a thunder-storm, which he says, ' was 
jnuch approved of, until a malevolent critic epnmg 



^ '■ It mast, 1 think, be allowed that lliese litieg, though 
•f the class to which the poet himself modestly ascribes 
Vwa and not to be compared with the etforts of Pope, ctill 



up in the shape of an apothecary's blue-busldned 
wife,' <tc. Ac These lines, and another short pieca 
' On the Setting Sun,' were lately found wrappeiT 
up in a cover, inscribed by Dr. Adam, ' Waltef 
Scott, July, 1783.'" 

Loud o'er my head though awful thtmders roll. 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole. 
Yet 'tis thy voice, my God, that bids them fly. 
Thy arm directs those Hghtnings through the sky 
Then let the good thy mighty name revere. 
And harden'd sinners thy just vengeance fear 



®n tSe Sctlfufl Suit. 



1783. 



Those evetiing clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's pr.oise ; 
Then let the short-hved thing cali'd man. 
Whose life's comprised witliin a span. 

To Him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints, so gay and bold, 
But seldom think upon otn' God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold I' 



Srtie Tfolet. 



1797. 



It appears from the Life of Scott, vol i p. 388, 
that these lines, first published in the English 



less of Cowley at the same period, show, nevertheless, prais** 
worthy dexterity for a boy of twelve." — Life of Scott, vol »• 
p. 131. 



628 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Minstrelsy, ISIO, were written in 1797, on occa- 
Bion of the Poet's disappointment in love. 

The violet in her green-wood bower, 

Wliere birchen boughs with liazels mingle, 

May boast itself the fairest tjower 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue, 

Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining ; 

I've seen an eye of lovelier blue, 

More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining. 

The summer sun that dew .shall dry. 
Ere yet the day be past its morrow ; 

Nor longer in my false love's eye 
Remain'd the tear of parting sorrow. 



€ a 31 a B 2 . 

nriTH FLOWEES FROM A ROMAN WALL. 



1797. 



Written in 1797, on an excursion fi'ora Gillsland, 
in Cumberland. See Life, vol. i. p. 365. 

Take these flowers which, pm'ple waving. 

On the ruin'd rampart grew. 
Where, the sons of freedom braving, 

Rome's imperial standards flew. 

Warriors from the breach of danger 

Pluck no longer laurels there ; 
Tliey but yield the passing stranger 

Wild-flower wreatlis for Beauty's hair. 



Jr a g m c n t s . 



(1.) BOTHWELL CASTLE. 



1799. 



i'he following fi-agment of a ballad written ^t 
llothwell Castle, in the autumn of 1799, was first 
printed m the Life of Sir Walter Scott, voL ii. p. 28. 

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers 

Are mellowing in the noon ; 
When sighs round Pembroke's ruin'd towers 

The sultry breath of June ; 

» Sir Aylmer de V.ilence, Earl of Pembroke, Edward the 
Fint's Governor of Scotland, usually resided at Botlnvell Cas- 



When Clyde, despite his sheltering wood, 

Mu5t leave his channel dry ; 
And vainly o'er the limpid flood 

The angler guides his fly ; 

If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 

A wanderer thou hast been. 
Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 

In Blantyre's bowers of green. 

Full where the copsewood opens wild 

Thy pilgrim step hath staid, 
Where Bothwell's towers, in ruin piled, 

O'erlook the verdant glade ; 

And many a tale of love and fear 
Hath mingled with the scene — 

Of Bothwell's banks that bloom'd so dear 
And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 

0, if with rugged minstrel lays 

Unsated be thy ear. 
And thou of deeds of other days 

Another tale wilt heai', — 

Then all beneath tlie spreading beech, 

Flung careless on the lea, 
The Gothic muse the tale shall teach 

Of Bothwell's sisters three. 

Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont head. 

He blew his bugle round, 
Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood 

Has started at the sound. 

St. George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung, 

Was waving far and wide. 
And from the lofty turret flung 

Its crimsoni blaze on Clyde ; 

And rising at the bugle blast 
That maiked the Scottish foe. 

Old England's yeomen muster'd fast, 
And bent the Norman bow. 

Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer' rose. 

Proud Pembroke's Earl was he — 
WhUe" . V . . 



(2.) THE SHEPHERD'S TALR' 



i799. 



"Another, imperfeft ballad, in which he had 
meant to blend together two legends familiar t» 

tie, the ruing of which attest the magnificence of the invader. 
—Ed. 2 Life of Scott, vol i. p. 31. 



LYltlCAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



628 



every reader of Scottish history and romance, has 
been found in tbu same portfolio, and the hand- 
wi-iting proves it to be of the same eai-ly date."— 
LOCKUART, vol. ii. p. 30. 



And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod, 
[n persecution's iron days. 

When the land was left by God. 

From Bewhe bog, with slaugliter red, 

A wanderer liither drew. 
And oft he stopt and tm-n'd his head, 

As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot edge 

Were heard the troopers keen, 
And fi-equent from the Whitelaw ridge 

The death-shot flash'd betweea 

The moonbeams through the misty shower 
On yon dark cavern fell ; [white. 

Through the cloudy night the snow gleam'd 
Which sunbeam ne'er could quelL 

" Ton cavern dark is rough and rude, 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men of blood. 

That hunt my Ufe below I 

" Yon speU-bound den, as the aged tell. 

Was hewn by demon's hands ; 
But I had lourd' melle with the fiends of hell. 

Than with Clavers and his band." 

He heard the deep-mouth'd bloodhound bark. 

He heard the horses neigli. 
He plunged him in the cavern dark, ■ 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 
Came the cry of tlie faultmg hound, 

And the muttei-'d oath of baulked wrath 
Was lost in hollow sound. 

Ht tlu-ew him on the flinted floor. 

And held his breath for fear ; 
He ro.-io and bitter cursgd liis foes. 

As the sounds died on his ear. 

" bare thine arm, thou battling liOrd, 

For Scotland's wanderijig band ; 
Dash from the oppressor's grasp the sword, 

And sweep Mm fi-om the land I 

1 Lourtl: 1. e. liel'er — rather. 



" Forget not thou tliy people's groans 
From dark I)ui\notter's tower, 

Mix'd with tlie seafuwl's elirilly moans, 
And ocean's bursting roar I 

" 0. in fell Clavers' hour of pride. 

Even m liis mightiest day, 
As bold he strides through conquest's tide, 

stretch liim on the clay ! 

" His widow and his httle ones, 

may their tower of trust 
Remove its .strong fomidation stones. 

And crush them in the dust !" — 

" Sweet pr.ayer3 to me," a voice replied, 
^ " Thrice welcome, guest of mine!" 
And glimmering on the cavern side, 
A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man, in amice brown. 

Stood, by the wanderer's side. 
By powerful charm, a dead man's arm 

The torch's hght supphed. 

From each stiff finger, stretch'd upriglit. 

Arose a ghastly flame, 
That waved not m the blast of night 

Which tlu-ough the cavern came. 

0, deadly blue was that taper's hup 

That flamed the cavern o'er. 
But more deadly blue was the ghastly hue 

Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like lead, 

As heavy, pale, and cold — 
" Vengeance be thine, thou guest of mme. 

If thy heart be firm and bold. 

" But if fiiint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know, 
The mountain erne thy heart shall tear. 

Thy nerves the hooded crow*' 

The wanderer raised him undismay'd : 

" My soul, by dangers steel'd. 
Is stubborn as my border blade, 

Wliich never knew to yield. 

" And if thy power can speed the hour 

Of vengeance on my foes. 
Theirs be tlie fate, from bridge and gar,* 

To feed the hooded crows." 

The Brownie look'd him in the face. 
And his color fled with speed — 

" I fear me," quoth he, " mieath it will bo 
To match thy word aud deed. 



!..iO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" In ancient days wlien English bands 


The casque hung near each cavalier ; 


Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 


The plumes waved mournfully 


The s-word and sliield of Scottish land 


At every tread wliich the wanderer made 


Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 


Through the haU of gramai-ye. 


' A warlocli loved the warrior well. 


The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam 


Sir llichael Scott by name, 


That gl^-ed the warriors on. 


Ajid he sought ibr his sake a speU to make. 


Reflected ligiit from armor bright, 


Should the Southern foemen tame. 


In noontide splendor shone. 


" ' Look thou,' he said, ' from Cessford head, 


And onward seen in lustre sheen, 


As the July sun sinks low. 


Still lengthening on the sight. 


And when glTmmering wliite on Cheviot's height 


Through the boundless hall stood steeds in stall 


Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow. 


And by each lay a sable knight. 


The spell is complete which shall bring to thy 




feet 


Still as the dead lay each horseman dread. 


The haughty Saxon foe.' ^ 


And moved nor Umb ncr tongue ; 




Each steed stood stiff as .an earthfast cliff, 


" For manv a year wrought the wizard here, 


Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 


In Cheviot's bosom low. 




Till the spell was complete, and in July's heat 


No sounds through all the spacious hsll 


Appear'd December's snow; 


The deadly still divide, 


But Cessford's Halbert never came 


Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof 


The wondrous cause to know. 


To the wanderer's step replied. 


•■ For years before in Bowden aisle 


At length before his wondering ejm, 


The warrior's bones had lain, 


On an iron column borne, 


And after short wliile, by female guile. 


Of antique shape, and gi.int size. 


Sir Michael Scott was slain. 


Appear'd a sword and horn. 


" But me and my brethren in this cell 


" Now choose thee here," quoth his lea 'e.; 


His mighty charms retain, — 


'■ Thy venturous fortune try ; 


And he that can quell the powerful spell . 


Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale, 


Shall o'er broad Scotland reign." 


In yon brand and bugle he." 


He led him through an iron door 


To the fatal brand he mounted his hand. 


And up a winding stair, 


But his soul did quiver and quail ; 


And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze 


The Ufe-blood did start to liis shuddering heart 


On the sight which open'd there. 


And left him wan and pale. 


Through the gloomy night flash'd ruddy hght, — 


The brand he forsook, and the horn he took 


A thousand torches glow ; 


To 'say a gentle sound ; 


The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky, 


But so wild a blast from the bugle brast, 


O'er stalls in double row. 


That the Cheviot rock'd around. 


In every stall of that endless hall 


'From Forth to Tees, from seas to seaa, 


Stood a steed in barbing bright ; 


The awful bugle rvmg ; 


At the foot of each steed, all arm'd save the head, 


On Carlisle waU, and Berwick withal. 


Lay stretch'd a stalwart k-night. 


To arms the warders sprung. 


In each maU'd hand was a naked brand ; 


With clank and clang the cavern rang. 


As they lay on the black bull's liide, 


Tlie steeds did stamp and neigh ; 


Each visage stern did upwards turn. 


And loud was the yell as each warrior fell 


With eyebiills fis'd and wide. 


Sterte up with hoop and cry. 


A launcegay strong, fuU twelve ells long, 


" Woe, woe," they cried, " thou caitiff cowar4 


By every warrior hung ; 


That ever thou wert bom 1 


At each pommel there, for battle yare. 


Why drew ye not the knightly sword 


A Jed wood axe was »'ung. 


Before ye blew the horn ?" 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



63i 



The morning on the mountain shone, 

And on the bloody ground 
Uurl'il from the cave with sliiver'd bone, 

The mangled wretch was found. 

And still bfcQeath the cavern dread, 

Among the gUdders gray, 
A shapeless stone with Uchens spread 
• Marks where the wanderer lay.' 



(3.) CHEVIOT. 



1799. 



Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 
■ And pensive mark the lingering snow 

In all his scaurs abide, 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
In many a sightless, somidless rill. 

Feed sparkling Bowmont's 'tide. 

Fair shines the stream by bank and lea. 
As -nimpling to the eastern sea 

She seeks Till's sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain. 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain. 

Around their monarch bled. 

And westward hills on hills you see. 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of.foam, 
Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot roll'd. 

Earth's mountain billows come. 



• " Tne reader may be interested by comparing witb tliis 
Mllad the at ihor's prose version of part of its legend, as given 
n one «f (Ki last works of his pen. He says, in the Letters 
>n Demorolog? and Witchcraft, 1830 :— ' Thomas of Ercil- 
low&e, dating his retirement, has been supposed, from time to 
irae to be levying forces to take the tield in some crisis of 
'lis coQQtry's fate. The story has often been told of a daring 
boRe-jockey having sold a black hot^e to a man of venerable 
and antique appearance, who appointed the remarkable hil- 
lock opon Eildon hills, called the Lncken-hare, as the place 
where, at twelve o'clock at night, he should receive the price. 
He came, his money w is paid in ancient coin, and he was in- 
?ited by His customer \o view his residence. The trader in 
floiBcs followed his guide in the deepest astonishment through 
several long ranges of stalls, in each of which a horse stood 
motiordess, while an armed warrior lay equally still at the 
anarger's feet. ' All these men,' said the wizard in a whisper, 
' will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir.' At the extremity 
l>f this eitraordinary depot hung a sword and a horn, which 



(4.) THE REIVER'S "WEDDMO. 



1802. 



In " The Reiver's Wedding," the Poet had evi- 
dently designed to blend together two tradition."J 
stories concerning his own forefathers, the Scots 
of Harden, which are detailed in the first chap 
ters of his Life. The biographer adds : — " 1 know 
not for what reason, Lochwood, the ancient for 
tress of the Johnstones in Aunandale, has beer 
substituted for the real locaUty oi(^s ancestor'i 
drumhead Wedding Contract." — Life, vol. ii. p. 91 



wiU ye hear a mirthful bourd 1 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 

'■ Ca' out the kye," quo' the village herd. 

As he stood on the knowe, 
" Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten. 

And bauld Lord WiUiam's cow." — 

" All ! by my sooth," quoth William then. 

" And stands it that way now, 
Whenjcnave and chm'l have nine and ten. 

That the Lord has but his cow ? 

"I swear by the light of the Michaelmas mo<ia 

And the might of Mary high. 
And by the edge of my braidsword brown. 

They shall soon say Harden's kye." 

He took a bugle frae his side. 

With names carved o'er and o'er — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
T'hat Border bugle bore — '' 



the prophet pointed out to the horse-dealer as containing tha 
means of dissolving the spell. The man in confusion took 
the horn and attempted to wind it. The horses instantly 
started in their stalls, stamped, and shook their bridles, the 
men arose and clashed their armor, and the mortal, terrified at 
the tumult he had excited, dropped the horn from his hand. 
A voice Uke that of a giant, louder even than the tumatt 
around, pronounced these words : — 

* Woe to the coward that ever he was born. 
That did not draw the sword before he blew the horn.* 

A whiriwind expelled the horse-dealer frpm the cavern, the 
entrance to which he could never again find. A moral might 
be perhaps extracted from the legend namely, that it is bettcfl 
to be armed against danger before bidding it defiance.* 

3 This celebrated horn is still in the possession ol the ehui 
of the Harden famUy, Lord Polwarth, 



•32 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




He blew a note baith sharp and hie. 
Till rock and water rang around — 

Three score of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 


The sister, Jean, had a full fair skin. 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 

But the leal-fast heart her breast within 
It weel was worth them a'. 


The Michaelmas moon had enter'd then. 

And ere she wan the full, 
Te might see by her light in Harden glen 

A bow o' kye and a bassen'd buU. 


Her father's pranked her sisters twa 

With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Margaret maun seek Dundiennan'a wa'— 

She ne'er can be a bride. 




. And loud and loud in Harden tower 
' The quaieh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; 
For the Eriglisfi beef was brought in bower, 
And the EugUsh ale flow'd merriUe. 


On spear and casque by gallants gent 
Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 

But never at tilt or tom-nament 
Were Margaret's colors wora 




And mony a guest from Teviotside 
And Yarrow's Braes were there ; 

Was never a lord in Scotland wide 
That made more dainty fare. 


Her sisters rode to Thu-lstane bower, 

But she was left at hame 
To wander round the gloomy tower, 

And sigh young Harden's name. 




They ate, they laugh'd, they sang and quaff 'd. 

Till naught on board was seen. 
When knight and squire were boune to dine, 

But a spur of silver sheen. 


" Of aU the knights, the knight most fair, 

From Yarrow to the Tyne," 
Soft sigh'd the maid, " is Harden's heir 

But ne'er can he be mine ; 




Lord William has ta'en his berry brown steed — 

A sore sheut man was he ; 
" Wait ye, my guests, a Uttle speed — 

Weel feasted ye .shall be." 


" Of all the maids, the foulest maid 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
All 1" sighing sad, that lady said, ' 

" Can ne'er young Harden's be." — 




He rode liim down by Falsehope burn, 

His cousin dear to see, 
With him to take a riding turn — 

Wat-draw-the-sword was he. 


She looked up the briery glen. 

And up the mossy brae. 
And she saw a score of her father's men 

Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 




And when he came to Falsehope glen, 

Beneath the trysting-tree. 
On the smooth green was carved plain,' 

" To Lochwood bound are we." 


fast and fast they downwards sped 
The moss and briers among. 

And in the midst the troopers led 
A sliackled knight along. 




" O iS they be gane to dark Lochwood 

To drive the Warden's gear. 
Betwixt our mmies, I ween, there's feud ; 
rU go and have my share : 


***-»*» 




KJe aSatrtr's Kncantation 


" For little reck I for Johnstone's feud, 

The Warden though he be." 
So Lord WUliam is away to dark Lochwood, 

With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Lochwood sate. 

Were all both fan- and gay, 
.411 save the Lady Margaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 


WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION IN jBI 
AUTtJMN OF 1804. 

The forest of Glenmore is di'ear. 

It is aU of black pine and the dark oak-tree ; 
And the midnight wind, to the mountair deer. 

Is whistling the forest lullaby : 
The moon looks tlu-ough the drifting storm. 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form. 




» " At Linton, in Roxburghshire, there is a circle of stones 
loTTonnding a smooth plot of turf, called the Tryst, or place 
of apjtointment, whicii tradition avers to have been the ren- 
iezvo IB of the neighboring waniors. The name of the leader 


was cat in the turf, and the arrangement of ihe letteis U 
nounced to liis followers the course wiiich he had taken."- 
Introduction to Vie Minstrelsy, p. 185. 





LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



63S 



For tbe waves roll whitening to the land, 
And diisli ngainst tlie shclvy strand. 
There is a voice among the trees, 

That mingles with the groatiiug oak — 
That mingles with the stormy breeze, 

And the lake- waves dashing against the rock; — 
Tiiere is a voice within tlie wood, 
The voice of the bard in titful mood ; 
His song was louder than the blast, 
i'sB the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. 

" Wake ye from your sleep of death, 
Minstrels and bards of other days I 
For the midnight wind is on the heath, 

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze : 
The Spectre with his Bloody Hand,' 
Is wandering through the wild woodland ; 
The owl .and the raven are mute for dread, 
And the time is meet to awake the dead 1 

" Souls of the mighty, wake and say. 

To what high strain your harps were strung. 
When Loclilin plow'd her billowy way. 

And on your shores her Norsemen iiung ? 
Her Norsemen train'd to spoU and blood, • 

SkiU'd to prepare the Raven's food. 
All, by your harpings, doom'd to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncarty." 

" Mute .ire ye all ? No murmurs strange 
Upon the midnight breeze s<ail by ; 

ffor tlu-ough the pines, with wliistling change 
ilhnic the harp's wild harmony i 

Mute are ye now t — Ye ne'er were mute. 

When Murder with liis bloody foot. 

And Rapine with his iron hand. 

Were hovering near yon mountain strand. 

" yet awake the strain to tell, 

By every deed in song enroU'd, 
By every chief who fought or fell. 

For Albion's weal m battle bold : — 
From Coilgach,' tirst who roU'd his car 
Thi'ough the deep ranks of Roman war. 
To him, of veteran memory dear, 
Who victor died on Aboiikir. 

' By all thair swords, by all their scars. 

By all their names, a mighty spell 1 
By all their wounds, by all their wars. 

Arise, the mighty str.ain to tell ! 
For fiercer than tierce Hengist's strain. 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither come I" 



. Tlie forest of Glenmore is haanted bj a spiril called Lbam* 
'•wy or Red- land. 

m 



Tile wind is hush'd, .and still the lake — 

Strange murmurs till my tinkling ears, 
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake. 

At the di'ead voice of other years — 
" When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, 
And blades round warriors' heads were flung. 
The foremost of the band were we. 
And hynm'd the joys of Liberty !" 



fficllbcUsn. 



1805. 



In the spring of 1805, a ymmg gentlmnan of tal 
entSy and of a most amiable disposition^ perishes 
by losing his way on tJie mountain HcllveUyn. 
His remains were not discovered till three rnont]** 
afterwards, when they were found guarded by a 
faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant dxir 
ring frequent solitary rambles through the wild* 
of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 



I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gle.am'd mistj 

and wide ; Piog. 

Ail was stUl, save by tits, when the eagle was yel- 

And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn wa* 

bending. 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
One Ijuge nameless rock in the fi'ont was ascending, 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wan- 
. derer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown moun- 
tain-heather. 
Where the Pilgrun of Nature lay stretch'd in 
decay. 
Like the corpse of .an outcast abandon'd to weather, 
Till the mountain winds wasted the teuantlese 
clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely e.\tendeil, 
For, faithful in death, his mute ilivorite attended. 
The much-loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence wan 
slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft 
didst thou start ? 

3 Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received tw* 
bloody defeats. ^ The Galgacns ofTacitQi. 



S34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



How many long days and long weeks didst thou 

number, 
Ere lie faded before thee, the friend of thy 

heart ? 
And; oh, -was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er 

hmi — 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
And thou, Uttle guardian, alone stretch'd before 

him — 
Unhonor'd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has 
yieldesd, 
The tapestry waves dark roimd the dim-lighted 
hall ; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches 

are gleaming ; 
In the proudly-arch'd chape? 'Jhe banners are 

beaming. 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain 
lamb. 
When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in 
stature. 
And draws his last sob by t)\e side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch ,y this desert lake 

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 
In the arn\3 of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



STJe JSstnfl 33ar1i.' 



1806. 



Air — Daffydi Oangwen. 
The Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his 
death-bed, detnanded his harp, and played the air 
to whieh these verses are adapted; requesting 
that it might be performed at his funeral. 



Uinas Emunn, lament ; for the moment is nigh, 
Wlien mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : 

I This and the following were written for Mr. George Thora- 
lon'a Welsli Airs, and are contained in Ilia gelect Melodies, 
vol i. 



No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, 
And mix his wUd notes with the wild dashing 
wave. 

n. 

In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade 
Unhonor'd shall flovuish, utihonor'd shall fade ; 
For soon shall be Ufeless the eye and the tongue, 
That view'd them with raptme, with rapture that 
stmg. 

III. 
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their name ! 
And where is the bard shall give heroes tlieii- fame ! 

IV. 

And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair. 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark 

hair; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship theu- eye, 
When half of their ch.T,rni3 with Cadwallon shall 

die? 



Tlien adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene, 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage TaUessin, high harping to hold. 

VI. 
And adieu, Dmas Emlinn 1 still green be thy shades, 
Unconquer'd thy w.arriors, and matcUess thy 

maids ! 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can 

teU, 
Farewell; my loved Harp ! my last treasure, fare- 

well! 



SCJe Norman ffiorsessjoe. 



1806. 



Air — The War-Song of the Men of Qlamorgan. 

The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, aiui 
possessing only a7i inferior breed of horses, wert 
usually unable to encounter the shock of t'is 
Anglo-Nonnan cavalry. Occasionally, however, 
they were successful in repelling the invaders ; 
and the following verses are supposed to celebraif 
the defeat of Claee, Earl of Striguil and Pern 
broke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstov 
Lords-Marchers of Monmmdhshire. Bymny is 
a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 638 


. and Glamorgan : I'aerpfiili, the scene of the sup- 


All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow. 


posed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by 


Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to tb< 


the ruins of a very ancient castle. 


flood. 




" saints 1 from the mansions of bliss lowly bend 
ing; 
Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry. 




I. 


Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 


Kki- glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, 


My Homy restore, or let Eleanor die 1" 


And liajnmers din, and anvil sounds, 




And arraorers, with iron toil, 


All distant and faint were the soimds of the battle 


Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 


With the breezes they rise, with the breeze. 


Foul fall the hand which bends the steel 


they faU, 


Around the courser's thundering heel. 


Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict', 


That e'er shall dint a sable wound 


dread rattle. 


On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground 1 


And the chase's wild clamor, came loading thi 




gale. 


II. 


Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary ^ 


From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn, 


Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 


Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; 


Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary. 


And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 


Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien 


Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 




They swore, theii- banners broad should gleam. 


" save thee, fair m-tid, for our armies are flying 


In crimson hght, on Rymny'K stream ; 


save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low . 


They vow'd, Caerphfli's sod should feel 


Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Homy is lyin^ 


The Norman charger's spuming heel 


And fast through the woodland approaches thi 
foe." 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow. 


III. 


And sooth they swore — the sun arose. 


And scarce could she hear them, benvmib'd witl 


And Rymny's wave with crimson glows ; 


despair ; 


For Clare's red banner, floating wide. 


And when the sun sank on the sweet lake of Toro 


RoU'd down the stream to Severn's tide I 


For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair 


And sooth they vow'd — the trampled green 




ShoVd where hot NeviUo's charge liad been 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 






A Norman horseman's curdling blood I 

IV. 
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 


2tf)e 3.9 aimer. 


180.6 


That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; 




Their orphans long the art may rue. 


" OPEN the door, some pity to shovr 


For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 


Keen blows the northern wind ! 


No more the stamp of ai-med steed 


The glen is wliite with the drifted snow. 


Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; 


And the path is hard to find. 


Nor trace be there, in early spring, 




Sa'te of the Fairies' emerald ring. 


" No outlaw seeks yom- castle gate. 




From chasing the King's deer. 




Though even an outlaw's wretched »tate 
Might claim compassion here. 




B^t JI«afIi of ffioro.' 






" A weary Palmer, worn and weak. 




I wander for mj sin ; 


1806. 


open, for Our Lady's sake 1 
A pilgrun's blessing win 1 




i, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 




And weak were the whispers that waved the 


" rU give you pardons from the Pope, 


dark wood, 


And rehques from o'er the sea ; 


1 This, and the three following, were tiist published in Hap 


Or if for these you will not ope 


Ijd's Colleclion of Scottish Airs. Ediii. 1806. 


. Yet open for charity. 



036 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


" The hare is crouchjig in her form, 


expecting to see her in that place, rode on withoiA 


The hai-t beside the hind ; 


recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. I'ht 


An aged man, amid the storm. 


lady was unable to support the shock ; and, aftel 


No shelter can I find. 


a short struggle, died in the arms of hei attend- 




ants. 2'here is an incident similar to this tradi- 


" Toil hear the Ettrick's sullen roar 


tional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine.' 


Dark, deep, and strong is he. 




And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, 
ouless you pity me. 








lovers' eyes are sharp to see. 


■' The iron gate is bolted hard. 


And lovers' ears in hearing ; 


At which I knock in Tain ; 


And love, in hfe's extremity. 


The owner's heart is closer barr'd. 


Can lend an hour of cheering. 


Wlio hears me thus complain. 


Disease had been in Mary's bower, 




And slow decay from mourning. 


" Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant, 


Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower, 


• Wlien old and frail you be. 


To watch her love's returning. 


You never may the shelter want. 


' 


That's now denied to me." 


All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 




Her form decay'd by pinmg. 


The Ranger on his couch lay warm, 


Till through her wasted hand, at night, 


And heard him plead in vain ; 


Tou saw the taper shining ; 


But oft amid December's stoi-m. 


By fits, a sultry hectic hue 


He'll hear that voice ag.iin : 


Across her cheek was flying ; 




By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 


For lo, when tlirough the vapors dank. 


Her maidens thought her dying. 


Morn shone on Ettrick fair. 




A corpse amid the alders rank, 


Yet keenest powers to see and hear, 


The Pahner welter'd there. 


Seem'd in her frame residing ; 




Before the watch-dog prick'd liis ear, 




She heard her lover's riding : 




Ere scarce a distant form was ken'd. 


4 


She knew, and waved to greet him ; 


Etc .fHafU ot :Meflipat6. 


And o'er the battlement did bend, 




As on the wing t<y meet him. ' 
He came — he pass'd — a heedless gaze. 


1S06. 




As o'er some stranger glancing ; 


There is a tradition in TweeddaU, that, tohen Neid- 


Her welcome, spoke in faltering phraset, 


path Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the 


Lost in his courser's prancing — 


Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted be- 


The castle arch, whose hollow tone 


tween a daiiffhtcr of that noble family, ai\d a son 


Returns each whisper spoken. 


of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As 


Could scarcely catch the feeble moan. 


the alliance was thought unsuitable by her pa- 


"Which told )ier heai-t was broken. 


rents, the young man went abroad. During his 




absence, the lady fell into a consumption ; and 
at length, as the only means of saving her life. 






^w father conscnicd that her lover should be re- 




called. On tfie day when he was expected to pass 


JBJUantiertnfl JSiffiflKe. 


through Peebles, mi i/ie road to I'nshielaw, the 
younq lady, though much exhausted, caused her- 




1806. 


self to be carried to the balcony of a house in 
Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might 






see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eager- 


Ali. joy was bereft m^ the day that you left me 


ness gave such force to her organs, that she is 


And cUmb'd the tall vessel to sail yon widn 


said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at 


sea; 


an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unpre- 


weary betide it ! I wander'd beside it, 


pared for the change in her uiipcarance, and not 


And baiJi'd it for parting my 'Willie and me. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



681 



Far o'er the wave hast thou foUow'd thy fortune, 
Oft fough* tlie squadrons of France and of Spain ; 

Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at palling, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they 
were wailing, 
I Silt on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, 
ind thought o' the bark where my Willie was 
sailing, 
And wish'd that the tempest could a' blow 
on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring. 
Now that my wanderer's in .safety at hame, 

Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, 
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean 
faem. 

Wlien the lights they did blaze, and the guns they 
did rattle. 

And bhthe was each heart for the great victory, 
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, 

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen. 
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; 

And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may 
glisten ; 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. 

And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 
'tween lovers. 
When there's naething to speak to the heart 
thro' the ee ; 
*Iow often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, 
And the love o( the faithfidlest ebbs like the sea. 

Till, at times — could I help it? — I pined and I 

ponder'd. 

If love could change notes Uke the bird on the 

tree — 

Now m ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, 

Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through 

channel, 
l' ilardsliips and danger despising for fame. 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame 1 

Enough, now thy story in annals of glory 

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and 
1 Spain ; 

^fo more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou 
leave me, 
I never wUl part with my Willie again. 



SBealtj) to SlorB iWclbfl e.' 



1806. 



Air — Carrickfergua. 

" The impeachment of Lord Melville was among 
the fii'st measures of the new (Wliig) Government 
and personal affection and gratitude graced as well 
as heightened the zeal with which Scott watched 
the issue of this, in "his eyes, vindictive proceeding; 
but, though the ex-minister's ultimate acquittal 
wa^, as to all the chai'ges involving liis personal 
honor, complete, it must now be allowed that the 
investigation brought out many circmnstances by 
no means creditable to his discretion ; and the re- 
joicings of his friends ought not, therefore, to hays 
been scornfully jubilant. Such they were, how- 
ever — at least in Edinburgh ; and Scott took hia 
share in them by inditing a song, which was sung 
by James Ballantyne, and received with clamorous 
applauses, at a public dinner given in honor of the 
event, on the 2Tth of June, 1806." — Life, vol. ii. p. 
322. 



Since here we are set in array round the table. 
Five hundi'ed good fellows well met in a h.all. 
Come listen, brave boys, and I'U sing as I'm able 
How innocence triumph'd and pride got a faU. 

But push round the claret — • 

Come, stewards, don't spare it — 
With rapture ytju'll ilrink to the toast that I give 

Hei;e, boys. 

Off with it merrily — 
Melville for ever, and long may he live ! 

What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, 

Pitt banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a string I 

Why, they swore on thek honor, for Aethub 

O'CONNOE, 

And fought hard for Despaed against country 
and king. 

Well, then, we knew, boys, 
Pitt and Melville were true boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the friends ol 
Reform. 
Ah, woe I 

Weep to his memoiy , 
Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm I 

And pray, don't you min d when the Blues tirst 
were raising. 
And we scarcely could think the house safe o'e» 
our heads ? 

1 Published on a broadside, and reprinted in thtt Life ol 
Scott, 1837 



638 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When viUains arid coxcombs, French politics 
praising, [beds ? 

Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our 
Our hefirts they grew bolder 
When, musket on shoulder, 
Stepp'd forth our old Statesmen example to give. 
Come, boys, never fear. 
Drink the Blue grenadier — 
Here's to old Hakrt, and long may he live I 

They would turn us adiift ; though rely, sir upon 
it— 
Our own faithful clu-onicles warrant us that 
The free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the regulai"*s hat. 
We laugh at their taunting, 
For all we are wanting 
le Ucense our life for our country to give. 
Off with it merrily. 
Horse, foot and artillery, 
Kach loyal Volunteer, long may he live ! 

'Tis not us alone, boys — the Army and Navy 

Have each got a slap 'mid their pohtic pranks ; 
CoRNWALLis cashier'd, that watch'd winters to 
save ye, 
And the Cape caU'd a bauble, unworthy of thanks. 
But vain is their taunt, 
No soldier shall want 
The thanks that his country to valor can give : 
Come, boys. 
Drink it off merrily, — 
Sir David and Popiiam, and long may they live ! 

And then our revenue — Lord knows how they 
view'd it, 
While each petty statesman talk'd lofty and big ; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if "Whitbread had 
brew'd it, 
And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. 
In vain is their vaunting. 
Too surely there's wanting 
tPhat judgment, experience, and steadiness give: 
Come, boys. 
Drink about merrily, — 
Health t'O sage Melville, and long may he h\*e 1 

iDor King, too — our Princess — I dare not say more, 

sir,— 
May Providence watch them with mercy and 

might I 
While there's one Scottish hand that can wag a 

claymore, sir, 

I The Magistrates of Edinburgh had rejected an application 
(br illumination of the town, on the arrival of the news of 
liOrd Melville's acquittal. 

* First published in tlie ccntinuation of Strutt's dueeohoo- 



They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up fal 
their right. 

Be datnn'd he that dare not,— 
For my part, I'll spare not 
To beauty afflicted a tribute to give : 
Fill it up steadily. 
Drink it off readily — 
Here's to the Princess, and long may she live I 

And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory. 
And make her brown visage as light as hei 
heart ;' 
Till each man iUuraine his own upper story. 
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to part 
In Geekville and Spencer, 
And some few good men, sir, 
High talents we honor, shght difference forgive; 
But the Brewer we'll hoax, 
TaUyho to the Fox, 
And drmk Melville for ever, as long as we live I" 



J8 u n t i n fl S o n a .^ 



1808. 



Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

On the mountain dawns the day, 

AU the joUy chase is here, 

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spcar I 

Hounds are in their couples yelling. 

Hawks are wliistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming: 

And foresters have busy been. 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

■" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green-wood haste away , 
We can show you where he Ues, 
Fleet of foot, and taU of size ; 
We can show the marks he made. 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
Tou shall see him brought to bi^y, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

hall, 1808, inserted in the Edinburgh Annua! Register of tin 
same year, and set to a Welsh air in Thomson's Select Melo- 
dies, vol. iii. 1817. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



639 



Louder, louder cbont the lay 

Waken, lords and ladies gay 

Tell them youth, aud niirth, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stem huntsman 1 who can baulk, 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; 

Tliink of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



8r6e Kesolbe 

m IMITATION OF AN OLn ENGLISH POEM. 



1808. 



My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

Thougli bootless be tlie theme ; 
I loved, and was beloved again, 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her love wa.s quickly got. 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I'll bask in flame so hot, 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was e er 

Mv fancy shall beguile. 
By flattering word, or feigned tear, 

By gesture, look, or smile : 
No more I'll call the shaft fail' shot. 

Till it has fairly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — 

I'll rather freeze alone. 

Each ambush'd Cupid) I'll defy. 

In cheek, or chin, or brow, 
iiid deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
111 hghtly hold the lady's heart. 

That is but lightly won ; 
rU steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to live alone. 

The flaunting torch .soon blazes out. 

The diamond's r,ay abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about, 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine. 

And glow'd a diamond stone, 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I'll darkling dwell alone. 

* Poblislied anonymOQsly in the Edinbargh Annaal Regis- 
ter of 1808. Writing to his brotiier Tbomas, the author says, 
** The Resolve is mine ; and it is not — or, to be less enigmati- 
.ai. it is an old fragment, wliich I coopered up into its present 
.ate with the purpose of quizzing certain judges of poetry, 
»ho have been extremely delighted, and declare that no living 
I 



No waking dream shall tinge my thought 

With dyes so bright and vain. 
No silken net, so shghtly wrought, 

Shall tangle me again : 
No more I'll pay so dear for wit, 

I'll live upon mine own, 
Nor sh,ill wild passion trouble it, — 

I'll rather dwell alone. 

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest, — 

" Thy loving labor's lost ; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest. 

To be so strangely crost ; • 

The widow'd turtles mateless die. 

The phoenix is but one ; 
They seek no loves — no more will I — 

I'll rather dwell alone." 



JHpftaj!),' 

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT 

IN LICHFIELD CATHEDEAL, AT THE BUEIAL-PLACE OI' 

THE FAMILT OF MISS SEWAED. 

Amid these aisles, where once his precepts show'd 
The Heavenward pathway which in life he trod. 
This simple tablet marks a Fatlier's bier, 
And those he loved in life, in death are near , 
For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise. 
Memorial of domestic charities. [spreaa, 

Still wouldst thou know why o'er tlie marble 
In female grace the willow droops her head ; 
Whv on her briiuches, silent and unstrung. 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; 
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust 

Till waked to join the chorus of the just, 

Lo ! one brief line, an answer sad suppUes, 
Honor'd, beloved, and mourn'd, here Sewaed hes: 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say , 
Go seek her genius in her living lay. 



prologue 

TO MISS mTT.T.ne 'a PLAY OF TEE FAMILY LEOEND.' 



1809. 



'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, 
Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die ; 

poet could write in the same exquisite taste." — Life vf Scoll 
vol. iii. p. 330. ' Edinburgh Annual Register. 1809. 

3 Miss Baillie's Family Le/renii was produced with consid* 
erahle success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 180&-10. 
This prologue was spoken on that occasion by he .\otbor'« 
friend, Mr. Daniel Tenv. 



640 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Link'd as they come with every tender tie. 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Cliief, thy wild tales, romSntic Calcdifc, 
Wake keen remembrance in each haMy son. 
Whether on IncUa's bm-ning coasts he toil. 
Or till Acadia's' winter-fetter'd soil, 
He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, 
And, as h» hears, what dear illusions rise ! 
It opens on his soul his native dell. 
The woods wUd waving, and thf; water's swell ; 
Ti-adition's theme, the tower that threats the plain. 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; 
The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told, 
By gray-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old. 
The infant group, that hush'd their .sports the 

wliile. 
And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 
[s denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined. 
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind ?' 
Oil no ! For She, within whose mighty page 
E.ach tyrant Passion shows liis woe and rage. 
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire. 
And to yoiu- own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shaU judge — whoe'er has raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. 
Tlie plaided boatman, resting on his oar. 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night 
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; 
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
Tlie filial token of a Daughter's love. 



2r{[)e $oac|)er • 

(VEITTEN IN IMITATION OF CHABBE, AND PUBLISHED 
IN THE EDINBDEGH ANNUAL EEGISTEE OF 1809." 

Welcome, grave Stranger to our green retreats. 
Where health with exercise and freedom meets I 
Tlu'ice welcome. Sage, whose philosophic plan 
By nature's limits metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls. 
Now gives full value for true Indian shawls : 
O'er court, o'er customhouse, his shoe who flings, 

» Acadia, or Nova Scotia. 



Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind : 
Tliine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees. 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, 
Our buckskinn'd justices expound the law. 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires tlie pain, 
And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; 
And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke 
The last Hght fetter of the feudal yoke, 
To give the denizens of wood and wild, 
Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London! 

race, 
Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase, 
And long'd to send them forth as free as when 
Pom-'d o'er Chantilly the Parisian train, 
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, 
And scarce the field-pieces were left behind 1 
A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd 
On every covey fired a bold brigade ; 
La Douce Mumanite approved the sport. 
For great the alarm mdeed, yet small the hurt 
Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. 
And Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberie I 
But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again, 
With some few added links resumes his chain. 
Then, since such scenes to France no more ar« 

known. 
Come, view with me a hero of tliine own 1 
One, whose free actions vindicate the cause 
Of silvan hberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er 
tops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, 
Leaving between deserted isles of land. 
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand ' 
And lonely on tlie waste the yew is seen, 
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green- 
Here, httle worn, and winding dju'k and steep. 
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep 
Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip, — 
In earthly mire philosophy may sUp. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream, 
TUl, guided by the charcoal's smothering steiiiD, 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel form'd for poorest of the poor ; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives, 
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, 
Rise in the progress of one nigljt and day 
(Tliough placed where still the Conqueror's hesU 

o'erawe, 
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law), 

, a See Life of Scott vol. iii. p. 329. 



\ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS .PIECES. 



o41 



The builder claima the unenviable boon, 
To tenant (Iwellinsf, framed aa slight imd soon 
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore 
On the bleak coast of irost-barr'd Labrador.' 

Approach, and through the unlatticed window 

peep — 
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep; 
Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate 

hand. 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand ; 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape, 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
His piU'er'd powder in yon nook he hoards, 
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affords — 
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, 
That while liis sermon's djy his walls are wet.) 
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net ai'e there. 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of bare. 
Cordage f"r toils, and wiring for the snare. 
Barter'd for game from chase or warren won. 
Yon cast holds moonlight,' run when moon was 

none ; 
And late-snatched spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart, 
To wait the a?sociat"i higgler's evening cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark liis rest : 
What scenes perturb'd are acting in liis breast 1 
His sable b^nw is wet and wrung with paui. 
And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; 
For short and scant the breath each effort draws. 
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch'd, 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch'd, 
Wliil" the tongue falters, as to utterance loth. 
Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, and 

oath. 
Though, stupefied by toil, and drugg'd with gin. 
The body sleep, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold hia lawless trade, 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay 'd. — 

" Was that wild start of terror and despair. 
Those bm'sting eyeballs, and that wilder'd air. 
Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, 
For grouse or partridge massacred in March ?" — 

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe, 
*niere is no wicket in the gate of law I 

1 Snch is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending 
greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smog- 
lien, and deerrjlealers, who infest it. In the forest courts 
presiding judge weais as a badge of office an antique stir- 
81 



He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal, must undo each bar : 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrie: 
wide. 

Tlaat ruffian, whom true men avoid and dreao. 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black 

Was Edward Mansell once ; — the lightest heart, 
That ever play'd on holiday his part ! 
The leader he in every Christmas game. 
The harvest feast grew bhther when he came. 
And liveliest on die chords the bow did glance. 
When Edward named the tune and led the dance, 
Kind was his heart, his passions quici anu itrong, 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his s;cg ; 
And if he loved a guu, liis father swore, 
" 'Twas but a trick of youth would s(;oB be o'er, 
Himself had done the same some tliirty years bn 
fore." 

But he whose humors spurn law's awful yoke. 
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are 

broke. 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise. 
With .sterner felons train'd to act more dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his feUow bled. 
Then, as in plagues thp foul conttigions pass. 
Leavening and festering the corrupted m.oss. — 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives 

draw. 
Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; 
Their foes, theu'Triends, their rendezvous the same. 
Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game. 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker villany, and direr deeds. 

Wild liowl'd the wind the forest glades along, 
And oft the owl rcuew'd her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound. 
Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight rounA 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant Irwk 
Tile bittern's sullen shout the sedges sliook I 
The waning moon, with storm pres.aging gleam, 
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam 
The old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them higl^ 
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky — 
'Twas then, that, coucli'd amid the brushwood ser«^ 
In Malwood-walk young Mansell watch'd the deer 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot 

rap, said to Imve been that of William Rufus. See Mt 
William Rose's spirited poem, entitled "The Rerl King." 

" To the bleak coast of saviige Labrador." — Falcohi 

^ A cant term for smuggled spirits. 



042 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was theii- 

strife, 
O'trpower'd at length the Outlaw drew his knife. 
Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell — 
The rest his walring agony may tell ! 



S n a • 

Oh, say not, my love, with that mortified air. 
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown. 

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repau". 
For those raptures that stiU are thine own. 

Though April his temples may wreathe with the 
vine, . 

Its tendrils in infancy curl'd, 
'Tis the ardor of August matures us the wine, 

Whose nfe-blood enhvens the world. 

Though thy form, that was fasliion'd as hght as a 
fay's. 

Has assumed a proportion more round. 
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's, at gaze 

Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again. 

Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; 
Esough, that those dear sober glances retain 

For me the kind language of love. 



2I6c Boltr J^raaoon; 



oil, 



THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 



1812. 



TwAS a Mar^chal of France, and he fain would 

, honor gain. 
And he long'd to take a passing glance at Portu- 
gal from Spain ; 
With his flying guns this gallant gay, 
And boasted corps d'arm^e — 
he fear'd not oiu- dragoons, with their long swords, 
boldly riding, 
Whack, fal ie ral, &c. 

To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down. 
Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack'd the 
town, 

1 Tliis song was written shortly after the battle of Badajos 
lApril, 1812), for a Yeomanry Cavalry dinner. It was first 
ilrinted in Mr. George Thomson's Collection of Select Melo- 
nice, and Stan is in vol. \i. of the last edition of that work. 



When, 'twas peste 1 morbleu ! mon General 
Hear the English bugle-cali I 
And behold the hght dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, Ac. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all, 
And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled 
through the wall ;" 
They took no time to seek the door, 
But, best foot set before — 
O they ran from our dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Those vahant men of France they had searcely fled 

a mile. 
When on their flank there sous'd at once the Brit- 
ish ranlt and file ; 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then 
Ne'er minded one to ten, 
But came on like Ught dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, Ac. 

Three hundred British lads they made three thou- 
sand reel. 
Their hearts were made of English oak, then swords 
of Sheflield steel. 
Their horses were in Yorkshu-e bred. 
And Beresford them led ; 
So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long sworda, 
boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, Ac. 

Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, 

to Long. 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my 
song: 
The eagles that to fight he brings 
ShoiJd serve his men with wings, 
When they meet the bold dragoons, with t) « 
long swords, boldly riding, 
Wliack, fal de ral, Ac. 



®n tte ilfiassacre of ffilencoi 



1814. 



" In the beginning of the year 1692, an actior 4 
unexampled barbarity disgraced the govermnent 

3 In their hasty evacoation of Campo Mayor, the Fiend 
pulled down a part of the rampart, and marched out over till 
glacis 

3 First publTshed in Tliomsou's Select Melodies, 1814 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



648 



of King William III. in Scotland. In the August 
preceding, a procUiniation had been issued, ofleriiig 
on indemnity to such insurgents as should take the 
oaths to the ICing and Queen, on or before the last 
day <Ji December ; and the chiefs of such tribes as 
had been in .irms for James, .soon after took advan- 
tage ot the proclamation. But Macdonald of Glen- 
cot was prevented by accident, rather than by de- 
sign, from tendering his submission within the lim- 
.cod time. In the end of December he went to 
Coli.ucl Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort 
WiUiam, to take the oaths of allegiance to the gov- 
ernment ; and the latter having furni.-^hed hiiu with 
a letter to Sir Colin C;impbell, shcritfof the county 
of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to 
Inverary, to make his submission in a legal manner 
before that magistrate. But the way to Inverary 
lay tlu-ough almost impassable mountains, the sea- 
son was extremely rigorous, aud the whole coun- 
try was covered with a deep snow. So eager, 
however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before 
the limited time should expire, that, though the 
road lay within half a mile of his own house, he 
stopped not to visit his family, and after various 
obstructions, ai'rived at Inverary. The time bad 
elApsed, and the sherilf hesitated to receive his 
submission ; but Macdonald prevailed by his im- 
portunities, and even tears, in inducing that func- 
tionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, 
and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time 
Sir John Dalrymple, aftcrwanls Earl of Stair, being 
in attendance upon WilUam as Secretary of State 
for Scotland, took advantage of Macdonald's neg- 
lecting to take the oath within the time prescribed, 
and piocured from the king a warrant of military 
execution against that chief and his whole clan. 
Tliis was done at the instigation of the Earl of 
Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had 
plundered, and whose treachery to government in 
negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald 
himself had exposed. The King was accordingly 
persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to 
the pacification of the Higlilands ; and the fact of 
tlie unfortunate chief's submission having been con- 
cealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to 
military execution against liis clan were in conse- 
quence obtained. The warrant was botli signed 
and countersigned by the King's own hand, and 
the Secretary urged the officers who commanded 
in the Highlands to execute their orders with the 
utmost rigor. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in 
Argyle's regiment, and two subalterns, were or- 
dered to repair to Glencoe on the first of Febru- 
ary with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell, 
being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was re- 
ceived by the father with all manner of friendship 
and liospitality. The men were lodged at free 
5|uarters in the houses of his tenants, and received 



the kindest entertainment. Till the loth of tho 
month the troops lived in the utmost harmony and 
fomiliarity with the people; and on the very niglit 
of the massacre the officers passed the evening at 
cards in Macdonald's house. In the night. Lieu- 
tenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called iu 
a friendly manner at his door, and vis instantly 
admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of risin{^ 
to receive liis guest, was shot dead tlu'ough the 
back with two bullets. His wife had already 
dressed ; but she was stripped naked by the sol 
diers, who tore the rings off her fingers with fheil 
teeth. The slaughter now became general, and 
neitheo age nor infirmity was spared. Some wo- 
men, in defending their children, were killed ; boya 
imploring mercy were shot dead by officers on 
whose knees they hung. In one place nine per- 
sons, as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were 
butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Camp- 
bell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by 
the soldiers, and tifen shot at intervals, one by one. 
Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops,- 
and several who fled to the mountains perished by 
famine and the inclemency of the season. Those 
who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous 
night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had re- 
ceived the charge of the execution from Dalrym- 
j>le, was on his march with four hundred men, tf 
guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; 
but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the 
weather, which proved the safety of the unfortu- 
nate clan. Ifext day he entered the valley, laid 
the houses in ashes, and carried away the catth 
and spoil, which were divided among the officers 
and soldiers." — Article " Bkit.ux ;" Encijc. BritatD 
nica — Ncv] Edition. 



" TELL rae. Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe, 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may Ust then' melody ? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists tliat fly. 
Or to the dun-deer glancing by. 
Or to the eagle, that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy S'' 

" No, not to these, for they have rest, — 
Tlie mist-wreath has ihe mountain-crest. 
The stag his liur, the erne her nest. 

Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the lay, , 
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain-gray. 
Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, 

Could screen from treachi'ous cruelty. 

" Their flag was furl'd, and mute their druio, 
The very household dogs were dumb, 



B44 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



TJnwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the pijier plied, 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The dame her distaff flung aside, 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 

"The hand that mingled in the meal, 
A.t midniglit drew the felon steel. 
And gave the host's kind breast to feel 

Jleed for liis hospitality 1 
The fi-iendly hearth wliich warm'd that band, 
At midnight arm'd it with the brand, 
'Hiat bade destruction's flames expand 

Their red and fearful blazonry. 

" Then wom.an's shriek was heard in v.ain. 

Nor infancy's luipitied plain, 

More than the warrior's groan, could gain 

Respite from rutMess butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled shrill, 
The snows thjit night that cloked the hill. 
Though wUd and pitiless, liad still * 

Far more than Southern clemency. 

" Long have my harp's best notes been gone. 
Few are its strings, and faint their tone, 
They can but sound m desert lone 

Their gray-hair'd master's misery. 
Were each gray hair a minstrel string. 
Each chord should imprecations fling, 
. TiU startled Scotland loud should ruig 

' Revenge for blood and treachery I' " 



:ffot a* tftatan'a'tjat.' 

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. 



1814. 



Though right be aft put down by strength. 

As mony a day we saw that, 
Tlie true and leilfu' cause at length 

Shall bear the grie for a' that. 
For a' that an' a' that. 

Guns, guillotines, and a' that, 
rbe Fleur-de-Us, that lost her right. 

Is queen again for a' that ! 

We'll twine her in a friendly knot 
With England's Rose, and a' that ; 

The Shamrock shall not be forgot. 
For Wellington made braw that. 



Sung at tile first meeting of the Pitt Club of Scotland ; and 
ished in the Scots Magazine for July, 1814 



Tlie Thistle, though her leaf be rude. 

Yet faith we'll no misca' that, 
She shelter'd in her soUtude 
The Fleur-de-Us, for a' that. 

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine 

(For Blucher's sak^ hurra that). 
The Spanish Olive, toi-, shall join. 

And bloom in« peace for a' that. 
Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely twined 

Around our wre.ath we'll draw that, 
And he that would the cord imbind. 

Shall have it for his gra-vat I 

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot. 

Your pity scorn to tliraw that. 
The DevU's elbow be liis lot. 

Where he may sit and claw that. 
In spite of slight, in spite of might. 

In spite of brags, an' a' that. 
The lads that battled for the right. 

Have won the day, an' a' that 1 

Tliere's ae bit spot I had forgot, 

America they ca' that ! 
A coward plot her rats had got 

Their father's flag to gnaw that : 
Now see it fly top-gaUant high, 

Atlantic winds shall blaw that. 
And Yankee loon, beware your croun. 

There's kames in hand to claw that I 

For on the land, or on the sea, 
■Where'er the breezes blaw that,. 

The British Flag shall bear the grie, 
And win the day for a' that I 



Sonfl, 

rOtt THE ANNIVEKSAET MEETING OK THfi PllT OLITB 
OF SCOTLAND. 



1814. 



0, DREAD was the tune, and more dreadful the omea 
Wlien the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in 
vain. 
And beholding broad Em-ope bow'd down by her 
foeraen, 
Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign! 
Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his bravs 
spirit 
To take for his country the safety of shame ; 
O, then in her triumph remember his merit. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS TIECES. 



64& 



Roimd tlie husbandman's bead, while he traces the 

furrow, 
The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, 
He may plough it with labor, and sow it in sorrow. 
And sigh wliile he fe:u's lie has sow'd it in vain ; 
'Te may die ere liis children shall reap in their 
gladness, 
But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his 
chiim ; 
And their jubilee-shout shidl be soften'd with sad- 
ness. 
While they hallow the goblet that flows to his 



Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, 

In toils for our country preserved by his care, 
Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations as- 
cended, 

To light the long darkness of doubt and despair ; 
The storms he endured in our Britain's December, 

The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame. 
In her glory's rich harTest shall Britain i-emeraber. 

And hallow the goblet that flows to liis name. 

Nor forget His gray head.who, all dark in affiiction, 

Is deaf to the tale of om- victories won. 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection. 

The shout of his people applauding liis Son ; 
By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster. 

By liis long reign of virtue, remember his claim ; 
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his 
Master, 

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Vet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad 
measure,- 
The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid. 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright 
treasure, 
The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that 
obey'd ; 
Fill Wellixgton's cup till it beam like his glory. 
Forget not our own brave Dalhocsie and 
GkjKme ; 
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at tjieir 
story. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. 

' " On the 30th of July, 1814, Mr. Hamilton," Mr. Erskine.f 
Bnd Mr- DulT.J Commissioners, along with .Mr, (now Sir) Wal- 
ter Scott, and t!ie writer, visited tlie I.iighthouse ; the Com- 
missioners heing then on one of their voyages of Inspection, 
noticed in the Introduction. They brealifas'.ed in the Library, 
when Sir Waller, at the entreaty of the party, upon inscribing 
his name in the Album, added these interesting lines." — Ste- 
venson's Account of the Bdl-Rucli Ligktlwuse, 1824. 
Bcott's Diary of the Voyage is now published in the 4th volume 
•f his Life. 

3 These hnes were written in the Album, kept at the Soond 
•f Ulva Inn in the month of August, 1814. 



3PDaros Jloqultur.' 

Far in the bosom of the deep, 

O'er these wide shelves my watch I keep ■ 

A ruddy gem of changeful light. 

Bound on the dusky brow of night. 

The seaman bids my lustre hail. 

And scorns to strike his timorous sail. 



3l(niAr,' 



ADDRESSED TO EANjVLD MACDI^NALD, KSQ,, OF STAFFA 



1814. 



Staffa, spitmg from high Macdonald, 
Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ' 
Stafla ! king of all kind fellows I 
Well befall thy hills and valleys, 
Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows — 
Cliffs of darkness, cavds of wonder. 
Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; 
Moimtains which the gray mist covers. 
Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, 
Pausing while his pinions quiver, 
Stretch'd to quit our land for ever I 
Each kind influence reign above thee ! 
Wiirmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa 
Beats not, than in heart of Staffa 1 



Setter fn V txst 

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS OK 
NOKTHEKN UGHTS. 

" Of the letters which Scott wrote to liis frienda 
during those happy six weeks, I have recovered 
only one, and it is, thanks to the leisure of the 
yacht, in verse. The strong and easy heroics of 
the first section prove. I think, that Mr. Canning 
did'not err when he told him that if he chose he 
might emulate even Dryden's cuimiiand of that 

^ Afterwards Sir Reginald Macdonald Stewart Seton of 
Staffa, AUanton, and Toucli, Baronet. He died 16lh April 
1838, in his 61st year. The reader will find a warm tribute to 
Stafta's character as a Highland landlord, in Scott's article oa 
i Sir John Carr's Caledonian Sketches. — Miscdlantous Prott 
Works, vol. six. 



• The l.->ta Robert HnmiltoD, Esq., Advocate, lon^ Shenff-D«put« of 
Lantirkbeire, and afterwards one of the Priucipal Clorka of ScBoion in Scot* 
land-died iii 1S31. 

t Aflerwards Lord Kinneder. 

I Tbe lute Adam Duil. Esq., Sheriff-Depnte of the county of Edintmrf k. 



noble 1 icasure ; and the dancing anapaests of the 
9i;cond, show that he could with equal facility 
have rivalled the gay graces of Cotton, Anstey, or 
Moore." — LooKHART, Life, vol. iv. p. 372. 



H) HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 
fi:c. (tc. dtc. 

Lighthonse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, 
Zetland, 8th August, 18H. 

ilE.\LTn to the chieftain from liis clansman true I 
From her true mmstrel, health to fair BuccleuchI 
Health from the isles, wiiere dewy Morning weaves 
Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; 
Wiiere late the sun scarce vanish'd from the sight, 
And his bright pathway graced the short-lived 

night, 
Though darker now as autmim's shades extend, 
Tlie north winds whistle and the mists ascend ! 
Health from the land where eddying wliirlwinds 

toss 
Tlie storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape of Noss ; 
On outstretch'd cords the giddy engine shdes, 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, 
And he that lists sucli desperate feat to try, 
May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky. 
And feel the mid-air gales around him blow, 
And see the billows rage five hundi'ed feet below. 

Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore, 
The hardy islcsnian tugs the daring oar, 
Praclised alike liis venturous course to keep. 
Through the white breakers or the pathless deep, 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretclied pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves. 
What comfort greets him, and what hut receives ? 
Lady 1 the worst your presence ere has cheer'd 
(Wlien want and .sorrow fled as you appeai"'d) 
Were to a Zetlander as the liigh dome 
Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. 
Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow. 
Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; 
But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm array' d. 
Stretch f;ir to sea their giant colonnade, 
Witji many a cavern seam'd, the dreary haunt 
Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wila round their rifted brows, with frequent crj' 
As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly. 
And from their sable base, with sullen sound. 
In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain 
From those whose land has known oppression's 

chain ; 
For here the industrious Dutchman comes once 

moro 



To moor his fishing-craft by Bressay's shore , 
Greets every former mate md brother tar, 
Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war, 
Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done. 
And ends by blessing God and Wellington. 
Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, 
Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; 
Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, 
And wakes the laud with brawls and boisterou 

mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
The captive Norseman sits in silent woe, 
And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 
Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway 
His destined course, and seize so mean a prey; 
A bark with phmks so warp'd and seams so rives^ 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven 
Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 
Can fist liis speech, and understand his moaii ; 
In vain — no Islesman now can use the tongtje 
Of the bold Norse, from whom their Imea^fl 

spnmg. 
Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, 
Won by the love of danger or of fame ; 
On every storm-beat cape a shapeless towe. 
Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their 

power ; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land. 
Was fiercer strife ^han for this barren strand; 
A race severe — the isle and ocean lords. 
Loved for its own delight the strife of swords ; 
With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied. 
And blest their gods that they in battle died 

Such were the shes of Zetland s simple race, 
And stiU the eye may faint resemblance trace 
In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair. 
The limbs athletic, and the long light hair — 
(Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings. 
Of fair-hair'd Harold, first of Norway's Kings) ; 
But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, 
Their only warfare is with wtxves and wind. 

Why should I ttilk of Mousa's castled coast ! 
Why of the hoiTors of the Sumburgh Rost ? 
May not these bald disjointed Imes suffice, 
Penn'd while my comrades whirl the rattling 

dice — 
While down the cabin skylight lessening shine 
The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine I 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert day 
Our well-trimm'd vessel urged her nimble way, 
TSliile to the freshening breeze she lean'd her side 
And bade her bow.sprit kiss the foamy tide! 

Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply; 
Drench'd with the drizzly spray and dropping sky 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. W Scott 



LTKlUAIi AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



R41 



P08TSOB.IPTUM. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 
In respect Ihat your Grace bas commissiou'J a 
Kraken, 
Yo\i mil please be inform'd'that they seldom are 

taken; 
It is Jajuary two years, the Zetland folka say, 
Sine; they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay ; 
lie lay in the offing a fortnight or more, 
But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, 
Though bold in the seas of the North to assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and 

whale. 
If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is 

not, 
Tou may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott — 
(He's not fiom om' clan, though his merits de- 
serve it, 
But springs, I'm inform'd, from the Scotts of Scot- 

starvet) ;' 
He question'd the folks who beheld it with eyes, 
But they differ'd confoundedly as to its size. 
For instance, the modest and diffident swore 
That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, and no 

more — 
Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more 

high, 
Said it rose Ul: an island 'twixt ocean and sky — 
But all of the hulk had a steady opinion 
That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptime's do- 

mmiou — 
And I tliink, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly 

would wish, 
To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish. 
Had your order related to night-caps or hose. 
Or mittens of wor.sted, there's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? 
Anil direct me to send it — by sea or by mail ? 
The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but stiU 
I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. 
InQ»;ed, as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty. 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty, 
Pursued by seven Orkneynien's boats and no more,' 
Betwixt Truifness and Luffnesa were drawn on the 

shore ! 
Voiil. ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; 
I ow. that I did not, but easily might — 
For tills mighty shf)al of leviathiuis lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in tlie loop of the bay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil. 
And Jlhichmi/ (so term it) the blubber to boil; 
(Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection 
That aTfakes at the thoughts of this odorous dis- 
section). 

1 The Scotts of Scotstarvet, and other families of the name 
to Fife and elseM'here, (laim no kindred will) the great clan 
If tl« Border, — and tboi- armorial bearings are different 



To see this huge marvel full fain would we go. 
But Wilson, the wind, and tlie current, said no. 
We have nrrw got to Kirkwall, and needs I must 

stare 
Wlien I think that in verse I have once call'd it 

fair ; 
'Tis a base little borough, botli dirty and mean — 
There is nothiug to hear, and there's naught to b< 

seen, 
Save a chmch, where, of old times, a prelate ha 

rangued, 
And a palace that's built by an earl that waa 

haiig'd. 
But, farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are going. 
The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are blowing; 
Our conunodore calls all liis band to their places. 
And 'tis time to release you — good nij-ht to your 

Graces 1 



t)ers£0 from Ulaocrleg 



1814. 



" The following song, which has been since bor- 
rowed by the worshipful author of the famous 
' History of Fryar Bacon,' has been with difficulty 
deciphered. , It seems to have been sung on occa 
sion of carrying home the bride." 

(1.)— BRIDAL SONG. 

To the tune of " I have been a Fiddler,*^ ^e. 

And did ye not hear of a mirth befell 
The morrow after a wedding day, 

And carrying a bride at home to dwell? 
And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

The quintain was set, and the garlands were 
made, 

'Tis pity old customs shoul 1 ever decay ; 
And woe be to him that was horsed on a jado. 

For he carried no credit away, away 

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; 

We set them a cockhorse, and made tbeia 
play 
The winning of Bullen, and ITpsey-frecs, 

And away to Tewin, away, away I 

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish 
Tliat would go to the plough that day ; 

But on his fore-horse his wench lie carries. 
And away to Tewin, away away I 



618 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The butkr was quick, and the ale he did tap, 


Tet, with a stern dehght and strange, 


The maidens did make the chamber fuU gay ; 


I saw the s]iirit-stirring change. 


The servants did give me a fuddling cup, 


As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, 


And I did cany't away, away. 


Upon the ruin'd tower I stood. 




And felt my heart more strongly bound, 


The smith of the town his liquor so took. 


Responsive to the lofty sound. 


That he was persuaded that the ground look'd 


While, joying in the mighty roar. 


blue ; 


I mourn'd that tranquil scene no mor'j. 


And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 




Such smiths as he there's but a few. 


So, on the idle dreams of youth 




Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth, 


A posset was made, and the women did sip. 

And simpnrmg said, they could eat no more ; 
FuU many a maiden was laid on the hp, — 


Bids each fair vision pass away. 
Like landscape on the lake that lay 
As fair, as flitting, and as frail. 


m say no more, but give o'er (give o'er). 

Appendix to the General Preface. 


As that which fled the autumn gale — 
For ever dead to fancy's eye 




Be each gay form that glided by. 




While dreams of love and lady's charms 
Give place to honor and to arms ! 




(2.)— "WAVERLET. 


Chap. V 


"On receiving intelligence of his commission as 




captain of a troop of horse in Colonel Gardiner's 




regiment, his tutor, Mr. Pembroke, picked up about 




Edward's room some fragments of irregulai- verse. 


(3.)— DAVIE GELLATLET'S SONG. 


which he appeared to have composed under the 




influence of the agitating feelings occasioned by 


" He (Daft Davie Gellatley) sung with grea' 


this sudden page bemg turned up to him m the 


earnestness, and not without some taste, a frag 


book of life." 


ment of an old Scotch ditty :" 


Late, when the autumn evening fell 


False love, and hast thou play'd me thia 


On Mhkwood-Mere's romantic dell. 


In summer among the flowers ? 


The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam, 


I will repay thee back again 


The purple cloud, the golden beam : 


In winter among the showers. 


Reflected m the crystal pool. 


Unless again, again, my love. 


Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; 


Unless you tm-n again ; 


The weather-tinted rock and tower. 


As you with other maidens rove. 


Each droopiii!,' tree, each fairy flower. 


rn smile on other men. 


So true, so si It, the mirror gave, 




As if there lay beneath the wave, 


" This is a genuine ancient fragment, with soma 


Secm'e from trouble, toil, and care. 


alteration m the last two hnes." 


A world than eaithly world more fair. 




But distant winds began to wake, 




And roused the Genius of the Lake I 
He heard the groaning of the oak. 
And donn'd at once his sable cloak, 


" The questioned party replied —and, lit» 

the witch of Thalaba, ' still his speech was song.' " 


As warrior, at the battle cry. 




Invests him with bis panoply : 


The Knight's to the moimtam 


Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd, 


His bugle to wmd ; 


, He 'gan to shake liis foamy crest 


The Lady's to greenwood 


O'eJ furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek. 


Her garland to bind. 


Ana bade his siu-ge in thunder speak. 


The bower of Burd EUen 


In wild and broken eddies whirl'd. 


Has moss on the floor. 


Flitted that fond ideal world ; 


That the step of Lord WiUiam 


And, to the shore in tumult tost. 


Be silent and sure. 


The realms of fairy bliss were lost. 


Ohap. vx. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



649 



(4.)— SCENE 

IN moKiE macleart's tavern. 

' In the middle of this din, the Bai'on repeatedly 
tnplored silence ; and when at length the instinct 
of polite discipline so far prevailed, that for a mo- 
ment he obtained it, he hastened to beseech their 
ittention ' unto a niihtary ariette, which was a 
particulai' favorite of the Mar^chal Due de Ber- 
wick ;" *hen, imitating, as well as he could, the 
manner and tone of a French musquetaire, he im- 
mediately commenced," 

Mon ctEur volage, dit-elle, 
Ifest pas pour vous, garden, 

list pour an homme de guerre. 
Qui a barbe au menton. 

Lon, Lon, Lai'idoa 

Qui porte chapeau a plume, 

Soulier a rouge talon, 
Qui joue de la flute, 

Aussi de violon. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

" Balniawhapple could hold no longer, but break 
in with what he called a d — d good song, com- 
posed by Gibby Gaethrowit, the Piper of Cupar ; 
»nd, without wastitg more time, struck up — " 

it's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed, 
A.nd o'er the bent of KilUebraid, 
And mony a weary cast I made. 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. 

if up a bonny black-cock should spring, 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing. 
And strap him on to my lunzie string. 
Eight seldom would I fail. 

Chap. XL 



Hie to haunts right seldom seen. 
Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green. 
Over bank and over brae, 
Hie away, hie away. 

Chap, zil 



(5.)— "HIE AWAY, HIE A'WAT." 

" The stamping of horses was now heard in the 
lourt, and Davie Gellatley's voice singing to the 
two large deer greyhounds," 

Hie away, hie away. 
Over bank and over brae, 
"Wliere the copsewood is the greenest, 
Where the fountains glisten sheenest, 
Where the lady-fern grows strongest, 
■Where the morning dew lies longest, 
■Where the black-cock sweetest sips it 
Where th ; fairy latest trips it : 



(6.)— ST. SWITHItrS CHAIR. 

" The view of the old tower, or fortaUoe, intio 
duced some family anecdotes and tales of Scottish 
chivalry, which the Baron told with great enthu- 
siasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag, 
which rose near it, had acquired the name of St 
Swithin's Chair. It was the scene of a peculiar 
superstition, of which Mr. Kubrick mentioned some 
curious particulars, wliich reminded Waverley of a 
rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear ; and Rose 
was called upon to sing a little legend, in which 
they had been interwoven by some village poet, 

Who, noteless as the race from which he sprang, 
Saved others* names, but left his own unsung. 

"The sweetness of her voice, and the simple 
beauty of her music, gave all the advantage which 
the minstrel could have desired, and which hia 
poetry so much wanted." 

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune ye to rest 
Ever bewai'e that your couch be bless'd ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead. 
Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will 

ride. 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side, 
"Whether the wind sing lowly or loud. 
Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the 

cloud. y 

TTie Lady she sate in St. Swithin's Chair, 
The dew of the night has damp'd her hair : 
Her cheek was pale — but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance of hei 
eye. 

She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold. 
When his naked foot tr.aced the midnight weld, 
"When he sropp'd the Hag as she rode the night 
And bade her descend, and her promise plight 

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, 
When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air. 
Questions three, when he speaks the spell. 
He may ask, and she must tell 



•..5(1 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tlie* Baron has been with King Robert his 

liege, 
These three long years in battle and siege ; 
Ni-ws are there none of his weal or his woe, 
A-Dcl fain the Lady Ms fate would know. 

She shudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks ; — 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? 
Or ie that sound, betwixt laughter and scream. 
The Toice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, 
4nd the roaring torrent had ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than raging 

storm. 
When the cold gray mist brought the ghastly 

form 1 

Chap. xiii. 



(7.)— DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. 

" The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a 
morning walk around the house and its vicinity, 
came suddenly upon a small court in fi-ont of the 
dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed 
about his four-footed charge. One quick glance 
of his eye recognized Waverley, when, instantly 
turning his back, as if he had not observed him, 
he began to sing part of au old ballad." 

Young men will love thee more fair and more 
fast; 

Heard ye so ynerry the little bird sing ? 
Old men's love the longest will last, 

And the throstle-cock' » head is under his wing. 

The young man's wrath is like hght straw on 
fire; * 

Heard ye so merry the little bird si7ig ? 
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire, 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

The young man will brawl at the evening board ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
But the old man will draw at the dawning the 
swc rd, 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

TTliis song has allusion to the B.Tron of Braid- 
wardine's personal encounter with Balmawhapple 
early next morning, after the evening quarrel be- 
twixt the latter and Waverley.] 

Chap. xiv. 



(8.)— JANET GELLATLEY'S ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

" This anecdote led into a long discussion of^" 

All those idle thoughts and phantasies. 

Devices, dreams, opinions unsound. 
Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies, 
And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lie* 

Chap. xiii. 



(9.)— FLORA MACIYOR'S SONG. 

" Flora had exchanged the measured and mo 
notonous recitative of the bard for a lofty and 
uncommon Highland air, which had been a battle 
song in former ages. A few irregular strains in 
troduced a prelude of wild and peculiar tone, 
which harmonized well with the distant water- 
fall, and the soft eigh of the evening breeze in 
the rustling leaves of an aspen which overhung 
the seat of the fair hai-press. The following verses 
convey but Uttle idea of the feelings with which, 
so sung and accompanied, they were heard by 
Waverley :" 

There is mist on the moimtain, and night on the 

vale. 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael 
A stranger commanded — it sunk on the laud. 
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every 

band I 

The dirk and the target he sordid with dust. 
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust ; 
On the hUl or the glen if a gun should appear. 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our b.irds should re- 
hearse. 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed .jf their verse t 
Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone, 
That shaU bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are 

past. 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the raye, 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the 

blaze. 

high-mmded Moray I — the exiled - (he dear 1— 
In the blush of the dawning the Standaed uprear 
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly, 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest it 
nigh I 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



651 



Tc sons of the strong, when that dawning shall 

break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye, 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or 

die. 

sprnaj fi-om the Kings who in Italy kept state, 
Proud cliiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengary, and Sleat I 
Octnbine like thK.e streams from one mountain of 

snow. 
And resistless in union rush down on the foe I 

True son of Sir Evan ndaunted Lochiel, 

Place thy targe on tL_, shoulder and burnish thy 

steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold 

swell. 
Till far Coryarrick resound to tlie knell ! 

Stem son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of KintaU, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the 

gale 1 
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and free, 
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee 1 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose offspring has 

given 
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, 
[Jnite with the race of renown'd Rorri More, 
To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar I 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall 

display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray I 
How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe ! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild 

boar, 
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More 1 
Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, 
For honor fi • freedom, for vengeance awake I 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake. 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the 

lake! 
Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the 

haU. 

Tis the summons 5f heroes for conquest or dsath. 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and 

heath ; 
fhey call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, 
Vo the march and the muster, the line and the 

charge. 



Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's m hi» 

ire 1 
May the blood through his veins flow like currents 

of fire I 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did ol 

yore ! 
Or die, like your sires, and endure it no moro ' 

" As Flora concluded her song, Ferg«s stood Ix 
fore them, and inmiediately commenced with i 
theatrical air," 

Lady of the desert, hail ! 
That lovest the harping of the Gael, 
Through fair and fertile regions borne. 
Where never yet grew grass or corr.. 

" But English poetry will never succeed undei 
the influence of a Highland Helicon — Allans, 
courage" — 

vous, qui buvez i tasse pleine, 

A cette heureuse fontaiue. 
Oil on ne voit sur le rivage 

Que quelques vilains troupeaux. 
Suivis de nymphes de vUlage, 

Qui les escortent sans sabots 

Cliap. xwi. 



(10.)— LINES ON CAPTAIN WOGAN. 

"The letter from the Chief contained Flora's 
lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enter- 
prising character is so well drawn by Clarendon 
He had originally engaged in the service of thf 
Parliament, but had abjured that party upon th( 
execution of Charles I. ; and upon hearing that 
the royal standard was set up by the Earl ol 
Glencairn and General Middleton in the High- 
lands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II., who 
was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled 
a body of cavaliers in the neighborliood of Lon- 
don, and traversed the kingdom, which had oeeB 
so long under domination of the usurper V7 
marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and 
spirit, that he safely united his handful of horse- 
men with the body of HiglJanders then in arms. 
After several months of desultory warfare, in 
wliich Wogan's skill and courage gained him the 
highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be 
wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical 
assistance being within reach, he terminated hit 
short but glorious career." 

The Verses were inscribed. 



652 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



TO AN OAK TREE, 



(N THE CHURCHYARD OF ■, IN THE HIGHLANDS 

OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO MARK THE GRAVE OF CAP- 
TAIN WOGAN, KILLED IN 1649. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith, 
Full proudly may thy branches wave, 

Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fills a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb I 
, Repine not if our clime deny, 
Above thine honor'd sod to bloom. 
The flowrets of a milder sky. 

These owe theii birth to genial May ; 

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine. 
Before the winter storm decay — 

And can theii" worth be type of thine ? 

No ! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing. 
Still higher sweU'd thy dauntless heart. 

And, whUe Despair the scene was closing. 
Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. 

'Twas then tliou sought'st on Albyn's hill 
(When England's sons the strife resign'd), 

A rugged race resisting still. 

And unsubdued though unrefined. 

Thy death's hour heard no Idndi'ed wail, 
No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 

Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, 
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. • 

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine 
To waste Ufe's longest term away. 

Would change that glorious dawn ot thine, 
Though darken'd ere its noontide day ? 

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs 
Brave summer's di'ought and winter's gloom ! 

Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows. 
As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. 

Chap. xxix. 



But follow, follow me, 

While glow-worms hght the lea, 

I'll show ye where the dead should be — 

Each in liia shroud, 

While winds pipe loud, 

And the red moon peeps dim through the tlou4 

Follow, follow me ; 
Brave should he be 

That treads by the night the dead man's lea." 

Chap. Lxiil 



(II.)— "FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME." 

" ' Who are dead ?' said Waverley, forgetting 
the incapacity of Davie to hold any connected dis- 
louree. 

"Baron — and BaUhe — and Sanders Sanderson 
— and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet — A' dead 
uid gane — dead and gane (said Davie) — 



Cije Stutjor of EJUabetUs. 

[" I AM not able to give the exact date of the 
following reply to one of John Ballantyne's expos- 
tulations on the subject of the secret" — Life, vol. 
iv. p. 179.] 

" No, John, I win not own the book — 
I won't, you Piccaroon. 
When next I try St. Grubby's brook. 
The A. of Wa— shall bait the hook — 

And flat-fish bite as soon, 
As if before them they had got 
The worn-out wriggler 

Walter Scott." 



JFarctDcU to JUIacftcnf fe. 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. 
FROM THE GAELIC. 



1815.— ^T. 44. 



The original verses are arranged to a beautiful 
Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the 
double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which 
is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, 
or boat-songs. 2'hey were composed by the Fam- 
ily Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Sea- 
forth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spaiti, 
after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in 
favor of the Stuart family, in the year 1718. 



Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the Nortii 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth , 
To the Chieftain this morning his course who begaa 
Launching forth on the billows his bark hke a swan 
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, 
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of KintaH I 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



651 



Swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, 
May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, 
1'hough the wliirlwind should rise, and the ocean 

should boil : 
On the brave vessel's gunSel I drank liis bonail,' 
And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale ! 
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on liis sail ; 
Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must know. 
Be fail' as their faith, and sincere as their woe : 
Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale, 
Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 

Be Ins pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study the skies : 
May he hoist all his canvas from streamer to deck. 
But 1 crowd it higher when wafting him back — 
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale, 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Cliief of Kintail 1 



IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONG.' 

So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart, 
When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter 

gale, 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail 

From the far Soutaland Border a Minstrel came 

forth. 
And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north 
His h.ind on the harp of the ancient should cast. 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast ; 
But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael, 
To lament for Mackenzie, last Cliief of KintaiL 

And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim, 
Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ! 
No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of woe, 
The song thou hast loved o'er thy cofBn shall flow, 
And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wad 

That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

m 

In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong, 

Fate deaden'd thine ear and imprison'd thy tongue ; 
For brighter o'er aU her obstructions arose 

* Bonail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at 
parting with a friend. 

3 These venes were written shortly after the death of Lord 
Beaforth, the last male representative of his illustrious house. 
He was a nobleman of extraordinary talents, who must have 
«&Je for himself a lasting reputation, had not his political ex- 



The glow of the genius they could not oppose ; 
And who in the land of tlie Saxon or Gael, 
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin 
tail? 

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love, 
AU a father could hope, all a friend could approve 
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell, — 
In the spring-time of youth and of promise they 

fell I 
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male, 
To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail. 

And thou, gentle Dame,who must bear, to thy grie^ 
For thy clan and thy countiy the cares of a Cliief 
Whom brief roUing moons in six changes have left, 
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft, 
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail. 
That salutes thee the Heir of the line of Kintail ' 



BKat*SonB of Jlacljlan. 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN 

FEOM THE GAELIC 



1816. 



This song appears to be imperfect, or, at least, like 
mayiy of iJie early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid 
transition from one subject to another ; from tht 
situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the 
clan; who opens the song by lamenting the ab' 
sence of h^r lover, to an eulogium over the 7nili- 
tary glories of the Chieftain. The translatot 
has endeavored to imitate the abrupt style of th* 
original. 



A WEAEY month has wander'd o'ei, 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven ! that I saw thee, Love, once moTO, 

Safe on tliat shore again ! — 
'Twas valiant LaclJan gave the word : 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He call'd his kindred bands on boaiu. 

And launch'd them on the aiain. 

Clan-GiUian' is to ocean gone ; 
Clan-GiUian, fierce in foray known ; 

ertions been checked by the painful natural infirmities a.A;('.e4 
to in the fonrlh stanza.— See Life of Scott, vol. v. pp. 18 19. 

3 The Honorable Lady Hood, daughter of tlie last Lord Sea* 
forth, widow of Aiimiral Sir Samuel Hood, now Mrs. Stewart 
Mackenzie of Seaforth and Glasserton.— 1833. 

* I. e. The clan of Maclean, literally the race ol Gillian 



654 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Roioicing in tlie glory won 

In many a bloody broil : 
For wide is heard the thundering fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay. 
When from the twilight glens away 

Clan-GiUian di'ives the spoil. 

Woe to the liUls that shall rebound 

Our banner'd bag-pipes' maddening sound ; 

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. 

Shall shake their inmost ceU. 
Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze, 
Where Laclilan's silken streamer plays I 
The fools might face the hghtning's blaze 

As "W'sely and as well ! 



Saint e:lou]). 

[Paris, 5th September, 1816.] 

Soft spread the southern summer night 

Her veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 

The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sigb'd. 

Like breath of lover true. 
Bewailing the deserted pride , 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roU was heard afar. 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 

With broken urns withdrew, 
And silenced was that proud cascade. 

The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We sate upon its steps of stone. 

Nor could its silence' me. 
When waked, to music of our own. 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 

Fall hght as summer dew, 
Wliile through the moonless'' air they float, 

Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 
His waters never knew, 

MS.—" Absence." MS.—" Midnight." 

3 These lines were written after an evening spent at Saint 
Jload witli the ate Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of 
trbom was the songstress alludrd to in the text. 



Though music's self was wont to meet 
With Princes at Saint Cloud. 

Nor then, with more delighted ear, 

The circle round her drew. 
Than ours, wlien gather'd round to hear 

Oiu: songstress^ at Saint Cloud. 

Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — 
Then give those hours their due. 

And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 



2r])e 5iance of 23eat!).' 



1815. 



Night and morning\were at meeting 

Over Waterloo ; 
Cocks had simg their earliest greeting ; 

Faint and low they crew ; 
For no paly beam yet shone 
On the heights of Mount Saint John ; 
Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day ; 
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, 
Mark'd it a predestined hour. 
Broad and frequent through the night 
Flash'd the sheets of levin-Mght ; 
Muskets, glancing hghtiiings back, 
Show'd the dreary bivouac 

Where the soldier lay. 
Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain. 
Wishing dawn of morn again. 

Though death should come with day. 

IL 

'Tis at such a tide and hour. 

Wizard, witcli, and iiend have power, 

And ghastly forms through mist and shower 

Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's eai 
Drinks whispers strange of fate ind fear 
Presaging death and ruin near 

Among the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 
Gray Allan, who, for many a day. 

Had foUow'd stout and stem. 
Where, through battle's rout .and reel, 

* Originally pobliahed in 1815, in the Edinburgh Annw 
Register, vol. v. 

8 MS. — " Dawn and darknett." 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



65b 



Storm of shot and hedge of steel, 


Our airy feet. 


Led the gi-andsou of Lochiel, 


So hght and fleet, 


VaUant Fassiefern. 


They do not bend the rye 


Through steel and shot he leads no more, 


That sinks its head when wlnrlwinda 


Low laid 'mid frientls' and foemen's gore — 


rave. 


B'jt long his native lake's wild shore, 


And swells again in eddying wave, 


And Suuart rough, and high Ardgower, 


As each wild gust blows by ; 


And MoiT ni long shall tell, 


But still the corn. 


And proud Bennevis hear with awe. 


At dawn of morn. 


Hi-.w, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 


Our fatal steps that bore, 


Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra 


At eve lies waste. 


Of conquest as he fell.' 


A trampled paste 


in. 


Of blackenmg mud and gore. 


'Lone on the outskirts of the host, 


V. 


The weary sentinel held post, 


" Wheel the wild dance 


And heard, through darkness far aloof, 


While hghtnings glance. 


The frequent clang" of courser's hoof. 


And thunders rattle loud. 


Where held the cloak'd patrol their course. 


And call the brave 


And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving 


To bloody giave. 


horse ; 


To sleep without a shroud. 


But there are sounds in Allan's ear. 




Patrol nor sentinel may hear, 


Wheel the wild dance 1 


Anil sights before his eye aghast 


Brave sons of France, 


Invisible to them have pass'd. 


For you our ring makes room ; 


■When down the destined plain, 


Make space full wide 


'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 


■ For martial pride, 


Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance. 


For banner, spear, and plume. 


Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance. 


Approach, draw near. 


And doom'd the future slain. — 


Proud cmrassicr 1 


Such forms were seen, such sounds were 


Room for the men of steel 1 


heard. 


Through crest and plate 


When Scotland's James his march prepared. 


The broadsword's weight 


For Flodden's fatal plain ■,^ 


Both head and heart shall feeL 


Such, when he drew liis ruthless sword. 




As Choosers of the Slain, adored 


VL 


The yet unchristen'd Dane. 


" Wheel the wild dance 


An indistinct and phantom band, 


While hghtnings glance. 


They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand. 


And thunders rattle loud. 


With gestures wild and dread ; 


And call the brave 


The Seer, who watch'd them ride the storm. 


To bloody grave. 


Saw thfough their faint and shadowy form 


To sleep without a shroud. 


The hghtning's flash more red ; 




And still their ghastly roundelay 


Sons of the spear 1 


Was of tl e coming battle-fray, 


. You feel us near 


And of the destined dead. 


In many a ghastly di-eam ; 


rv". 


With fancy's eye 


Our forms you spy. 


Song. 


And hear our fatal scream. 


" Wheel the wild dance 


With clearer sight 


WliH-j lightnings glance. 


Ere falls the night, • 


And thunders rattle loud, 


Just when to weal or woe 


And call the brave 


Your disembodied souls take flight 


To bloody grave. 


On trembling wmg — each startled sprits 


To sleep without a shroui 


Our choir of death shall know. 


1 See not«, ante, p. 509. 


3 See ante, Marmion, ranto v. stanzas 24, 25, 26, sad Al> 


■ MS.—" Oft ca«e tlie clang " &c. 


pendii, Note 4 A, p. 173 



S50 



bCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



vn. 

" Wteel the -wild dance 
WTiile lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brare 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers. 
Redder rain sliall soon be ours — 

See the east groves wan — 
Yield we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadher bolts and direr flame 
Shall the welkin's thunders shame : 
Elemental rage is tame 

To the wrath of man." 

vni. 

At morn, gray Allans mates with awe 
Heai'd of the visiou'd sights lie saw. 

The legend heard him say ; 
But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, 
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb. 

Ere closed that bloody day — 
He sleejjs far from his Highland heath, — 
But often of the Dance of Dea*^ 

His comrades tell the tale, 
On picquet-post, when ebbs the night. 
And waning watch-fires glow less bright. 

And dawn is glimmering pale. 



ivomaitcc of JSunofs.*' 

FEOU THE FEENCH. 



1815. 



The original of this little Romance makes part of 
a matmscript collection of Frencli, Songs, proba- 
bly compiled by some young officer, which was 
found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained 
vyith clay and with blood, as sufficiently to i^idi- 
cate the fate of its late cnmer. The song is popu- 
lar in France, and is rather a good specimen of 
tlie style of composition to which it belongs. The 
translation is strictly "literal? 



't was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound 

for Palestme, 
But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's 

shrine: 

* This ballad appeared in 1815, in Panl's Lettere, and in tlie 
Edinburgh Annnal Register. It has since been set to music 
by G. F. Graham, Esq., in Mr. Thomson's Select Melodies, 6tc. 
2 The original romance, 

" Partant pour la Syrie, 
Le Jeune et brave Danois," &Ck 



" And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven, was stiB 

the Soldier's prayer, 
" That I may prove the bravest knight, and love 

the fairest fiiir." 

His oath of honor on the shrine he graved it with 

his sword. 
And foUow'd to the Holy Land the banner of hia 

Lord ; 
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fiU'd 

the air, 
" Be honor'd aye the bravest knight, beloved the 

fairest fair." 

They owed the conquest to his arm, and then bia 

Liege-Lord said, 
" The lieart that has for honor beat by bUss must 

be repaid. — 
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded 

pair, 
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of 

the fair." 

And then they bound the holy knot before Saint 

Mary's shrine, 
That makes a paradise on eai'th, if hearts and hands 

combine ; 
And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel 

there, 
Cried, " Honor'd be the bravest knight, beloved the 

fairest fair 1" 



Eiie Srouba'Bout.' 

FEOM THE SAME COLLECTION 



181S. 



'!(i 



Glowing with love, on fire fur fame, 

A Troubadour that hated sorrow, 
Beneatli his Lady's wiudow canas, 

And thus he sung his last good-morrow; 
" My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my true-love s boww 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadour." 

And while he march'd with helm on head 
And harp in hand, the descant rung. 

As, faithful to his favorite maid. 
The minstrel-burden stUl he sung : 

was written, and set to mnsic also, by Hortense Beanhamoiii, 
Duchesse de St. Leu, E,x-Uoeen of Holland. 

3 The original of this ballad also was written and composed 
by the Duchesse de St. Len. The translation has been set to 
music by Mr. Thomson. See his Collection of Scottish Soogn 
1826. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



Q&l 



" My arm it is my country's right. 
My heart is in my lady's bower ; 

Resolved for love aiid fame to fight, 
I come, a gallant Troubadour." 

Even when the oattle-roar wa-s deep, 

With dauntless heart lie hew'd his way, 
'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep. 

And still was heard liis warrior-lay: 
"My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For Inve to die, for fame to fight, 

Beo^mes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foem.in's glaive, 
But still reclining on his sliield, 

Expiring sung the exulting stave : — 
" My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in ay lady's bower; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the vaLii;, Troubadour" 



Jfrom tljc IFrtKtj).' 



1815. 



It chanced that Cupid on a se-json. 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed. 

But could not settle whether Riason 
Or Folly should partake liis bod. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
'Twas bad example for a deity — 

He takes me Reason for a wife, 
And Folly for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason. 
He loved them both in equal measure ; 

Fidelity was burn of Reason, 

And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 



.Sons, 

OS THE LIFTING OF THE BANNFS OF THE 

BOUSE OF BUCCLEL'CH, AT A GKEAT Fa^^^ BALL MATCH 

ON CARTEEHAUOa.' 



1815. 



Fbom the brown crest of Newai-k its summons 
extending. 
Our signal is waring in smoke and in flame ; 

t This- trifle also ia from the French Collection, found at 
IVaterloo. — See Panl's Letters. 

■s This con2 appears with Music in Mr. G. Thomson's Col- 
ectioD — 18'^. The foot-hall inc. ah ou which it was written 



And each forester blithe, from his mountain de- 
scending, 
Bounds light o'er the heather to join in th» 
game. 



Theti up with the Banner, let forext tirinds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eirfht ages andmore, 

In sport we'll attend her, it. battle defend her. 
With heart and with hand, like our fathen oefort. 

When the Southern invader spread waste and 
disorder, 
At the glance of her crescents he paused and 
withdrew, 
For around them were marshall'd the pride of th( 
Border, 
The Flowers of the Fore'.i, the Bands of Btjo 

OLEUCH. 

Then up with the Banner. <tc. 

A Stripling's weak hand" to our revel has borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur- 
round ; 
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 
scorn her, 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on the 
ground. 

Then up with the Banner, Ac. 

We forget each contention of civil dissension. 
And bail, hke our brethren. Home, Douglas, ana 
Cut: 
And Elliot and Pkingle in pastime shall mingU 
As welcome in peace as theii- fathers in war. 
Then up with the Banner, Ac. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be tho 
weather, 
And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall. 
There are worse things in life than a tumblo "i 
heather. 
And life is itself but a game at foot-balL 
Then up with the Banner, iSrc. 

And when it is over, we'U ih-.nk a blithe mc.istm 
To each Lau'd and each Lady that witnesa'd ovn 
fun. 
And to every bUthe heart that took part in otu 
pleasure, 
To the lads that have lost and the lads that 
have won. 

Then up with the Banner, <tc 

took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated oj 
the Ettrick Shepherd, gee Life of Scott, vo'. ». pp. 113 
116, 123. 
a The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest sab 



668 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



May the Forest etill flourish, both Borough and 
Landward, 
From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle- 
nook; 
Ajid huzza ' my brace hearts, for Buccleuch and 
his standai'd. 
For the King and the Country, the Clan, and 
the Duke 1 

7'Ae« up with the Banner, let forest winds fan 
her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and 
more , 
In sport we'll aiiend her, in battle defend Iter, 
"^ith heart and with hand, like our fathers 
'■sfore. 



SluIIabs of an Snfant ffiljief. 

Aia— " Cadul gu lo."' 



1815. 



I. 

O, HCSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a, knight, 

Tliy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 

The woods and the glens, from the towers which 

we see, 
They aU are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

II. 
0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows. 
It calls but the warders tliat guiird thy re- 
pose ; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades would 

be red, 
Ere the step of a foeman draws neai- to thy bed. 
O ho ro, i ri rl, <tc. 

III. 
0, hush tliee, my babie, the time soon will come. 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and 

drmn ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you 

may, 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with 
day. 

ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

J *' Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody 
■omewliat dilrerent from the original, are sung in my ft-iend 
Mr. Terry's drama of " Gny Mannering." [The " Lullaby" 
was first printed in Mr. Terry's drama : it was afterwards set 
to iDiisic in Thomson's Collection. 1822.J 



\)tx5t3 from ®a}3 ilTannEring. 



1815. 



dO-SONGS OF MEG KIERRILIES. 



NATIVITY OF HARRY BERTRAM. 

Canny moment, lucky fit ; 

Is tlie lady lighter yet ? 

Be it lad, or be it lass. 

Sign wi' cross, and sain vn mass. 

Trefoil, vervain, Jolm's-wort, dill. 
Hinders witches of theii- will ; 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat. 
Saint Colme and her cat, 
Saint Michael and his spear, 
Keep the house frae reif and wear. 

Chap, b 



"TWIST YE, TWINE YE." 

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 
In the thread of himian life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning, 
And the infant's life beginning. 
Dimly seen tlirough twiliglit bending, 
Lo, what varied shapes attenduig 1 

Passions wild, and follies vain, 
Pleasiu'es soon exchanged for pain ; 
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear. 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax and now they dwindle. 
Whirling witli the wliirling spindle. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so. 
Mingle human bUss and ■wee. 

Ibid 



THE DYING GIPSY SMUGGLER. 

Wasted, weaj'y, wherefore stay. 
Wrestling thus with earth and clay ? 
From the body Jjass aw.ay ; — 

Hark ! the mass is singing . 

From thee doff tliy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



66t 



Saint? to help ihee at thy need ; — 

Hark ! the kneU is rinffing. 

Fear not snow-drift driving fast, 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; 
Soon the shroud shall lap ttee fast. 
And the sleep be on thee c?st 

That shall ne'er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to bs gone, 
Earth dits fas and time draws on, — 
Oasp thy gasp, and groan tliy gioan. 
Day is near the breaking. 

' The songstress paused, and was answered by 
one or two deep and hollow groans, that seemed 
to proceed from the very agony of the mortal 
strife. ' It will not be,' she fluttered to herself. 
' He cannot pass away with that on hi3 mind ; it 
tethers him here. 

Heaven cannot abide it ; 
Eanii refuses to hide it. 

1 must open the door.' 
" She lifted the latch, saying, 

' Open loclfs, end strife. 
Come death, and pass life.' " 

Chap, xxvil 



THE PROPHEOY. 

The dark shall be light. 

And the wrong made right. 

When Bertram's right and Bertram's might 

Shall meet on EUangowan's height. 

Chap. xlL 



;i!.)— SONGS OF DIRK HATTERAICK AND 
GLOSSIN. 

" ' And now I have brought you some breakfast,' 
laid Glossin, producing some cold meat and a fla>k 
of spirits. Tlie latter Hatteraick eagerly seized 
apnn, and applied to his mouth ; and, after a hearty 
draught, he exclaimed with gi'eat rapture, ' Das 
jchmeckt ! — That is good — that warms the liver I' 
— Tlien broke into the fragment of a High-Dutch 

Saufen bier, und brante-wein, 
Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; 
Ich ben Uederlicb, 

' First published in Mr. G. Th ■nB<m'8 Collectiot of \jh\ 

km iste 



Du bist liederlich, 

Sind wir nicht liederlich leutt a. 

" ' Well said, liiy hearty Captain !' cried Glossin 
endeavoring to catch the tone of revelry," — 

Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers. 
Dash the window-glass to shivers I 
For three wild lads were we, br.iv 
And three wild lads were we ; 
Thou on the land, and I on the sand. 
And Jack on the gallows-tree ! 

Chap, xxxiv 



boyg 



Klie 3Xeturn to SJlstet.' 



1816. 



Once again, — but how changed since my wand 

rings began — 
I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Baui 
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar 
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullaniore. 
Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shoulckt thou burn f 
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return i 
Can I hve the dear hfe of delusion again, [strain! 
That flow'd wlien these echoes first mix'd with mj 

It was then that around mo, though poor and un- 
known, [thrown ; 
High spells of mysterious enchantment were 
The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew. 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire 
At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their 

lyre : 
To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear, 
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call, [hall ; 

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the 
And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high. 
Like the burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.' 
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more 
Could renew all the gloi'ies she boasted of yore.— 
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldm 

thou blun ? 
They were days of delusion, and cannot return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, 
Anil listed ray lay, while slie turn'd from mine eye I 
Was she too, a vision, just glancing to view. 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew I 

a In ancient Insfi poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fipgal, U 
catlel tlie Sun-bnmt, an epithet feebljr rciiderea by the Su* 
Jenf. of Macpherson. 



660 



eCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oh I would it had been so, — Oh ! would that her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the 

sky, 
And her yoice that was moulded to melody's thrill, 
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still I 

Oh ! would it had been so, — not then tliis poor heart 
Ha 1 leai'n'd tlie sad lesson, to love and to part ; 
To bear, unassisted, its burtlien of care, 
V» hile I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share. 
Not then had I said, when life's summer was done. 
And the hours of h<;r autumn were fast speeding on, 
' Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your 

train, 
Ajid restore me the dream of my spring-tide again." 



(ocfe of JQajcIliEan. 

Air — A Border Melody, 



1816. 



The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The 
others were written for Mr, C'atnpbeirs Albyris 
Anthology. 



" Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by tlie tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride ; 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen" — 
But aye she loot the te.ars down fa' '" 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

II. 
" Now let this wUfu' grief be done, 

And dry tliat cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Eirington, 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha'. 

His sword in battle keen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

III. 
' A chain of gold ye sail not lack. 

Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a' 

Shall ride our forest queen " — 

"The pibroch of Donattl the Black." This song was 
vrilten for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It mar also 
be acec «e:. to xaih, in Thom.son'a Collection, 1830. 



But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

IV. 

The ku-k was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen I 
She's o'er the Border, and awa 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



)9(lJtocl) of XDonallr 29Du. 

Ala — '* Piobair of Donuil Dhuidli."^ 



1816. 



This is a very aiicient pibroch b^lo^iging to Clan 
MacDonaldy and supposed to refer to tlte ixpedi 
tion of Donald BaUuchj who, iu 1431, lannchea 
from the IsJcs with a eoni^iderable force, invadeCi 
Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to 
fight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though 
at the head of an army superior to his own. The 
words of the set, th/^ne, or melody, to which tin 
pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic : — • 

Piobaireachti Dhonuil Dhnidh, piobaireachd Dhonoi) ; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Diiuiilh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; 
Piobaireachd Dhonnil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonail; 
Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place a) 
Inverlochy.^ 



Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan-ConuiL 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the summons I 
Come in your war-array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky 
The war-pipe and peimon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one, 

3 Compare this with the gathering-song io the third canto d 
the Lady of the Lake, ante. 



J-YRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



(Mi 



Oome every steel blade, and 
Strong band that bears one. 

Ijeave untended the herd, 

The flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uniuterr'd, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom. 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather I 
Wide waves the eagle plume, 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each niiin set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Knell for the onset ! 



^Nora's Vob). 

Air — " Cha teid mis a ckaoidh.^^l 
WBITTEN FOB ALBTn's A1ITH0L9GT.''' 



1816. 



'» t <e original Gaelic, the Lady makes protestations 
that she willjiot go with the Red EarVs son, -until 
the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle 
in the lake — imtil one mountain should change 
places with another, and so forth. It is hit fair 
to add, that there is no authority for supposing 
that sh^ altered her mind — except the veltemence 
of her protestation. 



Hkaii what Highland Nora said, — 
" The Earlie's son I will not wed. 
Should all the race of nature die, 
And none be left but he and L 

' ** I Mril never go with hitn." 
&«e also M Tliomsan'l Scottish Collection. 1822. 



For all the gold, for all the gear. 
And all the lauds both fai- and near, 
That ever valor lost or won, 
I would not wed the EarUe's son." — 

II. 

" A maiden's vows," old CaUura spoke, 
" Are lightly made and hghtly broke ; 
The heather on the mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae ; 
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. 
May blithely wed the EarUe's son." — 

III. 
" The swan," she said, " the lake's clear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest ; 
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, 
Ben-Cruaicban fall, and crush Kilchurn ; 
Our kilted clans, when blood is high, 
Before their foes may turn and fly ; 
But I, were all these marvels done. 
Would never wed the EarUe's soa" 

IV. 
Still in the water-lily's shade 
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made; 
Ben-Cruaicban stands a* fast as ever. 
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river ; 
To shun the clash of foemau's steel. 
No Highland brogue has turu'd the heel ■ 
But Nora's heart is lost and woU; 
— She's wedded to the EarUe's sou I 



JWacflreiior's eKatSerinj. 

Air — '* Tfiain' a Grigatach.*'^ 
WallTEN FOB albvk's anthologt. 



1816. 



Tliese verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively 
gathering-tune, used by the MacChegors. 7^ 
severe treatment of this Clan, their outlawry, and 
the proscription of their very name, are alludti 
to in the Ballad.* 



The moon's on the lalce, and the mist's on the brae, 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day 

Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach I 

Gather, gather, gather, <fec. 

3 " The MacGregoris come." 

* For the history of the clan see IntrotluctioD to Rob iUf 
Wavertcy JVovets, vol. vii 



662 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew. 
Must be heai-J but by night m our vengeful haloo ! 
Then haloo, Grigalach I haloo, Grigalach I 
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her 

towers, 
Glenstrao and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; 

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach I 

Landless, landless, landless, Ac. 

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 
MacGregor has stiU both his heart anddiis sword 1 

Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach ! 

Courage, courage, courage, ttc. 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, 
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the 
eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga- 
lach! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, <fec. 

Wliile there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the 
river, 

MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever 1 
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach, 
Come then, come then, come then, Ac. 

Tirough the depths of Loch Katrine the steed 

shall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer, 
And the rocks of Craig-Royston' hke icicles melt, 
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt 1 

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, &c. 



V ex s ea, 

COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, ADAPTED TO HAYDn's 

AIR, 

" Ood Save the Emperor Urancis,'' 

%MD SCNQ BY A SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER GIVEN 
BY THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE 

GRAND-DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, 

AND HIS SUITE, I'JlH DECEMBER, 1816. 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 

' '* Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation waa of Inner^ 
fitatd ; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind or 
fther to the projicrty jr possession of Craig-Royston, a do- 
main of rock and forest lying on the east sideof Loch Lomond, 
where that beautiful lake stretches into the dnsky mountains 
of Glenfalloch. ' — Introd. to Rob Roy, fyave. JVoy.vii. 31. 



First in Em'ope'** l^an^ed ^^' 
For the reahus he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown; 
Thou, of every good the Givet 
Grant him long to bless his own! 
Bless him, 'mid liis land's disaster. 
For her rights who battled brave. 
Of the land of foemen master. 
Bless him who their wrongs forgave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes, 
Late and long supreme director. 
Grant in peace his reign may close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious strangep\ 
Welcome to our mountain strand ; 
Mutuiil interests, hopes, and danger 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force, or false beguiling. 
Shall that union ne'er divide, 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling, 
And in battle side by side." 



Jrom tlje ^ntiquorg. 



1816. 



(1.)— TIME. 

"The window of a turret, which projected at 
an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very 
near Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from 
that quarter he heard again the same music which 
had probably broken short his dream. With its 
visionary character it had lost much of its charms 
— it was now nothing more than an air on the 
harpsichord, tolerably well perfermed — such is the 
caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A 
female voice sung, with some taste 'and great sim- 
plicity, somethuig between a song and a hymn, in 
words to the following effect :" — 

" Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, 
Thou aged carle so stern and gray I 

Dost thou its former pride recall. 
Or ponder how it pass'd away ¥' — 

" Know'st thou not me '" the Deep Voice cried 
" So long enjoy'd, so oft misused — 

2 Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbnthnot, the Lord Provo*. 
of Edinburgh, who had the honor to entertain the Grand-Duke 
now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir Waltel 
Scott's ; and these Verses, with their heading, are now gives 
from the newspapers of 1816. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 661 


Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 


With a chafron of steel on each horse's head. 


Desired, neglected, and accused! 


And a good kniglit upon his back. 


'Before my breath, like blazing flax, 


They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 


Man and his marvels pass away ! 


A mile, but barely ten. 


And changing empires wane and wax. 


When Donald came braaking down the bt.ie 


Are founded, flourish, and decay. 


Wi' twenty thousand mea 


Redeem mine hours — tlie space is brief — 


Then- tartans they were waving wide, 


While in my glass tlie sand-grains shiver, 


Then- glaives were glancing clear. 


And measureless thy joy or grief. 


The pibrochs rung frae side to side. 


When Time and thou shalt part for ever 1" 


Would deafen ye to hear. 


Cliap. X. 






The great Earl in liis sturups stood, 
That Highlimd host to see : 




<2.)— EPITAPH ON JON 0' YE GIRNELL. 


" Now here a knight that's stout and good 




May prove a jeopardie : 


" Beneath an old oak-tree, upon a hillock, lay a 




moss-grown stone, and, m memory of the departed 


" What would'st thou do, my squire so gaj 


worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. 


That rides beside my reyne, — 


Oldbuck affirmed (though many doubted), the de- 


Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day. 


pai-ted chai-acters could be distmctly traced to the 


And I were Roland Cheyne ? 


following effect ;" — 






" To turn the rem were sin and shame. 


Heir lyeth Jon o' ye GirneU. 


To fight were woud'rous peril, — . 


Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirneU. 


What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 


In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis clokit. 


Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?" — 


Ilka gud mannis berth wi' bairnis was stokit, 




He deled a boll o' bear in firlottis fyve. 


" Were I Glenallan's Earl tliis tide, 


Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure mennis 


And ye were Roland Cheyne, 


wyvis. 


The spear should be in my horse's side. 


Cliap. XL 


And the bridle upon his mane. 
" If they hae twenty thousand blades, 




(3.)— ELSPETH'S BALLAD. 


And we twice ten times ten. 




Yet they hae but theu- tartan jjlaids, 


• As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut. 


And we are mail-clad men. 


le was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice 




if Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wUd 


" My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude. 


>nd doleful recitative :" — 


As through the moorland fern, — 




Then ne'er let the gentle Noi nan blude 


The herring loves the merry moon-light. 


Grow cauld for Highland k ine." 


The mackerel loves the wind, 




But the oyster loves the dredging sang, 


****->:* 


For they come of a gentle kind. 


**#-»* 


Now hand your tongue, baith wife and carle, 


He turn'd him right and round again 


And listen gi-eat and sma'. 


Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 


And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl 


Light loves I may get mony a ane, 


Tliat fought on the red Harlaw. 


But minnie ne'er anither. 




Chap.iS 


The cronach's cried on Bennachie, 
And doun the Don and a', 






And liieland and lawlaud may mournfu' be 




For the sair field of Harlaw. 


MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY. 


rhey saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, 


"The scraps of poetry which have been in v.:-..:\ 


They hae bridled a hundred black, 


cases tacked to the beginning of chapters in ;,• -i. 



664 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Novels, are sometimes quoted cither from reading 
or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure 
invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to 
the oollection of the British Poets to discover ap- 
posite mottoes, and, in the situation of the theatri- 
cal mechanist, who, when the white paper which 
represented his shower of snow was exhausted, 
continued the shower oy snowing brown, I drew 
on my memory as long as I could, and when that 
failed, eked it out with invention. I believe thai, 
in some cases, where actual names are affixed fto 
the supposed quotations, it would be to httle pur- 
pose to seek them in the works of the authors re- 
ferred to. In some cases, I have been entertained 
when Dr. Watts and other graver authors have 
been ransacked in vain for stanzas for which the 
novelist alone was responsible." — Introduction to 
Chro7tictes of tJie Canongate. 



I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent. 

Wisdom and cunnuig had their shares of liim ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child. 

And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; 

As — book of tables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 

That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. 

(2.)— Chap. ix. 
" Be brave," she cried, "you yet may be our guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held the best : 
If, then, your valor can the fight sustain 
Of rustling curtains, and the cUnking chain ; 
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk. 
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 
m see your sheets weU air'd, and show the room," 

True Story. 

{ '■).) — Chap. xi. 
Sometimes he thhiks that Heaven this vision sent. 
Anil ')rler'd all the pageants as they went; 
Somt times that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, — 
The loose and scatter'd relics of the day. 

(4.) — Ca.u". xn. 
Baggar ! — the only freemen of your Common- 
wealth ; 
Free above Scot-free, (hat observe no laws. 
Obey no governor, use no religion [toms, 

But what they draw from their own ancient cus- 
Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.) — Chap. xix. 
Here has been such a stormy encounter, 
Betwixt my coasui Captain, and this soldier, 



About I know not what ! — nothing, indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 

Of soldiership 1 

A Faire Qteanvl, 

(6.) — Chap. xx. 

If you fail honor here, 

Never presume to serve her any more , 
Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, 
And the honorable name of soldier 
Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath of laurel 
By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. 
A Faire Quarrel. 

(7.) — Chap. xxi. 
The Lord Abbot had a soul 



Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire ; 
By magic stahs he went as deep as hell. 
And if in devils' possession gold be kept. 
He brought some sure from thence — 'tis hid il 
caves, 

Known, save to me, to none 

The Wonder of a Eingdome, 

(8.) — Chap. xxvn. 

Many great ones 

Would part with half their states, to have the plaB 
And cj'edit to beg in the first style. — 

Beggar's Bush. 

(9.)— Chap. xxx. 
Wlio is he ? — Cue that for the lack of land 
Sliall fight upon the water — he hath challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. 
He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 
Til' aquatic had the best — the argument 
Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play, 

(10.) — Chap, xx.xi. 
TeU me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 
Their tears are lukewarm brine ; — from our old 

eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
ChiUing the fuiTows of our wither'd cheeks. 
Cold as our hopes, and harden'd as our feeling— 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — om-s recoil, 
Heap the fair plain, and Weaken all before ns. 

Old Play. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxiii. 
Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! — 
A bloodliound stanch — she tracks our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful pnrensy 
Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us 
Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our joints 
And maini'd our hope of combat, or of flight 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



Mi 



We hear hev deep-mouth'il bay, announcing all 
Of wi'ath and woe and punishment that bides us. 

Old Plaij. 

(12.) — Chap, xxxrv. 
Still in his tlead hand clench'd remain the strings 
Tliat thrill his father's heart — e'eu as the Umb, 
Li>piyil off anil laid in grave, retains, they tell us, 
Strang' commerce with the mutilated stump. 
Whoso nervt* are twinging still in maim'd exist- 
ence. Old Play. 

(18.)— Chap, xs.kv. 

Life, with you. 

Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 
'Tis like tlie wine some joyous guest hath quaff'd. 
That glads the heart and elevates the fancy: — 
Mine is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. 

Old Play 

(14.) — CaAP. XX.XVII. 

1 es ! I love Justice well — as well as you do — 
But, since the good dame's bUnd, she shall excuse 

me, 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ; — 
The breath I utter now shall be no means 
To take away from me my breath in future. 

Old Play. 

(16.) — Chap, xxxviii. 
ffeW, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage. 
Granting I knew aU that you charge rae with. 
What, tho' the tomb h.ith born a second birth, 
And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, 
Tet fair exchange was never robbery. 
Par less pure bounty Old Play. 



ii 



(16.) — Chap. xl. 
rife ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent, 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. 
Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse 
rhat wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
[s settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
An angle with the sky. from which it shifts not. 
Each wave receding shakes her less and less. 
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall rem.ain 
Useless as motionless. Old Play. 

(17.)— Chap. xu. 
8o, while the Goose, of whom the fable told. 
Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold. 
With hand outstretch'd, impatient to destroy. 
Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, 
Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, 
Por wings v.iin fluttering, and for dying scream. 
The Loves of the Sea- Weed'! 



(18.)— Chap. xtn. 
Let those go see who will — I like it not — 
For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp. 
And all the notliings he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 
Yet is it sad to mark bis alter'd brow, 
■Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish. 

Old Play. 

(19.) — Chap, xliii. 
Fortmie, you say, flies from us— She but circles, 
Like tho fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff, — ■ 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the wliite sail with her wliiter wing. 
As if to court the aim. — Experience watches. 
And has her on the wheel. Old Play. 

(•20.)— Chap, xliv 
Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her . 
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms ! 
Or sigh because she smUes — and smiles on others 
Not I, by Heaven ! — I hold my peace too dear, 
To let it, hke the plume upon her cap. 
Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. 

Old Play. ■> 

[" It may be worth noting, that it was in cor 
rectmg the proof-sheets of The Antiquary that 
Scott first took to equipping his ch.ipters with 
mottoes of his own fabrication. On one occasion 
he happened to ask John Ballantyne, who was sit- 
ting by him, to hunt for a particular passage in 
Beaumont and Fletcher. John did as he was bid, 
but did not succeed in discovering the linas. 
' Hang it, Johnnie,' cried Scott, ' I believe I can 
make a motto sooner than you will find one.' He 
did so accordingly ; and from that hour, whenever 
memory failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph 
he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of * o/d 
play or ' old ballad^ to which we owe some of the 
most exquisite verses that ever flowed from lui 
pen." — Life, vol. v. p. 145.1 



from tl)e Black JDmarf 



1816. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.v. 
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 
Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring 
And, in the April dew, or lieam of May, 



666 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Us moss and lichen freshen and revive ; 

And tims the heart, most sear'd to human pleasure, 

Me'ta at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. 

Beaumont. 

(2.) — Chap. xvi. 

'Twas time and griefs 

That framed him thus : Time, with his fairer hand, 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
Die former man may make liim — Bring us to him, 
&iid clianic it as it may. Old Play. 



from ODlb iWortalitj). 



1816. 



(1.)— MAJOR BELLENDEirS SONG. 

And wl"at though winter will pinch severe 
Tlu-ough locks of gray and a cloak that's old. 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time wUl rust the brightest blade, 
And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Was never wight so starkly made, 

But time and years would overthrow ! 

Chap. six. 



(2.)- 



-VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 



" With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped 
in a copy of verses, written obviously with a feel- 
ing wliich atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the 
roughness of the poetiy, and the conceits with 
which it abounded, according to the taste of the 
period ;" — 

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 
As in that well-remember'd night, 
When first thy mystic braid was wove, 
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. 

Since then how often hast thou press'd 
Tlie torrid zone of this wild breast, 
Wliose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin which peopled hell, 
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, 
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion 1 — 
0, if such clime thou canst endure, 
Tet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure. 



What conquest o'er each erring thought 

Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought 1 

I had not wander'd wild and wide. 

With such an angel for my guide ; 

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me^ 

If she had lived, and hved to lovo me 

Not then tliis world's wUd joys had been 
To me one savage hunting scene. 
My sole delight the headlong race. 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
To start, pursue, and bring to bay. 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 
Then — from tlie carcass turn away I 
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed. 
And soothed each woimd which pride inflamed 
Yes, God and man might now approve me, 
If thou hadst hved, and lived to love me. 

Cltap. xsdil 



(3.)— EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY 

" Gentle reader, I did request of mine honest 
friend Peter Proudfoot, travelhng merchant, known 
to many of this land for his faithful and just deal- 
ings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in small 
wares, to procure me, on his next peregrmations to 
th.at vicinage, a copy of the Epitaphion alluded to. 
And, according to his report, which I see no ground 
to discredit, it runneth thus :" — 

Here Ijes ane saint to prelates surly. 
Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley 
Who, stirred up to vengeance take. 
For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake. 
Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife, 
Did tak' James Sharpe the apostate's life ; 
By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot, 
Then drowned in Clyde near thiv saam spot. 

Chap, xliv 



MOTTOES. 



(1.)— Chap. v. 
AaousE thee, youth ! — it is no common call, — 
God's Church is leaguer'd — haste to man the wall ; 
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on higl^ 
Signals of honor'd death or victory. 

James Duff. 

(2.) — Chap. xiv. 
My hounds may a' rin m.asterles9, 
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



6CP1 



My lord may grip my vassal lands, 
For there again maun I never be I 

Old Ballad. 

(3.) — Chap, xxxiv. 
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife I 
To all the sensual world proclaim. 
One CTZjrded hour of glorious life 
Lj worth an age without a name. 

Anonymous. 



fflfie SearcJ) after JSappf ness;' 

OB, 

rilE QUEST OF SULTADN SOLIMA0N. 
1817. 



On for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, 
That hghten'd on Bandello's laughing tale. 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly. 
When Giam Battista bade her vision hail 1 — ' 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 
Given by the natives of that laud canorous ; 
Italian Ucense loves to leap the pale. 
We Britons have the fear of shame before us. 
And, if not wiee in mirth, at least must be de- 
corous. 

II. 
to the far eastern clime, no great while since, 
Lived Sultaun SoUmaun, a mighty prince. 
Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their round. 
Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, 
" Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !" 
All liave their tastes — tliis may the fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and gi'audeur like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart and warm 
Of Monarch who can amble round liis farm. 
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys. 
In chimney corner seek domestic joys — 
I love i prince wUl bid the bottle pass, 
ExchrtUging with his subjects glance and glass ; 
In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, 
Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay — 
Buch Monarchs best our free-born humors suit, 
But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 



» First palilisbed in "The Sale Room, No. V.,*' February 
I, 1817. 

» The hint of the oUowing tale is taken from La CamUcia 
/Safpna, a novel o/ Giam Battista Cafiti. 



in. 

This SoUmaun, Serendib had in sway — 

And Where's Serendib ? may some critic say. — 

Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, 

Scare not my Pegasus before I start I 

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap. 

The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad*S map,- - 

"Famed mariner I whose merciless narrations 

Drove every friend aiid kinsman out of patience. 

Till, fain to find a guest who thought them sLortei 

He deign'd to tell them over to a porter — ^ 

Tlie last edition see, by Long, and Co., 

Rees, Hurst, and Orme, oiu' fathers in the Row 

IV. 
Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction — 
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction — 
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses, 
To raise the sphits and reform the juices 
— Sovereign specific for aU sorts of cures 
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours). 
The Sultaun lacking tliis same wholesome bittci 
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter — 
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes 
Belonging to the MoUah's subtle craft, 
I wot not — but the Sultaun never laugh'd, 
Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy 
That scorn'd all remedy — profane or holy ; 
In his long Ust of melanchoUes, mad, 
Or mazed, or diunb, hath Bmton none so bad.* 

V. 
Physicians soon arrived, sage, w.are, and tried. 

As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room ; 
With heedful glance the Sultaim's tongue thej 

eyed, 
Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside 

And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, 
" His majesty is very far from well." 
Then each to work with his specific fell : 
The Hakim Ibrahim ijistantcr hrou^ht 
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, 
Wliile Roompot, a practitioner more wily. 
Relied ou his Munaskif al fiUfily.' 
More and yet more in deep array appear. 
And some the front assail, and some the real 
Tlieir remedies to reinforce and vary, 
Came sm-geon eke, and eke apothecary ; 
Till the tired Monarch, though of words grcwi 

chary. 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fi-uitle.«3 labor. 
Some hint about a bowstrmg or a sabre. 



3 See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 
* See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy* 
6 For these hard words see D'Herbelol, ui (lie learned editM 
of the Recipes of Avicenna. 



36fi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches 
To rid the palace of those learned leeches. 

VI. 
Then was the council call'd — by their advice 
(They deem'd the matter ticklish aU, and nice, 
And sought to shift it off from their own shou^ 
ders), 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 

Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders — 
Such have the Persians at this very day. 
My .gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ; — ' 
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song 
That to Serendib the same forms belong. — 
E'en let the learn'd go seaich, and tcU me if Fm 
wrong. 

VII. 
The Omrahs,^ each with hand on scymitar, 
Gave, Hke Sempronius, still their voice for war — 
" The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath 
Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death ; 
Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, 
Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of bat- 
tle I 
This dreary cloud that duns our sovereign's day. 
Shall from his kmdled bosom flit away. 
When the bold Lootie wheels his coui-ser round, 
And the arm'd eleph.ant shall shake the ground. 
Each noble pants to own the glorious summons — 
And for the charges — Lo 1 your faithful Com- 
mons !" 
The Riots who attended in their places 

(Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) 
Look'd ruefuUy in one another's faces, 

From tliis oration auguring much disquiet, 
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters ; 
And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, 
Or as the wliisker'd vermui fear the mousers. 
Each fumbled in the pocket of liis trowsers. 

VIII. 

And next came forth the reverend Convocation, 

Bald heads, white beards, and many a tui'ban 
green, 
Imamn and Mollah there of every station, 

Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. 
Tlieir votes were various — some advised a Mosque 

With fitting revenues should be erected, 
Witli seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, 

To recreate a band of priests selected ; 
Others opined that through the reahns a dole 

Be made to holy men, whose praj-ers might 
profit 
rhe SiUtaun's weal m body and in soul. 

* See Sil John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia. 



But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touch'd the point : — " Thy studioui 

mood," 
Quoth he, " O Prince I hath thicken'd all thy 

blood. 
And duU'd thy brain with labor beyond measure 
Wlierefore relax a space and take thy pleasure. 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasm'e ; 
From all the cai'es of state, my Liege, eularga 

thee. 
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." 

IX. 

These counsels sage availed not a whit. 

And so the patient (as is not uucommon 
Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) 

Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; 
His motlier she, a dame who once was beauteous, 
And still was called so by each subject duteous. 
Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest. 

Or only made believe, I cannot say — 
But she profess'd to cure di.sease the sternest, 

By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And, when all other skill in vain was shown. 
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. 



" Sympnthia mar/ica hath wonders done" 
(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son), 
" It works upon the fibres and the pores. 
And thus, insensibly, our health restores, 
And it must help us here. — Tliou must endure 
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. 
Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can. 
The inmost vesture of a happy man, 
I mean his shirt, my son ; wliich, taken warm 
And fresh from off hia back, shall chase your harm 
Bid every current of your veins rejoice. 
And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's. 
Such was the counsel from his mother came ; — 
I know not if .she had some under-game. 
As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam 
And live abroad, when sm*e to die at home ; 
Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, 
Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mo- 
ther ; 
But, says the Chi'onicle (who will go look it). 
That such was her advice — the Sultaun took it. 

XL 
All are on board — the Sultaun and his train, 
In gilded galley prompt to plough the main. 
The old Rais' was the first who questioned 
" Whither V 
They paused — " Arabia," thought the pensive 
Prince, 



I Nobility. 



' Master of ttie vesaot. 



" Was call'd T}ie Happy many ages since — 
For Mukba, Rais." — And they came safely 
tliither. 
Rut not in Araby, with all her balm, 
Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste, 
Could there t!ie step of happiness be traced. 
One Copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile, 
Wlien Bruce his goblet fill'd at infant Nile : 
cibe bless'd the dauntless traveller as lie quaff'd, 
But vanish'd from him with the ended draught. 

XII. 
" Enough of turbans," said the- weary King, 
" These dolimaus of ours are not the thing ; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I 
Incline to think some of them must be happy ; 
At least, they have as fair a cause as any can, 
They drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. 
Tlien northward, ho !" — The vessel cuts the sea.. 
And f;\ii' Italia lies upon her lee. — 
But fail' Italia, she yho once unfurl'd 
Her eagle banners o'er a conquer'd world. 
Long from her throne of domination tumbled. 
Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled ; 
The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean, 
And was not half the man he once had been. 
" While these the priest- and those the noble 

fleeces. 
Our poor old boot,"' tliey said, " is torn to pieces. 
Its tops' the vengeful claws of Austria feel. 
And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.' 
If happiness you seek, to teU you truly. 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; 
By land or ocean never strikes his flag — 
And then — a perfect walking money-bag." 
Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode. 
But first took France — it lay upon the road. 

XIII. 

Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion. 

Was agitated like a settling ocean, 

Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd 

him, 
Only the glor,y of his house had fail'd him ; 
Besides, some tumors on his noddle biding, 
Gave indication of a recent loiding.' 
Our Prince, though Sultauns of such tilings are 

heedless, 
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless 
To ask, if at that moment he was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was cainmt ilfaut, a 

1 The well-known reserablance of Italy in the map. 
'' Florence, Venice. &c. 

* The Calabrias, infested by hands of assassins. One of the 
t»('ere was called Fra Diavolo, i. e. Brother Devil. 



Loud voice mustered up, for " Vive le Roi /" 

Tlien whisper'd, " Ave you any news of Nappy f 
The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question,- • 
" Pray, can you tell me a\ight of one Jolin Bull 
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring 
pool ?" 
Tlie query seem'd of difficult digestion, 
Tlie party shrugg'd, and grinn'd, and took his snnS 
And foimd his whole good-breeding scarce enough 

xrv. 

Twitcliing his visage into as many puckers 
As damsels wont to put mto their fuckers 
(Ere liberal Fasliion damn'd both lace and lawn. 
And bade the veil of Modesty be drawn). 
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, 
" Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him — Yes, I vas — 
I vas remember dat, von year or two, 
I saw him at von place call'd Vaterloo — 
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu, 
Dat is for Englishman, — m'entendez-vous ? 
But den he had wit him one damn son-gun, 
Rogue I no like — dey call him Vellington." 
Monsieur's politeness could not hide liis fret. 
So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the straii, 

XV. 
John Bull was in his very worst of moods, 
Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; 
His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw 
And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. 
His wars were ended, and the victory won, 
But tlien, 'twas reckoning-day with honest John ; 
And authors vouch, 'twas stdl this Wortliy's waj 
"Never to grumble till he came to pay; 
And then he always thinks, his temper's such. 
The work too little, and the pay too much."' 

Tet, grumbler as ho is, so kind and hearty. 
That when his mortal foe was on the floor. 
And past the power to harm his quiet more. 

Poor John had wellnigli wept for Bonaparte ! 
Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd, — 
"And who are you," John answer'd, "and b« 
d— d ?" 

XVL 
" A stranger, come to see the happiest man, — 
So, signior, all avouch, — in Frangistan." — ' 
" Happy ? my tenants breaking on my <iand , 
Unstock'd my pastures, and untiU'd my land 
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths 
Tlie sole consumers of my good broadclotlis — 
Happy ? — Why, cursed war and racking tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." — 

< Or drubbing ; so called in the Slang DIctionarj. 
^ 9ee theTrue-Born Englishman, b} Daniel De Fm. 
8 Eurone 



670 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' In that case, aignior, I may take my leave ; 

I came tr> ask a favor — but I grieve" 

" Favor ?" said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, 
" It's my beHef you come to break the yai'd ! — 
But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner, — 
Pake that to buy yourself a shiit and dinner." — 
Witli that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; 
But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, 
" Permit me, sn, your bounty to decline ; 
. A skirl indeed I seek, but none of thine. 
Siguier, 1 kiss your hands, so fare you well." — 
' Kiss and be d — d," quoth John, " and go to 
hell I" 

XVII. 
Next door to John there dwelt Iiis sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 
Wlien the blithe bagpipe blew — but, soberer now, 
Slie dnucdy span her fl;ix and mUk'd her cow. 
And whereas erst she was a needy slattern. 
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, 
Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, 
And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. 
And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws 

And te6th, of yore, on slender provocation. 
She now was grown amenable to laws, 

A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 
The sole remembrance of her warUke joys 
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. 
John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, 
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life. 
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbor. 
Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labor. 
Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, 
And was d — d close in making of a bargain. 

XVIII. 
llie Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, 
And with decorum curtsy *d sister Peg ; 
(She loved a book, and knew a tiling or two. 
And guess'd at once with whom she had to do). 
She bade him " Sit into the fire," and took 
Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck fiom the nook ; 
Ask'd him " about the news from Eastern parts ; 
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts I 
If peace, brought down the price of tea and pep- 
per, 
^nd if the niimugs were grown ony cheaper; — 
Were there nae speerhu/s of our Mungo Park — 
Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinniu', 
rU warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." 

XIX. 
I'hen up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle 

In search of goods her customer to "lail, 
Fntil the Sidtaun .strain'd his princely throttle. 

And liollo'd, — " Ma'am, that is not what I ail. 



Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in tins snug glen i"- • 
" Happy ?" said Peg : " What for d'ye want 1 . 

ken! 
Besides, just tliink upon tliis by-gane year, 

Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh." — 
" Wliat say you to the present ?" — " Meal's sae 

dear. 
To mak' their brose my bairns have scane 

aneugh." — 
" The devil take the shii't," said Solimaun, 
•' I think my quest will end as it began. — 

Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, I beg" 

" Ye'll no be for the linen, then ?" said Peg. 

XX. 

Now, for the land of verdant Erin, 

The Sultaun'a rovnl bark is steering, 

The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells. 

The cousin of John BuU, as story tells. 

For a long space had John, with words of thunder 

Hard looks, and haider knocks, kept Paddy under 

Till the poor lad, Uke boy thaffe flogg'd unduly, 

Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. 

Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, 

A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; 

His landlord, and of middle-men two brace, 

Had screw'd his rent up to the starving- place ; 

His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, 

His meal was a potato, and a cold one ; 

But still for fun or, frolic, and all that, 

In the round world was not the match of Pat. 

XXI. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday. 

Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : 

When mass is ended, and his load of sins 

Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns 

Deak forth a bonus of imputed merit. 

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit ! 

To jest, to suig, to caper fair and free. 

And dance as light .as leaf upon the tree. 

"By Maliomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, 

" That nagged fellow is our very man ! 

Rush in and seize liim — do >ot do him hurt.. 

But, will lie nill he, let me nave his shirt." — 

xxn. 

Shilela their plan was wellnigh after baulking 
(Much less jjrovocation will set it a-walking), 
But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy 

AVhack ; 
They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd 

liim — Alack I 
TJp-bubboo ! Paddy had not a shirt to his 

back ! 1 1 
And the ICing, disappointed, with sonvw and 

shame. 
Went b-v-k to Sercndib as sad as lie canie. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



CTl 



fS.v. SemblE's i^arctoell aSBvess,' 

ON TAKING LEATE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. 



1817. 



&' the worn war-horse, at the trumpet 8 sound, 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the 

ground — 
Disdains tlie ease Jiis generous lord assigns. 
And lony;s to rush on the embattled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near; 
To think my scenic hour for ever past, 
And tliat these valued plaudits are my last. 
Wliv sliould we part, while still some powers 

remain. 
That in your sei*vice strive not yet in vain ? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply. 
And sense of duty lire the fading eye ; 
And all the ^vrongs of age remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? 
Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close, 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is past. 
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last ; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. 
Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was. 
To live a pensioner on your applause, 
To drain the dregs of yoiu' endurance dry. 
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; 
Till every sneering youth around inquires, 
" Is Uiis the man who once could please our 

su'es ?" 
And sconi assumes compassion s doubtful mien. 
To varn me off from the cncumber'd scene. 
This must not be ; — and higher duties crave. 
Some space between the theatre and the grave. 
That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 

1 These lines first appeared, April 5. 1817, in a weeklysheel, 
e-llieii the "Sale Room," conriucted and published by Messrs. 
Ballap'rne and Co. at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. 
Jaires Di;llantyne says, "The character fixed upon, with 
liapp) propriety, for Kemblo's closing scene, was Macbeth, in 
whic'j he took his final leave ol' Scotland on the evening of 
Slto.Jiy, the 29th .March, 1817. He had labored under a 
levere cold for a few days before, but on this memorable night 
:he physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind. — 
' He wa5,' he said, in the green-room, immediately before the 
curtain rose, ' determined to leave behind him the most per- 
fect specimen of iiis art which he had ever shown,' and his 
Buccess was complete. At the moment of tlie tyrant's death 
Uie curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. 
The applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased — 
Ivere resumed — rose again -were reiterated — anil again were 
iushed. In a few minutes the curtain ascended, and Mr. 
tfem'»te came forward in the dress of Macbeth (the audience 
»y a oonsentsi^eous movement rising to receive him;, to deliver 



Tlie last, the closing scene, must be my owa 
My hfe's brief act in public service flown, 

Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well graced 

parts 
May fix an ancient fiivorite in your hearts, 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget — 
0, how forget ! — how oft I hitlicr came 
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame ! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wund, 
Till the full biu-.?t of inspiration came, 
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame 1 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures. 
Those hours must live — and all theii' charms ar« 

yours. 

favor'd Land ! renown'd for arts and arms 
For manly talent, and for female charms. 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line 
What fervent benedictions now were tliine ! 
But ray last part is play'd, my knell is rung, 
When e'en yom' praise fixUs faltering from my 

tongue ; 
And aU that you can hear, or I can tell. 
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, and fare you well. 



a ( n c s ,' 

WKITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 



1817. 



When the lone pilgrim views afar 
Tlie slirme that is his guiding star, 
With awe his footsteps print the road 
Wliich the loved saint of yore has trod, 

his farewell." .... " Mr. Kcmble delivered these liuet 
with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced 
by the tears and sobsof many of the audience. His own emotions 
were very conspicuous. When liis farewell was closed, he ,ii»- 
gered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The honse s^a.^! 
stood np, and cheered him with the waving of hati snd IpDg 
shouts of applause. At len^', he finally retired. t.nd, m w 
far as regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon his profes- 
sional life for ever." 

a These lines were, first printed in " The Forget-Me-Not, fol 
1834." They'were written foi recitation by the distinguished 
actress. Miss Smith, now Mrs. Bartley. on the night of her ben* 
efit at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1817; but reached her too lata 
for her purpose. In a letter which inclosed them, the peel 
intimated that they were written on the morning of the dar on 
which they were sent— that he thought the idea bettei thanlh« 
execution, and ftirwarded them with the hope of their addill| 
perhnps " a little salt to i. s bill." 



872 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As near he draws, and yet more near, 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear ; 
The Gotliic fane's unwonted show, 
The clioral hymn, tlie tapers' glow, 
Oppress his soul ; wliile they delight 
And cliasten rapture with affi'ight. 
No longer dare he think his toil 
Can merit aught his patron's smile ; 
Too light appears the distant way. 
The chilly eve, the sultry day — 
All those endured no favor claim. 
But murmuring forth the sainted name, 
He lays liis little offering down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too, who ply the Thespian art. 

Oft feel such bodings of the heai't. 

And, when oiu" utmost powers are strain'd, 

Dare hardly hope your favor gain'd. 

She, who from sister cUmes has sought 

The ancient land where Wallace fought ; — 

Land long renown'd for arms and arts. 

And concpiering eyes and dauntless heai'ts ; — ' 

She, as the flutterings here avow, 

Feels all the pilgrhn's terrors now ; 

Yet sure on Caledonian phiin 

The stranger never sued in vain. 

'Tis yours the hospitable task 

To give the applause she dare not ask ; 

And they who bid the pilgrim speed, 

The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. 



etije Sun upon tjje Jlffietrlflato ffifll. 



1S17. 



[" Scott's enjoyment of liis new territories was, 
however, interrupted by various returns of his 
cramp, and the depression of spirit which always 
attended, in his case, the use of opium, the only 
medicine that seemed to have power over the dis- 
ease. It was while struggling with such languor, 
on one lovely evening of this autiunn, that he com- 
posed the following beautiful verses. They mark 
the very spot of their birth, — namely, the then 
naked height overhanging'The northern side of the 
Cauldshiels Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to 
the eastward, aud the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow 
10 the west, are now visible over ,a wide range of 
rich woodland, — all the work of Ihe poet's hand." 
—L\fe, vol. V. p. 237.] 

I '* O favorM land ! renown'd for arts and arras. 
For manly talent, and for female charms." 

IJnes written for Mr. J. Kemble. 
* " Nathalie flow told me that he got tho air from an old 



AiR- 



' Rimhm aluin 'stu mo run." 



The air, composed by the Editor of Albyn'a Anthology.^ T« 
words written for Mr. George Tluinison's Scottish Melo<]lea 
[1822.1 



The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 

In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; 
The westland wind is hush and still, 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; 
Though evening, with her richest dye, 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 

With listless look along the plain, 

I see Tweed's silver current glide. 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air. 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,— 
Are they still such as once they were ? 

Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas, the warp'd and broken board, 

How can it bear the painter's dye I 
The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord. 

How to the minstrel's skill reply ! 
To aching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland liiU. 



eSe i«onfes of Banflor's IWaircJ). 

Air — " Ymdaitk Mionge." 

WBHTEN FOE MR. GEO. THOMSON'S WELSH MELODIES 



1817. 



Ethelerid or Olfrid, King of Northumberland, 
having besieged Chester in 613, and Brockmael, 
a British Prince^ advajiciitg to relieve it, the re- 
ligious of the neighboring Monastery of Bangor 
marched in procession, to prat/ for the success oj 
their countrymen. But the British being totally 
defeated, the heathen victor put the mon/:s to the 
suiord, and destroyed their monastery. The tune 
to widch these verses are adapted is called the 
Monks' March, and is supposed to have been 
played at their ill-omened procession. 

When the heathen trumpet's clang 
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang, 

gentleman, a Mr. Dalryraple of Orangefield (he thinks), wIm 
had it from a friend in the Western Isles, as an old Highlul 
air "- George Thomson. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



67? 



Veiled nun and friar gray 
March'd from Bangov':* fair Abbaye ; 
Sigh their holy anthem soirnda, 
Cestria's rale the hj-..n rebounds, 
Floating down the silvan Dee, 

miserere, Dmnine I 

On the long procession goes, 
Glory round then- crosses glows. 
And the Vu'gin-mother niQd 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Doom'd to feel unliallow'd hand ! 
Such was the Divine decree, 

miserere, Domine I 

Bands that masses only sung, 
Hands that censers only swung, 
Met the northern bow and bill, 
Heard the war-cry wild iuid shrill ; 
Woe to Brockniael's feeble hand. 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand. 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

miitvere, Domine t 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spurn'd by steeds with bloody mane, 
Slaughter'd down by lieathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : 
Word of parting rest unspoke. 
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke ; 
For their souk for charity, 

Sing, miserere, Domine t 

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! 
Long thy ruins told the tale, 
Shatter'd towers and broken arch 
Long recall'd the woeful march :' 
On thy shrine no tapers burn, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pilgi-im sighs and sings for thee, 

miserere, Domine I 



Xettet 

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCOLEUCH, 
DKimLANEIQ CASTLE, 

Sanquhar, 2 o'clock, July 30, 1817. 
From Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are 

eleeping — 
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is 

sweeping — 

> William of Malmsbnry Bays, that in his time the extent of 
the roins of llie monastery bore ample witness to the desolation 
occasioned Vj the massacre: — " tot semiruli parietes eccleai*. 
S5 



From Largs, where the Scotch gave the Northmen 
a drilling — 

From Ardrossau, whose harbor cost many a shil- 
ling— 

From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as n 
plank, sir — 

From a chop and green pease, and a chickeL io 
Sanquhar, 

This eve. please the Fates, at Druml.ic.-;g we an 
chor. "w. "^ 

[Sir Walter's companion on this excuroion was 
Captain, now Sir Adam Ferguson. — See Life, voL 
T. p. 234.] 



irom Hob Eog. 



1817. 



(!•)- 



-TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD TF^ 
BLACK PRINCE. 



" A BLOTTED piece of paper dropped out of the 
book, and, being taken up by my father, he inter 
rupted a hint from Owen, on the propriety of so 
curing loose memoranda with a little paste, by 
exclaiming, 'To the memory of Edward the Black 
Prince — What's all this ? — verses ! — By Heaven, 
Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I sut> 
posed you !' " 

for the voice of that wild horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne- 

The dying hero's call. 
That told imperial Charlemagne, 
How Paynim sons of swarthy Sp.ain 

Had wrought his champion's fall. 

"'Fontarabian echoes T continued my fathej, 
interrupting himself ; ' the Fontarabian Fair would 
have been more to the purpose. — Paijn-m ? — 
What's Paynim ? — Could you not say Pagan is 
■well, and write Englisli, at least, if you mi.«t 
needs write nonsense ?i>" — 

Sad over earth and ocean soimdiug, 
And England's distant cliffs astoimdino, 

Such are the notes Jiould say 
How Britain's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

mm, tot anfractnB porticnm, tanta turba rnderam qaODtDni vt. 
alibi cerna3," 



674 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" ' Poitiers, by the way, ia always spelled with 
ta s, and I know no reason why oirthography should 
gire place to rhyme.' " 

" Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, 
" And let the casement be display'd, 
That I maj' see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirror'd wiive, Gai'onne, 
And Blaye's empurpled shore." 

• Garonne and s>m is a bad rhyme. Why, 
Frank, you do not even understand the beggarly 
trade you have chosen.' " 

" Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
When England's maids and matrons hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britam's heroes rise, 
New phmets in these southern skies, 

Thi'ougl) clouds of blood and flame." 

"'A cloud of flame is something new — Good- 
morrow, my masters all, and a merry Clmstmas 
to you 1 — Why, the bellman writes better lines I' " 

Chap. ii. 



(2.)— TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. 



1817. 



" Miss Vernon proceeded to read'the first stanza, 
which was nearly to the foUowing purpose :" — 

Ladies, and knights, and ai-ms, and love's fair flame, 

Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing ; 
Wliat time the Moors fron? sultry Africk came, 

Led on by Agramant, their youthful king — 
He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring 

O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war ; 
Buch ills from old Trojano's death did spring. 

Which to avenge he came from realms afar. 
And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Em- 
peror. 

Of daimtless Roland, too, my strain shaU sound, 
In import never known in prose or 'hyme. 



How He, the chief of judgment deem'd profound 
For luckless love was crazed upon a time — 

" ' There is a great deal of it,' said she, glancing 
along the paper, and interrupting the sweetest 
sounds which mortal ears can drink in ; those of a 
youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the lip: 
which are dearest to them." 

Chap. xvi. 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. x. 
In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 
Hers was one sacred solitary spot. 
Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain, 
For moral hunger food, and ernes for moral paia 

Anonymous. 

" The library at Osbaldistone Hall was a gloomy 
room," Ac. 

(2.) — Chap. xm. 
Du-e was his thought, who first in poison steep'd 
The weapon form'd for slaughter — direr his. 
And worthier of damnation, who instill'd 
The mortal venom in the social cup, 
To fill the vems with death instead of life. 

Anonymoits. 

(3.) — Chap. xxn. 
Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here's the 

place 
Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in,— 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. 
Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench. 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff. 
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and Wiiyward, 
Tlie desperate revelries of wild despair. 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, liglit to deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere prac- 
tised, 
Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. 

The Prison, Scene iii. Act i. 

(4.) — Chap, xxvii. 
Far as tbe eye could leach no tree waa se*n, 
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green 
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ; 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear 
Were seen to gUde, or heard to warble here. 
Prophecij of Famine. 

(5.)— Chap. xxxi. 
" Woe to the vanquish'd !" was stern Brenno's worn, 
When simk pi oud Rome beneath the OaUic sword- - 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



67c 



Woe to tho viinquish'd V when bis massive blade 
Bore down tbe scale against ber ransom weigh'd, 
And on the field of foughten battle still, 
\Vbo knows no limit save the victor's will. 

Uie Gatdliad. 

(6.) — Chap, xxxii. 

And b<> he safe restored ere evening s*t, 
Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, 
And power to wreak it in an arm'd hand, 
Tom' land shall ache for't. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap, xxxvi. 
Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest, 
Like tbe sliroud of tbe dead on the mountain's 

cold breast ; 
To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, 
Knd the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. 



H4)iIogue to t!)e Appeal.' 

spoken bv mrs. uenet siddons, 
Feb. 16, 1818. 

A CAT of yore (or else old iEsop lied) \i 

Was changed into a fiiir and blooming bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her mairiage day. 
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon ber prey ; 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw. 
Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose. 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor 
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbor. 

Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers' age. 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 
However high advanced by future fate. 
There stimds the bench (points to the Pit) that first 

received their weight. 
The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see. 
Doom though unwigg'd, and plead without a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf. 
Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 
Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells, 
Builds her high towers and excavates her cells ; 
■While on the left she agitates the town, 

1 " The Appeal," ji Tragedy, hy Jolin Gait, the celebrated 
anthoroflhe " .-Viinab ot'the Parish," ami other Novels, was 
^ayed for tbor nights at this time in Edinburgh. 

2 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece 
tre all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience, 
riie new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from 
4e tlieatre 



With the tempesttuius question. Up or dovm *' 
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdia thus stand we, 
Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. 
But, soft I who lives at Rome the Pope must fltittei 
And jails and lawsuits are no Jesting matter. 
Then — just farewell ! We wait with serious aw« 
Till your applause or censure gives thp law. 
Trusting our humble efforts may assiu-e ye. 
We hold you Comt and Coimsel, Judge and Jury 



iWaclttfmiiion's Jlament.* 



1818. 



Air — " Cka till mi tuiUe.*'^ 

Mackrinmioii, hereditary piper to the Laird oj 
Macteod, is Raid to have composed this Lament 
witen the Clan was about to depart upon a distant 
and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel %eas 
impressed with a belief, which the event verified, 
that he was to be slain in the approaching fend , 
and hence the Gaelic word.':, " Cha till mi tuille ; 
ged thilUs llacleod, cha till Mackrimmon," " 1 
shall never return ; although Maclcod returns, 
yet Mackrimmon shall never return !" The piect 
is but too well knotvn, from its being the strain 
with which the emigrants from the West Higlif- 
lands and Isles usually take leave of their native 
shore. 



MACLEon's wizard flag from tbe gray castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys ; 
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and 

quiver. 
As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan 

for ever ! 
Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are 

foaming; 
Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer aij 

roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, inoimtain, and river ; 
Macleod may return, but Mackrumnon shall nev i 

"Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan utt 

sleeping ; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that aih 

weeping ; 

3 At this time the public of Edinburgh was much agitated bj 
a lawsuit betwixt tiie Magistrates and many of the Inhabitant! 
of the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the westefl 
side of the North Bridge; whicli the latter insisted sfaotltd N 
removed as a deformity. 

< Written for Albyn's Anthology. 

5 ■■ We retun: no more." 



g76 SCOIT'S POETICAL WORKS. ' 


\ To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and for ever ; 


Water-b, liliffs, rangers, keepers, 


Mackrimmon departs,, to return to you never ! 


He can wauk when they are 


The JBans/iee's wild voice sings the death-dirge 


sleepers ; 


', before me,' 


Not for bountith or reward 


The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 


Dare ye meU wi' Donald Caird. 


But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall 




not shiver. 


Donald Caird's come again I 


Though devoted T go — to return agam never 1 


Donald Caird's come again ! 




Gar the bagpipes hum amain. 


' ''Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's be- 


Donald Caird's come again. 


wailing 




Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailmg ; 


Donald Caird can drink a gill 


1 Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we 


Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 


sever. 


Uka ane that sells gude liquor 


Return — return — return shall we never 1 


Kens how Donald bemls a bickei , 


Cha till, cha till, cha tUl sin tuille 1 


When he's fou he's stout and saucy 


Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille. 


Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 


Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille. 


Hieland cliief and Lawland laird 


Gea thill is Macleod, cha till Macki-unmon 1" 


Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! 




Donald Caird's come again ! 






Donald Caird's come again I 


Sonalti ffiafrlj's fflomc Sljiafn.' 


Tell the news in brugh and glen 




Donald Caird's come again. 


Air — '* Malcolm Cair<Vs come again.^'^ 






Steek the anirie, lock the kist. 




, 1818. 


Else some gear may weel be mis't ; 




Donald Caird finds orra things 


CHORDS. 


Where Allan Gregor fand the tings ; 


Donald Curd's co))ie again 1 


Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo. 


Donald Caird's come again I 


WhUes a hen and whiles a sow, 


Tell the nems in hrugh and glen, 


Webs or duds frae hedge or yard— 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird 1 


Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Blithely dance the Hieland fling,. 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Drink till the gudeman be blind. 


Dinna let the Shirra ken 


Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; 


Donald Caird's co7ne again. 


Hoop a legUn, clout a pan. 




Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 


On Donald Caird the doom was stert 


Tell the news in brugh and glen. 


Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 


Donald Caird's come again. 


But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study 




Caught *e gift to cheat the wuddif 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Rings of airn, and bolts of .steel. 


Donald Caird's coine again 1 


Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 


Tell the news in brugh and glen, 


Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 


Donald Caird's come again. 


Donald Caird's come agam ! 


Donald Caird can wire a maukin, 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin', 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Leisters kipper, makes a shift 


Dinna let the Justice ken. 


To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; 


Donald Caird's come again.' 


- Pee a note on Banshee, Lady of the Lake, ante, p. 250. 


Sir Walter Scott nsnally attended ; and the Poet ww nigh J 


• Written lor Albyn's Antliology, vol. ii., 1818, and set to 


amnsed wi'.h a sly allnsion to his two-fold cliaiaeter Oi 


lansic in Mr. Thomson's Collection, in 1822. 


Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and author-suspect of ' ■ Rob Roy," i> 


> Caird aigniliea Tinker. 


the chorus, — 


< Mr. D. Thomson, of Galashiels, urodoced a parody on this 


" Think ye, does the Shirra ken 


»ns at an annual dinner of the mannlacturers there, which 


Rob M' Qrcgor's come again ?" 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



67' 



from tlje Heart of iHib-Cotljian. 



1818. 



(1.)— MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS. 

When the gledd's in the blue cloud, 

The lairock lies still ; 
When tlie liound's in tlie green-wood, 

The hind keeps the hilL 

O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, 

When ye suld rise and ride ? 
There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 

Ai'e seeking where ye hide. 

Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers. 

Dub a dub, dub a dub ; 

Have at old Beelzebub, — 
Oliver's running for fear. — 

I glance like the wildfire through country and 

town ; 
I'm seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the down ; 
The Ughtning tliat flashes so bright and so free, 
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. 



ing — bridal ring — 
ye little cutty 



What did ye wi' the bridal 

bridal ring ? 
What did ye wi' your wedding rin, 

quean, ? 

I gied,it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 
I gied it till a sodgej, an auld true love o' mine, 0. 

Good even, good fail' moon, good even to thee ; 
I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
The form and the features, the speech and de- 
gree, 
Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 

It is the bonny butcher lad, 
That wears the sleeves of blue. 

He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
On Friday thai he slew. 

There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, 

There's harness glancing sheen ; 
There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae. 

And she sings loud between. 

Up in the air. 

On my bonnie gray mare. 

And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. 

In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, 
Ere I was ane and twenty, 
I bad hempen bracelets strong. 



And meny whips, ding-dong, 
And prayer and fasting plenty. 

My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard 

Sae far ayout the sea. 
And it is but my blithsome gliaist 

Tliat's speaking now to tliee. 

Fm Madge of the countrj', I'm Madge of the tow r. 
And I'm Madge of tlie lad I am blithest to own— - 
The Lady of Beever in diamonds may sliino, 
But has not a heart h:\lf so liglitsome as mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, 
And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to- 
day ; 
The wild-fire tliat flashes so far and so free 
Was never so briglit, or so bonnie as me. 

He that is down need fear no fall. 

He tliat is low no pride ; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 

Fulness to such a burthen if 

That go on pilgrimag-e ; 
Here httle, and liereafter bliss. 

Is best from age to age. 

" As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, ana 
then a part of tlie chorus and words of what had 
been, perhaps, the song of a jolly harvest-home." 

Our work is over — over now. 
The goodman wipes his -weary brow. 
The last long wain wends slow away; 
And we are free to sport and play. 

The night comes on when sets the sun, 
And labor ends wiieu day is done. 
When Autumn's gone, and Winter's oome, 
We hold our jovial hai-vest-home. 

" Tlie attendant on the hospital arranged her in 
her bed as she desired, with her face to the wall, 
and her back to the fight. So soon as slie was 
quiet in tliis new position, she began again to ein^ 
in the same low and modulated strains, as if she 
was recovering the state of abstraction which the 
inteiTuption of her visitants had disturbed. The 
strain, however, was different, and ratlier resem- 
bled the music of the methodist hymns, though 
the measure of the song was similar to that of tb« 
former :" — 

When the fight of grace is fought, — 
When the marriage vest is wrought,— 
When Faith has chased cold Doubt away 



678 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
When Charity, imprisoned here, 
Longs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Doff thy robe of sin and clay ; 
Olu-istian, rise, and come away. 

" Her next seemed to be the fragment of some 
"Id ballad :" — 

Caidd is my bed. Lord Archibald, 

And sad my sleep of sorrow : 
But thine sail be as sad and cauld. 

My fause true-love 1 to-morrow. 

^d weep ye not, my maidens free, 
Though death yom* mistress borrow ; 

For he for whom I die to-day, 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 

" Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less 
monotonous, and less regular. But of tlie words 
only a fragment or two could be collected by those 
who listened to this singular scene :"— 

Proud Maisie is in tlie wood, 

■Walking so eai-ly ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bu.sh. 

Singing so rarely. 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird. 

When shall I marry me !" — 
" When six brae gentlemen 

Kirkwaid shall carry ye." 

" Who makes the bridal bed. 

Birdie, say truly ?" — ^ 
" The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
. Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 
' Welcome, proud lady.' " 

" Her voice died away with tlie last notes, and 
she fell into a slumber, from whicli tlie experienced 
attendant assured them, that she would never 
awake at aU, or only in the death-agony. 

" Her first prophecy was true. Tlie poor maniac 
palled with existence, without again uttering a 
lound of any kind." 

Chaps. XT.-xxxviiL passim. 



2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. xrx. 
To man, in tliis his trial state. 
The privilege is given,- 



When lost by tides of human fate, 
To anchor fast in Heaven. 

Watts' Symn» 

(2.) — Chap. xxm. 
Law, take thy victim ! — May she find the mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this hard world denies half 

(3.) — Cbap. xxvn. 
And Need and Miseiy, Vice and Danger, Und 
In sad alliance, each degraded mind. 



(i-)- 



-Chap. xxxv. 
■ I beseech you- 



These tears beseech you, and these chaste handa 

woo you. 
That never yet were heaved but to things holy — • 
Things like yourself — You are a God above UB ; 
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! 

TIte Bloody Brother 

(5.) — Chap. xlvi. 
Happy thou art ! then happy be, 

Nor envy me my lot ; 
Thy happy state I envy thee, 
And peaceful cot. 

Lady a G 1. 



X 



/ 



jTrom tl)e Bribe of Camniermoor 



1819. 



(1.)— LUCY ASHTON'S SONG. 

" The silver tones of Lucy Ashton's voice min- 
"led with the accompaniment in an ancient ail", to 
wliich some one had adapted the following words :— 

Look not thou on beauty's charming, — 
Sit thou stUl when kings are arming, — 
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,-^ 
Speak not when the people hstens, — 
Stop thine ear against the singer, — 
From the red gold keep thy finger, — 
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye. 
Easy live and quiet die. 

Chap, ill 



(2.)— NORMAN THE FORESTER'S SONO. 

'* And humming his rustic roundelay, the yeo- 
man went on liis road, the sound of his rough 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



675) 



f<rcc gradually dying away as the distance be- 
IwTxt them increased." 

The monk must arise when the matins ring, 
The abbot may sleep to their cliirae ; 

But the V eoman must start when the bugles sing, 
'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time. 

There's bucks and raes on BilUiope braes. 
There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; 

But a lily white doe in the garden goes, 
She's fah-ly worth them a'. 

Chap, ill 



(3.)— THE PROPHECY. 

" With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with 
•pprehension, Caleb faltered out the following 
.ines :" — 

When the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravens- 
wood shall ride. 
And wooe a dead m.aiu'eu to be his bride, 
He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow, 
And his name shall be lost for evermoe ! 

Chap, xviii 



(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. vm. 
The hearth in hall was black and dead, 
No board was dight in bower within, 
Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; 

' Hero's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. 
Old Ballad, 
[Altered from " T/ie Heir of Linne."^ 

(2.) — Chap. xrv. 
A.S, to the Autvumi breeze's bugle-sound, 
Various and vague the dry leaves dance their 

round ; 
Or, from the garner-door, on aether borne. 
The chaff flies devious from the wiunow'd com ; 
S> vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven. 
From theii- fix'd aim are mortal counsels driven. 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap. rvn. 

Here is a father now. 

Will truck liis daughter for a foreign venture, 
Make her the stop-gap to some canker'd feud, 
Ol fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes, 
To appease the sea at highest. 

Anonipnous. 



(4.) — Chap, xviii. 
Sir, stay at homiijmd take an ohl man's counsul 
Seek not to bask you by a stranger's heartn ; 
Our own blue smoke is warmer tlian their file. 
Domestic food is wholesome, though 'tis honied^ 
And foreign diiinties poisonous, though ta.stefiiL 
77te French OourteiaK 

(5.) — Chap. xxv. 
True-love, an' thou be true, 

Tliou has ane kittle part to play. 
For fortune, fasliion, fancy, and thou 

Maun strive for many a day. 

I've kend by mony friend's tale, 
Far better by this heart of mine, 

Wliat time and change of fancy avaU, 
A true love-knote to imtwine. 

I{etidersmi« 

(6.) — Chap, xxvii. 

Why, now I have D.ame Fortune by the forelock. 
And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is mine ; 
He that hath buS'eted with stern adversity. 
Best knows to shape his course to favor«g breezes 

Old Plav 



5rom tl)£ Ccgeub of ilTontvose. 

(1.)— ANCIENT GAELIC MELODT. 

" So saying, Annot Lyle sate down at a littU. 
distance upon the bench on which Allan M'Aulay 
was placed, and tuning her clairshach, a small 
harp, about thirty inches in height, she accompa- 
nied it with her voice. The aii- was an ancient 
Gaelic melodj', and the words, which were sup- 
posed to be very old, were in t lie same language; 
but we subjoui a translation of iliem, by Secmiduj 
M'Pherson, Esq., of Glenforgcn ; which, although 
submitted to the fetters of Eiighsh rhythm, w€ 
trust will be found nearly as genuine as the v«r 
sion of Ossian by his celebrated nameaako " 

1. 
Birds of omen dark and foul. 
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl. 
Leave the sick man to his dream — 
All night long he heard you scream. 
Haste to cave and ruin'd tower, 
Ivy tod, or dingled-bower. 
There to wuik and mop, for. hark I 
In the mid air sings the lark. 



680 



SCOTT'S POETIGiiL W0RKc5. 



2. 


_ . 1 ., 

"Hie lady siid, " >:u orpha-i's atato 


Hie to moorish gilla and rocks, 


le iiard tjid sad io bear ; 


Prowling wolf and wily fox, — 


Tet worse the widow'd mother's fate, 


Hie ye fast, nor turn your vigw, 


^'ho mourns both lord and heir. 


Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. 




Couch your trains, and speed your flight. 


' Twelve times the rolling year has sped, 


Safety parts with parting night ; 


Since, whUe from vengeance wild 


And on distant echo borne, 


C fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 


Comes the hunter's eai'ly horn. 


Forth'a eddies whelm'd my child" — 



The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams, 

* Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; 
Hie lience, each peevish imp and fay 

• That scare the pilgrim on his way. — 
Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fo' 
Thy torch, that cheats benighted moj 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done, 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 



Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, at.u deep, 
O'erpower the passive mind in sleep. 
Pass from the slumberer's sool away, 
Ljke night-mists from the bi ow of day : 
Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb. 
Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! 
Thou darest not face the godlike sun. 

Chap, vi 



(2.)— THE ORPHAif MAW. 

" Tuning her instrument, and receiving an as- 
senting look from Lord Monteith and Allan, Annot 
Lyle executed tlie following ballad, which our 
friend, Mr. Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness 
we had before to ::cknowledge, has thus translated 
ato the English tongue :" — 

November's hail-cloud drifts away, 

November's sunbeam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle gray. 

When forth comes Lady Anne. 

The orphan by tlie oak was set. 
Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 

llie hail-drops had not melted yet, 
Amid her raven hair. 

" And dame," she said, " by all the ties 

That cliild and mother know. 
Aid one who never knew these joys, — 

Relieve an orphan's woe." 



" Twelve times the year its course has bonm, 

The wandenng maid repUed, 
" Since fishers on St. Bridget's morn 

DieV nets on Campsie side. 

" St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 

An infant, well nigh dead. 
They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, 

To beg from you her bread." 

That orphan maid the lady kiss'd, — 

" My husband's looks you bear ; 
Saint Bridget and her morn be bless'd ! 

Tou ai'e liis widow's heir." 

They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, 

In silk and sandals rare ; 
And pearls, for drops of frc^iieu hail. 

Ale gUstening in her hai/. 

Chap, a 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. x. 
Dark on their journey lour'd the gloomy day, 
Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way ; 
More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, 

show'd 
The mansion wliich received them .i tm iLe road. 
The Travellers, a Rmnance 

(2.)— Chap. xi. 
Is this thy castle, Baldwin { Melancholy 
Displays her sable banne- f-om the donjon, 
Dark'ning the foam of *h' w'joIp surge bene.\tJi. 
Were I a habitant, to "ef d>'^ gloom 
Pollute the face of natur", a'^d to hear 
The ceaseless sound of iVf.^e and sea-bird's sciraui 
I'd wish me in the l.ut ^b'A poorest peasant 
Ere framed to give au.. temporary shelter. 

' Browne. 

(3.) — Chap. xtv. 
This was the entry, then, these stairs — but whithei 

after ? 
Tet he that's sure to polish on the land 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



681 



May quit the nicety of card and compass, 


Let grateful'love quell maiden shame. 


And trust the open sea without a pilot. 


And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." 


Tragedy of Brennovalt 


Chap, xviii. 




(2.)— THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

1 


iTrom Inanljoi:. 


(1.)— THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 


Fll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 




To search Emope thi-ough from Byzantium to 


1. 


Spain ; 


High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 


But ne'er sliall you find, should you search till you 


From Palestine the champion came ; 


the. 


Tlie cross upon liis shoulders borne, 


So happy a man as the Barefo&ted Friar. 


Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn. 


• 


Each dint upon his batter'd sliield 


2.* 


Was token of a foughten field ; 


Tour knight for his lady pricks forth in career. 


And thus, beneath his lady's bower, 


And is brought home at even-song prick'd through 


He sung, as fell the twilight hour : 


with a spear ; 




I confess him in haste — for his lad3' desires 


2. 


No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. 


•' Joy to the fair ! — thy knight behold. 




Retiu-n'd from yonder land of gold ; 


3. 


No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, 


Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a prince has been 


Save liis good arms and battle-steed ; 


known 


His spurs to dash against a foe. 


To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 


His lance and sword to lay liim low ; 


But which of us e'er felt the idle desire 


Such all the tropliles of his toil. 


To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar 1 


Such — and the hope of Tekla's smile I 


4. 


3. 


The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone. 


Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 


The land and its fatness is mark'd for liis own; 


Her favor tired to feats of might ! 


He can roam where he lists, he can atop where hfl 


Unnoted shall she not remain 


tnes, 


Where meet the bright and noble train ; . 


For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's. 


Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell — 




' Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 


5. 


'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 


He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he comes, 


The listed field of Ascalon ! 


May profane the great chair, or the porridge ol 




pUnns ; 


4. 


For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 


" Ttote well her smile ! — it edged the blade 


Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 


Wliich fifty wives to widows made, 




Wlien, vain his strength and Mahound's spell. 


6. 


Iconium's tm-ban'd Soldan fell. 


He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot, 


See'st thou her locks, whose sunny glow 


They broach the brown ale, and they fiU the black 


Half shows, half shades her neck of snow ? 


pot; 


Twines not of them one golden thread, 


And the good-wife would wish the good-man in tha 


But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 


mire, 


5. 


Ere he lank'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar 


" Joy to the foir ! — my name unknown, 


7. 


Each deed, and all its praise, thine own ; 


Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 


Then, oh ! unbar tliis churUsh gate. 


The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope 1 


The night-dew falls, the horn- is late. 


For to gather Ufe's roses, unscathed by the briei. 


Inured to Syria's glowing breath. 


Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 


I feel the north breeze ch'll as death; 
ar 


Chap. zviiL 



682 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(3.)— SAXON WAR-SONG. 

"The fire was spreading rapidly through all 
parts of the castle, wlien Ulrica, "who had first 
Kindled it, appeared on a turret, iu the guise of 
one of the ancient furies, yelling fortli a war-song, 
such as was of j^ore chanted on the field of battle 
bj the yet heathen Saxons. He long dishevelled 
gr.iy hail- flew back from her uncovered head , the 
iaebriatiiig delight of gratified vengeance contend- 
ed in her eyes with the fire of insanity ; and she 
orandished the dist.T.ft" which she held in her hand, 
as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who 
spin and abridge the thread of human hfe. Tra- 
dition has preserved some wild strophes of the 
Darbarous hymn which die chanted wildly amid 
that scene of fire and slaughter :" — ■ 



Whet the bright steel. 

Sons of the White Dragon I 

Kindle the torch. 

Daughter of Heugist 1 [banquet. 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the 

It is hai-d, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal diamber, 

[t steams and ghtters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croalvs ! 

tiight the torch, Zernebockis yelling ! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengistl 



The black clouds aie low over the thane's castle : 

The eagle screams — he rides on their bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 

The race of Hengist wUl send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla I 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy I 

Many a haughty step bends to yom' halls. 

Many a helmed head. 

3. 
Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, 
The black clouds gather round ; 
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant I 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest 

against them ; 
He, the bright consumer of palaces, 
Broad waves he his blazing banner, 
Red, wide, and dusky. 
Over the strife of the vaUant ; 
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken 

bucklers ; 
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts 

warm from the wound ! 



4. 
All must perish I 
The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 
The strong armor is pierced by the lance: 
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, 
Engines bre;ik down the fences of the battle. 
AU must perish ! 
The race of Hengist is gone — 
The name of Horsa is no more 1 
Shi'ink not then from your doom, sons of th* 

sword ! 
Let your blades drink blood like wine : 
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 
By the light of the blazing halls ! 
Strong be your swords while your blood ia warm. 
And spare neither for pity nor fear. 
For vengeance hath but an hour ; 
Strong hate itself shall expire I 
I also must perish. 



Note. — " It will readily occur to the antiquary, 
that these verses are intended to imitate the an- 
tique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of the 
old Scandinavians — the race, as the Laureate so 
happily terms them, 

' Stern ^o inflict, and stabbom to endure, 
Who smiled in death.* 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civili- 
zation and conversion, was of a different and softer 
character ; but, in the circumstances of Ulrica, she 
may be not unnaturally supposed to retm'n to the 
wild strains wliich animated her forefathers during 
the times of Paganism and untamed ferocity." 

Chap. yTYJi, 



(4.)— REBEGCA'S HYMN. 

" It was in the twiUght of the day when hei 
trial, if it could be called such, had taken place 
that a low knock was heard at the door of Re- 
becca's prisoL chamber. It disturbed not the in- 
mate, who was then engaged in the evening prayeJ 
recommended by her reUgion, and which concluded 
with a h}Tnn, wliich we have ventured thus to 
translate into English :" — 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved. 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fathers' God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonish'd lands 

The cloudy piUar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands 

Return'd the fiery column's glow. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



683 



There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer'd keen. 
And Zion's daugliterg pom^'d their lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now oui- foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fatliers would not know Thy ways. 

And Tuou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though no\7 unseen 1 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night. 
Be Tuou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light 1 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, tlie Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

ire mine accepted sacrifice. 

Chap. xL 



(5.)— THE BLACK KNIGHT'S SONG. 

" At the point of their joum<!y at which T*e take 
them up, tliis joyous pair were engaged in singing 
1 virelai, as it was called, in which the clown bore 
a stiff and mellow burden to the better instructed 
Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus ran the ditty :" 

inna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun. 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the mom. 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn. 

The echo rings raeiTy from rock and from tree, 

Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 



O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. 
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit; 
For what are the joys that in waking we prove. 
Compared with these visions, O Tybalt ! my love ? 
Let the birds to tlie rise of the mist carol shrill. 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I 

prove. 
But think not I dream'd of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

C/uip. zli. 



(6.)— SONG. 

THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

"The Jester next struck into another carol, a 
sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching 
up the tune, replied in the Uke manner." 

knight ANn WAMBA. 

There came three merry men from south, west, 
and north. 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, 

And where was the widow might say them nay 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he cam() 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great 
fame. 

And where was the widow might say him nay • 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire. 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal tire. 
For she was the widow would say him nay. 

WAMBA. 

The next thai came forth, swore by blood and by 
nails, 
Men'ily sing tlie roundelay ; 
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and bur's lineage waf 
of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him naj 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay , 

She said that one widow for so many was too few 
And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

JoUily singing his roundelay ; 
He spoke to the widow of living and rent. 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 



So the knight and the squire were both left in ths 
mire, 
There for to sing their roundelay ; 
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent. 
There ne'er was a widow could say him nay. 

Chap. zU. 



(7.)— FUNERAL HYMN. 

" Foua maidens, Rowena leading the choirj 
raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which 
we have only been able to decipher two or three 
stanzas ;" — 



384 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Dust unto dust, 
To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resign'd 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown _ 

Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek tlie realms of woe, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place. 
By Maiy's grace. 

Brief may thy dwelling be 1 
Till prayers and alms, 
And holy psahns, 

Shall set the captive free. 

Cliap. yliii. 



(8.)— MOTTOES.- 

(1.) — Chap. xix. 
Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle. 
Where the bhthe fawn trips by its tinud mother, 
Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs. 
Checkers the sunbeam in the green sward al- 
ley— 
Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne : 
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's 

lamp 
With doubtful gUmmer lights the di-eary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

(2.) — Chap. xxi. 
Wlien autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim. 
How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn 1 

Jcvotion borrows Music's tone. 
And Music took Devotion's wing, 

And, like the bu-d that hails the sun, 
Thoy soar to lieaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Glemenes Well. 

(3.) — Chap. xxvn. 
,; The hottest horse will oft be cool, i\ 
The dullest will show fire ; 
The friar will often play the fool, 
The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 



u. 



(4.) — Chap. xxix. 
This wandering race, sever'd from other men, 
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 
The seas, the woods, the deserts which thej 

haunt. 
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures 
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms^ 
Display undi'eam'd-of powers when gather'd bj 

them. 

llie Jew. 

(5.) — Chap. xxxi. 
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. I j 
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, ' 

Which, as the lark .irises to tlie sky, 
'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew. 
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tears 
Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap, xxjcin. 
Trust me, each state must Iiave its policies : 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities liave their cliarters; 
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron. 
Hath man and man in social union dwelt. 
But laws were made to draw that imion closer. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap, xxxvi. 

Arouse the tiger of HjTcaiiian deserts. 
Strive with the h.olf-starved Hon for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

Anonymoia 



(8.) — Chap, xxxvil 



'Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. 
The beggar begs witli it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank .and rule, by leeming: 
The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. — All admit it, 
AU practise it ; and he who is content 
With showing what he is, shall have small credil 
In church, or camp, or state. — So wags the world 

Old Flay. 

(9.) — Chap, xxxvm. 
Stem was the law which bade its vot'ries leave 
At human woes with human liearts to grie> e ; 
Stern was the law, wliich at the winnhig wUe 
Of frank and harmless rairtli forbade to smile ; 
But sterner still, when liigh the iron-rod 
Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that powei 
of God. 

The Middle Ages. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



esrj 



lEfitapi on iriaics. lErsfeCne. 



1819. 



I'lain, as her native dignity of mind, 
Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd ; 
0nflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll, 
Emblem of lovely form imd candid soul. — 
But, oh ! what symbol may avail, to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well ! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of life, 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife I 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear. 
By which thine urn, Eupheuia, claims the tear 1 
Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, 
Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



irom tijc iHonastrrg. 



1820. 



' >-SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 



ON TWEED RIVER. 
1. 
Mereilt swim we, the moon shines bright. 
Both current and ripple are dancing in hght. 
We have roused the night raven, I heard him 

croak. 
As we plash'd along beneath the oak 
That flings its'broad branches so far and so wide, 
Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. 
" Who wakens my nestlings !" the raven he said, 
" My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red I 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal. 
And I'U have my share with the pike and the eel." 

2. 
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
There's a golden gleam on the distant height : 
There's a silver shower on the alders dank. 
And the drooping wUlows that wave on the bank. 
I see the Abbey, both turret and tower. 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell. 
But Where's Father FMUp should toll the bell ? 

Mrs. Enphemia Robinson, wife of William Enkine, Esq. 
fUrwards Lord Einedder), died September, 1319, and was 



Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
Downward we drift tlu'ough shadow and light 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep. 
Calm and sileijt, dark and deep. 
The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, 
He has Ughted hi^ candle of death and of dool : 
Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyea on thee 

4. 

Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to- 
night? 

A man of mean or a man of might ? 

Is it layman or priest that must float in yom- cove, 

Or lover who crosses to visit liis love ? 

Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we pass'd, — 

"God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd thH 
bridge fast 1 

AU that come to my cove are sunk, 

Priest or layman, lover or monk." 

Landed — landed I the black book hath won, 
Else had .you seen Berwick with morning sun ■ 
Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be. 
For seldom ihey land that go swimming w ith rae 

Chap. V. 



TO THE SUB-PRICE. 

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late an you ride, 
With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide 
But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er liill. 
There is one that has warrant to wait on you stilL 

Back, back. 

The volume black 1 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho 1 Sub-Prior, and came you but here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier? 
Sahi you, and save you, be wary and wise. 
Ride back with the book, or you'll pay for your 
prize 

Back, back. 

There's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, I bid thpe bear back. 

" In the name of my Master " said the asl onished 
Monk, " that name before wliich all things created 
tremble, I conjure thee to eay what thou ill that 
hauntest me thus ?" 

The same voice replied, — 

That which is neither ill nor weU, 

Tliat which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 

bnried at Saline, in the county of Fife, where these lines ar« 
inscribed on the tombstone. 



386 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A ■wrcatli of the mist, a buj)ble of the stream, 
"Twixt a waking thouglit and a sleeping dream ; 
A form tliat men spy 
With the half-shut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am I. 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right 1 
Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through 

the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, 
And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. 
Again, again. 
At the crook of the glen, 
Wliere bickers the burnie, I'U meet thee again. 

Men of good are bold as sackless,' 

Men of rude are wild and reckless. 
Lie thou still 
In the nook of the hill. 

For those be before thee that wish thee iU. 

C/iap. jx. 



HALBERT'S INCAOT'ATION. 

• Thkice to the holly brake — 
Thrice to the well : — 
I bid thee awake, 
White Maid of Avenel 1 

Noon gleams on the Lake — 
JS'oon glows on the Fell — 

Wake thee, wake. 
White Maid of AveneL 



TO-HALBERT. 



Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou oaU 

me! 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee ? 
lie that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear, 

nor failing; 
To cowara and churl our speech is dark, our gifts 

are unavailing. 
The breeze that brought me hither now must 

sweep Egyptian ground, 
Tl\e fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is 

bound ; 
riio fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for 

my stay. 
For I must sail a thousand miles before the close 

of day. 

_ Wliat I am I must not show — 
( What I am thou couldst not know — li 

> Sackless— Innotieat 



Something betwixt heaven and hell — 
Something that neither stood nor fell— 
Something that tlirough thy wit or will 
May work thee good — may work thee ill 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow, 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow, 
Dancmg by the haunted spring. 
Riding on the whirlwind's wing ; 
Aping in fantastic fashion 
Every change of human passion, 
WliUe o'er our frozen minds they pass 
Like shadows from the mirror'd glass 
Wayward, fickle, is our mood. 
Hovering betwixt bad and good, 
Happier than brief-dated man. 
Living ten times o'er his span ; 
Far less happy, for we have 
Help nor hope beyond the gi'ave I 
Man awakes to jey or sorrow ; 
Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. 
Tliis is all that I can show — 
This is all that thou may'st know. 

Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell 
To waken me here by tlie Fairies' Well. 
But thou lia.st loved the heron and hawk, 
More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And tliou hast loved the lance and the sword, 
More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track. 
More than the lines and the letters black; 
And thou iirt a ranger of moss and wood, 
And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. 

Thy craven fear my truth accused, 

Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 

He that draws to harbor late. 

Must sleep without, or burst the gate. 

There is a star for thee which bm'n'd, 

Its influence wanes, its course is tum'd ; 

Valor and constancy alone 

Can bring thee back the chance that's flown, 



'I 



,.\\ 



Witliin that awful volume lies 
Tlie mystery of mysteries 1 
Happiest they of human race. 
To whom God lias granted grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. 
To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
And better had they ne'er been born, 
'Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. 

Many a fathom dark and deep 
I have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glowing — 
Ethereal music ever flowing — 
The sacred pledge of Heav'n 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 68'. 




, All things revere, 


Tnis is the day when the fairy kind 


1 Eacb LU liij sphere, 


Sit weeping alone for then- liopeless lot, 




Save mail for whom 'twas giVn : 


And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighinj 




Lend tliy hand, and thou shalt spy 


wind. 




Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 


And the inennaiden weeps in her crystal grot 






For this is a day that the deed was wrought. 




Fearest thou to go with me ! 


In which we have neither part nor share. 




Still it is tree to thee 


For the children of clay was salvation bouphl 




A peasant to dwell ; 


But not for the forms of sea or air 1 




Thou may'st drive the dull steer. 


And ever the mortal is most forlorn. 




And chase the king's deer. 


Who meeteth our race on the Friday mom. 




I?ut never moro_come near 






This haimted well. 


Daring youth ! for thee it is well. 
Here calUng me in haunted dell, 




Here hes the volume thou boldly hast sought ; 


That thy heart has not quail'd. 




Touch it, and take it, 'twill deaily be bought. 


Nor thy courage fail'd. 






And that thou couldst brook 




Kaah thy deed. 


The angry look 




Mortal weed . 


Of Her of Avenel. 




To immortal flames applying ; 


Did one hmb shiver 




Rasher trust 


Or an eyelid quiver. 




Has thing of dust, 


Thou wert lost for ever. 




On his own weak worth relying : 


Though I am form'd from the ether blue 




Strip thee of such fences vain. 


And my blood is of the unfaUcn dew, 




Strip, and prove thy luck again. 


And thou art framed of mud and dust 







'Tis thhie to speak, reply I must 




■ Mortal war]) and mortal woof 






Cannot brook this charmed roof; 


A mightier wizard far than I 




All that mortal art hath wrought 


Wields o'er the universe his power ; 




In our cell returns to naught. 


Him owns the eagle in the sky. 


* 


/ The molten gold returns to clay, 
'f Tlie polish'd diamond melts away ; 


The turtle m the bower. 




Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still. 




All is altered, all is flown. 


He wields the heart of man at will. 




Naught stands fast but truth alone. 


From ill to good, from good to Ul, 




Not for that thy quest give o'er : » 
Courage ! prove thy chance once more.'' 


In cot and castle-tower. 










Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 




Alas ! alas 1 


Is fiU'd with M.ary Avenel I 




Not ours the grace 


Ask thy pride, why scornful look 




These holy characters to trace : 


In Mary's view it will not brook ? 




Idle forms of painted air. 


Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise 




Not to us is given to share 


Among the mighty and the wise — 




The boon bestow'd on Adam's race. 


Why thou spurn'.st thy lowly lot, — 




With patience bide, 


Why thy pastimes are forgot, — 




Heaven will provide 


Why thou wouldst in bloody stra'e 




The fitting time, the fitting guide. 


Mend thy luck or lose thy life ! 




Chap. xii. 


Ask thy heart, and it shall tell 
Sighing from its secret ceU, 
'Tis for Mary AveneL 






DALBERT'S SECOND INTERVIEW WITH 


Do not ask me ; 




,THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 


On doubts like these thou canst not tasK uui 
We only see the passing show 




" She spoke, anl her speech was still song, or 


Of human passions' ebo and flow ; 




rather measured chjmt; but if, as now, more famil- 


And view the pageant's idle glance 




iar, it flowed occasionally in modulated blank-verse, 


As mortals eye the northern dance. 




and, at other tunes, in the lyrical measure which 


When thousand streamers, flashing bright 




>i<e had used at theh former meeting." 


Career it o'er the orow of nighti 





688 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And gazers mark their changeful gleams, 
But feel DO influence from their beams. 

By ties mysterious link'd, our fated race 
Holds strange connection with the sons of mea 
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, 
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, 
That star, when culminating in its orbit, 
Shot from its spliere a drop of diamond dew. 
And tliis briglit font received it — and a Spirit 
Eose from the fomitain, and her date of hfe 
Hath coexistence witli the House of Avenel, 
And with tW. star that rules it. 

Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer. 
And, but there is a spell on't, would not bmd. 
Light as they ai'e, the folds of my thin robe. 
But when 'twas dinn'd, it was a massive chain. 
Such as might bin 1 the champion of the Jews, 
Even when his locks were longest — it hatU 

dwindled. 
Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength. 
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. 
When tliis iVail thread gives way, I to the ele- 
ments 
Resign the principles of life they lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 

Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, 
Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh, 
And the c*er-wearied warder leaves the Ught- 
, house ; 

There is an influence sorrowful and fearful, 
That dogs its downward course. Disastrous 

passion, 
Fierce liate and rivalry, are in the aspect 
That lowers upon its fortunes. 

Complain not on me, child of clay. 
If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We, who soar thy sphere above, 
Know not aught of hate or love ; 
As will or wisdom rules thy mood, 
My gifts to evil turn or good. 

Wlicn ricrcie Shafton boasteth high. 
Let this token meet his eye, 
CLo Sim is westering from the deU, 
Thy wish is granted — fare thee well ! 

CJuip. xvii. 



THE WHITE LADY TO MARY AVENEL. 

Waiden, whose sorrows wad the Living Dead, 
Whose. I yes shall commune with the Dead AUyo, 



Maiden, attend 1 Beneath my foot lies hid 

The Word, the Law, the Path which thou d i« 
strive 
To find, and canst not find. — Could Spirits shed 

Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep, 
Showing the road which I shall never tread. 

Though my foot points it. — Sleep, eternal sleep 
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot ! — 

But do not thou at human ills repine ; 
Secure there Ues full guerdon in tliis spot 

For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line — 
Stoop then and make it yours, — I may not mate 
it mine 1 

Chap. XXX. 



THE WHITE LADY TO EDWARD 
GLENDINNING. 

Thou who seek'st my foimtain lone. 
With tl (ughts and hopes thou dar'st not own 
Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad. 
When most his brow seem'd dark and sad ; 
Hie thee back, tliou find'st not here 
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier ; 
The Dead Ahve is gone and fled — 
Go thou, and join the Living Dead ! 

The Living Dead, whose sober brow 

Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now, 

Wliose hearts within are seldom cured 

Of passions by their vows abjured ; 

Where, under sad and solemn show. 

Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow. 

Seek the convent's vault ed room, 

Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 

Doff the gi-een, and don the gray, 

To the cloister hence away 1 

CJiap. xxxit 



THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL. 

Fare thee well, thou HcUy green ! 

Thou shalt seldom now be seen. 

With all thy gUttermg garlands bending, 

As to greet my slow descending, 

Startling the bewilder'd hind. 

Who sees thee wave without a wind. 

Farewell, Fountain I now not long 
Shalt thou murmur to my song, 
Wliile thy crystal bubbles glancing, 
Keep the time in mystic dancing. 
Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 
Like mortal schemes by fortune cross' J. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



649 



The knot of fate at length is tied, 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride I 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fall'n is lofty Avenel I 

Chap, xxxvii. 



(2.)— BORDER BALLAD. 

1. 

March, m.irch, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil diima ye marcli forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 
Many a banner spread. 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then, 
Sous of the mountain glen, 
t'lght for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. 



Oome from the hills where your liirsels are grazing, 

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing. 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding, 
S^tand to your arms, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray. 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 
Chap. XXV. 



(2.)— Chap. n. 
In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. 
Not sohtary then — the bugle-hom 
Of fell Alecto often waked its wmdings. 
From where the brook joins the majestic river. 
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt. 
Where oozes forth its first imd feeble streamlet 

Old PImj 

(3.)— Chap. v. 
A priest, ye cry, a priest I — lame shepherds they 
How shall they gather in the straggling flock f 
Dumb dogs which b;u"k not — how sliall they compel 
Tlie loitering vagrants to tlie Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire, 
And snuff the mess neat-handed Philhs dresses. 
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. 

Reformation. 

(4.) — Chap. vi. 
Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted Irom the vineyard of the Church, 
That these foul tares be sever'd from the wheui 
We are, I trust, agreed. — Tet how to do tixis. 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine 

plants. 
Craves good advisement. 

The Reformation 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Ch.u>. I. 

AT I the Monks, the Monks, they did the mia- 

chief 1 
Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition 
Of a most gross and superstitious age. — 
May He be praised that sent the healthfiil tem- 
pest. 
And scatter'd all these pestilential vapors ; 
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot 
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, 

1 will as soon beheve, with kind Sir Roger, 

Tlmt old Moll White took wing with cat and broom- 

stick. 
And raised the last night's thunder. 

Old Play 



(5.)— Chap. vm. 
/Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasuii, 
!\ Tliough fools are lavish on't — the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xi. 

I ^ou call this education, do you not ? 

' Wliy, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks 
Before a shouting drover. The glad v.an 
Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward, 
While all the blows, the oaths, the indignatioii. 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggai-d 
That cripples in the rear. 



Old 7\, 



^7.) — Chap, xn 
There's something in that ancient superstition, 
Wliich, erring as it is, our fancy loves. 
The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbluii, 
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 
In secret sohtude, may well be deera'd 
The haunt of 'something purer, more refined. 
And mightier than ourselves. Old Play. 

(8.) — Chap. xiv. 
Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victual^ 
As various as my dishea The feast's naught, 



690 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Where one huge plate predominates. — John Plain- 
text, 
lie sliiill be mighty beef, oui- English staple ; 
The worthy Alderman, a butter'd dumpling ; 
Yon pair of whisker'd Comets, ruffs and rees ; 
Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. 
And so the board is spread at once and fill'd 
On the same principle — Variety. 

New Play. 

(9.)— Chap. xt. 

' He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases, 

And vends them forth as knaves ven4 gilded 

counters, 
Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in pay- 
ment. ' 
Old Play. 

] (10.)— ChAp. XVI. 

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet 
j Of moats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 
I Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 
Mortality itself, and makes the essence 
Of his whole happiness the trim of court. 

Magnetic Lady. 

\ (11.)— Chap. xrx. 

j Now clioose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and 

i honor ; 

j There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through 

The dance of youth, and the turmoil of manliood, 
I Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; 

But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 

Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition. 

And raising thy low rank above the churls 

That till the earth for bread 1 

Old Play. 

(12.)— Chap. xxi. 
Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth it 

not 
Like one who is Iiis craft's master — ne'ertheless 
I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb 
On one who was a master of defence. 

Old Play. 

(13.) — Chap. xxn. ' 
Yes, life hath left him — every busy thought, 
Each fiery passion, every strong affection. 
The sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, 
Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; 
.And I have given that which spoke and moved, 
Tiiought, acted, suffer'd, as a livmg man. 
To be a ghastly form of bloody clay, 
Soon the foul food for reptiles. 

Old Play 



(14.) — Chap, xxiii. 
'Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold, 
The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the heat 
And fiery fever of liis soul is past. 
The sinner feels remorse. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Chap. xxiv. 
rU walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution, 
My heart with coui-age, and my hand with weapon 
Like him who ventm'es on a lion's den. ri 

Old Play. 

(16.) — Chap. xxvn. 
Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning, 
That I, with every odds of bu-th and bai-ony. 
Should be detain'd here for the casual death 
Of a wild forester, whose utmost having 
Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 
In which he sticks liis hedge-knife. 

Old Play. 

(17.) — Chap. xxx. 
You call it an iU angel — it may be so ; 
But sure I am, among the ranks wliich fell, 
'Tis the first fiend e'er sounsell'd man to rise. 
And wm the bUss the sprite himself had forfeited 

Old Play. 

(18.) — Chap. xxxi. 
At school I knew him- — a sharp-witted youth, 
Grave, thoughtful, and reservetl amongst his mate^ 
Turning the hours of sport and food to labor, 
Staiving his body to inform his mind. 

Old Play 

(19.) — Chap, xxxui. 
Now on my faith this gear is all entangled. 
Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter, 
Dragg'd by the fruhc kitten through the cabin, 
While the good dame sits nodchng' o'er the fire — 
Masters, attend ; 'twill crave some skill to clear it 

Old Play. 

(20.) — Chap, xxxiv. 
It is not tests wM do it — Chm-ch m-tiUery 
Are silenced soon by real ordnance, 
And canons are but vam opposed to cannon. 
Go, coin yoiu- crosier, melt your church plato 

down. 
Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, 
And quaff' your long-sa^ ed hogsheads — Turn them 

out 
Thus pruned with your good cheer, to g\iard youi 

wall. 

And they wUl venture for 't. 

Old Play. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



691 



Irom tl)e ^bbot. 



1820. 



1.)— THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

" At length the p.ir doner piille J from his scrip 
X email phial of cleai" water, of which he vaunted 
U! quality in the following verses :" — 

listneth, gode people, everiche one. 
For in the londe of Babylone, 
Far eastward I wot it lyeth, - 
And is the first londe the Sonne espieth, 
Ther, as he coraeth fro out the *6 \ 
In this ilk londe, as thiuketh rae, 
Right as holie legendes teU, 
Snottreth from a roke a well, 
And falleth into aue bath of ston, 
Wher chast Susaime in times long gon, 
Waa wont to wash hsr bodie and lim — 
Mickle vertue hath that streme, 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by this Uttle glas — • 
Through nightCs cold and dayes bote, 
Hiderward I have it brought ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide. 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside ; 
Putteth this water under her nese, 
Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 

C7iap. xxvii. 



r 



(2).— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. v. 
-In the wild storm, 



The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant 
Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd pre- 
cious : 
So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions, 
Cast off their favorites. 

Old Play. 

(2.)— Chap. vi. 
rhou hast each secret of the household, Francis. 
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale. 
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting 
With the gUb waiting-woman o'er her comfits — 
rhese beai' the key to each domestic mystery. 

Old Flay. 

(3.; — Chap. viu. 
The sacred tapers' lights are gone, 
Gray moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy iuage is o'erthrown, 



The bell has ceased to toll. 
Tlic long-ribb'd iiisles are burst and shrunk, 
Tlie holy slu-ines to ruin sunk. 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul I 

Rrdiviva 

(4.) — Chat. xi. 
Life hath its May, and aU is mirthful then: ^ 
The woods are vocal, and the flowers aU odor , 
Its very blast has mirth in 't, — and the maidens, 
The wliile they don theu- cloaks to skreen thcii 

kirtles, 
Laugh at the rain that wets them. 

Old Play. 

(5.) — Chap. xn. 
Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser, 
And holier th.in thou ; and age, and wisdom. 
And holiness, have peremptory claims. 
And will be Usten'd to. Old Plan 

(6.) — Chap. nv. 
Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together. 
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest. 
Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful meev 

ing— 
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive. 
The Conspiracy 

(7.)— Chap. xvi. 
Youth ! thou weai''st to manhood now 
Darker lip and darker brow, 
Stateliel" step, more pensive mien. 
In thy face and gait are seen : 
Thou must now brook midnight watches. 
Take thy food and sport by snatches I 
For the gambol and the jest. 
Thou wert wont to love the best, 
Graver folHes must thou follow, 
But as senseless, false, and hollow. 

Life, a Poem. 

(8.) — Chap. xix. 
It is and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for, 
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame aai 

life for, 
And yet it is not — ^no more than the shadow 
Upon the h.ard, cold, flat, and poUsh'd mirror, 
Is the warm, gi'acefiU, rounded, living substanse 
Which it presents in form and lineament. 

Old Plan 

(9.) — Chap. xxiu. 
Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 
Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the hfihn 
spring 



692 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bubble beside my napldn — and the free birds, 
Twittering and cliirping, hop from bough to 

bough, 
To claim tlie cruras I leaye for perquisites — 
Your prison-feasts I like not. 

The Woodman, a Drama. 

(10.) — Chap. xxrr. 

'Tis a weary life this 

Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me, 
And my sad hours spent with as sad companions, 
Wliose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mis- 
chances, 
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 

The Woodmian. 

(n.) — Chap. xxv. 
/And when Love's torch liath set the heart in flame, 
Comes Seignor Reason, witli his saws and cautions, 
Giving such aid as the old gray-beard Sexton, 
Who from the chmch-vault drags his crazy engine, 
To ply its dribbling ineifectual streamlet 
Against a conflagration, j ] 

Old Play. 

(^12.) — Chap. x-wm. 
Yes, it is she whose eyes look'd on thy childhood, 
And watch'd with trembling hope thy dawn of 

youth, 
Tliat now, with these same eye-balls, dimm'd with 

age, 
And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. 

Old Play. 

(13.) — Chap. xxx. 
In some breasts passion lies conceaVd and silent, 
Like war's swart powder in a castle vault. 
Until occasion, like the linstock, hghts it ; 
Then comes at once the lightning and the thun- 
der. 
And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. ■ 

Old Play. 

(14.) — Chap, xxxni. 
Death distant ? — No, alas ! he's ever with us. 
And shakes the dart at us in aU our actings : 
He lurks within our cup, while we're in health ; 
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel, 
But d;ath ia by to seize us when he lists. 

The Spanish Failier. 

' (15.) — Chap, xxxrv. 
Ay, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lan- 
tern. 
Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — 
Why, youngster, thou may'st cheat the old 
Duenna, 



Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet , 
But know, tliat I her father play the Gryphon, 
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, 
And guai'd the hidden treasure of her beauty. 
The Spanish Father 

(16.) — Chap. xxxv. 
I It is a time of danger, not of revel. 
When churchmen tm-n to masquers. 

Tlte Spanish Fattier. 

(17.) — Chap, xxxvii. 
Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild times, 
Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat, 
So often staked, and lost, and then regain'd. 
Scarce knew so many hazards. 

The Spanish Fatlter 



Jirom Keniltoortl). 



1821. 



(1.)— GOLDTHRED'S SONG. 

" Aktee some brief interval. Master GoldtLred, 
at the earnest instigation of mine host, antt tha 
joyous concurrence of liis guests, indulged the com 
pauy with tlie following morsel of melody :" — 

' Of all the birds on bush or tree. 
Commend me to the owl. 
Since he may best ensample be 
To tliose the cup that trowl. ' ' 
For when the sun hath left the west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves the best, 
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his 

jest. 
Then, though hours be late, and weather foul. 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 



The lark is but a bumpMn fowl. 

He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 
But my blessing upon the jolly owl, 
That all night blows his hora. 
Then up with your cup till you stagger in speecb, 
And match me this catch, tiU you swagger and 

screech. 
And drink tiU you wink, my merry men each ; 
For, though hoiu's be late, and weather be foul, 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 
owl. 

Ghap.^ 



"n 



l.YRICA^ AND 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



693: 



(2.)— SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At the apjiroach of the Queen, upon sight 
of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the 
gigantic warder ih'opped his club, resigned his 
keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the 
night, and all her magnificent train." 

What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones! 
Stand back, my masters, or bewai'e your bones ! 
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 

Yet soft — nay stay — what vision have we here ? 
What dainty darling's this — what peerless peer ? 
■What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, 
lake brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? 
Dazzled and bhnd, mine ofEce I forsake. 
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. 
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — 
Beshi-ew the gate that opes not wide at such a 
sight as this I' 

Cluip. zxx. 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. rv. 

Not serve two masters ? — Here 's a youth will 

try it— 
■Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 
Says grace before he doth a deed of viUany, 
And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted. \; 

Old Play. 

(2.)— Chap, v. 

He was a man 

■V^ersed in the world as pilot in his compass. 
The needle pointed ever to that interest 
■Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others' passion. 

The Deceiver — a Tragedy. 

(3.) — Chap. vn. 

This is He 

Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ; 
Knows all their secret slioals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exilts. 
He shines like any rainbow- — and, perchance, 
EQs colors are as transient. 

Old Play. 

J '* ThU io an imitation of Gascoigne's verses, spoken by the 
Hercolean porter, as n»?ntioned in tlie text [oi the Novel], 
''he original may be found in the republication of the Princely 
Pleasures of Kenilworth by the same -utlior, in the History of 

•nilwortb. Chiswiclc IS21. 



(4,) — Chap. xiv. 
This is rare news thou tell'st me, m_y good fellow 
There are two bulls fierce battling on the green 
For one fair heil'er — if the one goes down. 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 
Wliich have small interest in theh brulziement. 
May pasture there in peace. 
I Old Play 

(5.) — Chap. xvn. 
Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread the sail,—* 
Heave oft the lead, iind mark the sosndiiigs well 
Look to the helm, good master ; many a shoal 
Marks this stem coast, and rocks whore sits the 

siren. 
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 

The Shipwreck, 

(6.) — Ch.\p. xxiu. 
Now God be good to me in tliis wild pilgrimage 1 
All hope in human aid I cist beliind me. 
Oh, who would be a woman ? who thilt fool, 
A weepitig, pinuig, faithful, lovhig woman ? 
She hath hard measm-e still where she hope* 

kindest. 
And all her botmties only make ingrates. 

Loi^e^s Pilgrimage, 

(7.) — Chap. xsv. 
Hark ! the bells summon, and tlie bugle calls, 
But she the fairest answers not ; the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls. 
But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 
What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in tbn 

gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense, 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem. 
And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence S 
77(1; Glass Slipper. ' 

(8.) — Chap, xxvui. 
What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full 

can 
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying I- 
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men's vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue naught to boast of. — I'm a striker. 
Would have the world strike with me, pcU-mel 

all 

Pandcemonivm 

(9.) — Chap. xxis. 
Now fare thee well, my master I if true service 
Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow 

line. 
And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Slufmrtth. 



(10.) — Chap. xxx. 
Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she comes I 
Speak for us, bells ! speak for us, shrill-tongued 

tuckets ! 
Stand to the linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a Payuim foe 
Came stretch'd in tuiban'd ranks to storm the 

ramparts. 
We will have pageants too ; but that craves wit, 
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Virgin-Queen, a Tragi-Comedy. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxii. 
The wisest sovereigns err like private men, 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivah"y upon a worthless shoulder, 
Which better had been branded by the hangman. 
What then ? Kings do their best, — and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 

(12.) — Chap, x.xxiii. 
Here stands the victim — there the proud betrayo" , 
E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogi, 
Lies at the hunter's feet, who courteous proffcij 
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, 
To gash the sobbing thioat. 

The Woodsman. 

(13.)— Chap. xl. 
High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 
And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; 
So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 

Old Play. 



Jrom tijt Pirate. 



1821. 



(1.)— THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. 

" A IfoEWEGiAN invocation, still preserved in the 
uland of ITnst, under the name of the Song of the 
Reim-kennar, though some call it the Song of the 
Tempest. The following is a free translation, it 
being impossible to render hterally many of the 
elliptical and metaphorical terms of expression pe- 
euliar to the ancient Northern poetry :" — 

1. 

Stern eagle of the far north-west, 

Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt, 

Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, 



Thou the doitroyer of herds, thou the scatterer <« 

nav U3S, 
Amidst (he scream of thy rage. 
Amidst the rusliing of thy onward wings, 
Tliougb thy scream be loud as the cry of a peridl- 

ing nation. 
Though the rushing of thy wings be like the rou 

of ten thousand waves, 
Tet hear, in tliine ire and thy haste, 
Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. 



Thou hast met the pine-trees of Dronthcim, 
Their dark-green lieads he prostrate beside their 

uproot-jd st'zms ; 
Thou hast rae't, the rider of the ocean. 
The tall, ''be atrong bark of the fearless rover, 
And e'ae has struck to thee the topsail 
Th'it one uad not veil'd to a royal armada : 
'Ct ju jjasl met the tower that bears its crest among 
I the clouds, [days, 

Tlj battled massive tower of the Jarl of former 
And the cope-stone of the tm'ret 
Is lyuig upon its hospitable hearth ; 
But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds, 
When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar. 



There are verses that can stop the stag in the 

forest. 
Ay, and when the dark-color'd dog is opening oo 

his track ; 
There are verses can make the wild hawk pause 

on the wing. 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses, 
And who knows the shriU whistle of the fowler. 
Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drown- 
ing mariner, 
And the crash of the ravaged forest. 
And the groan of the overwhelm'd crowds. 
When the church hath fallen in the moment ol 

prayer ; 
There are sounds which thou also must hst. 
When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim- 
kennar. 



Enough of woe hast thou wlought on the ocean, 
The widows wring then- hands on the beach ; 
Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, 
The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; 
Cease thou the wavmg of thy pinions. 
Let the ocean repose in her daik strength ; 
Cease thou the flashing of thme eye, 
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin, 
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the 

north-western heaven, — 
Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the Rehn-kennar 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69 



6. 


(3).— THE SONG OF HAROLD-HARFAGER 


Eagle of the far north-ivestern waters, 




Tliou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar, 


THE-sun is rising dimly red, 


Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, 


The wmd is wailing low and dread ; 


And folded them in peace by thy side. 


From his cliff the eagle sallies, 


My blessing be on thy retiring path ; 


Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; 


When thou stoopest from thy place on high. 


In the mist the ravens hover, 


Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown 


Peep the wild dogs from the cover, 


ocean, 


Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, 


Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; 


Each in his wild accents telUng, 


Kagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice 


" Soon we fea^t on dead and dying, 


of the Reim-kennar. 


Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flymg." 


Chap, vi 






Many a crest on air is streaming. 




Many a helmet darkly gleaming, 
Many an ai'm the axe uprears. 






Doom'd to liew the wood of spears. 




AU along the crowded ranks 




Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 


(2.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S SONG. 


Cliiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, 




Louder still the bard is singing. 


MAKT. 


" Gather footmen, gather horsemen, 


■ Fakkwkll to Northmaven, 


To the field, ye vaUant Norsemen ! 


Gray Hillswicke, farewell 1 




To the calms of thy haven. 


" Halt ye not for food or slumber. 


The storms on thy fell- 


View not vantage, count not number ; 


To each breeze that can vary 


Jolly reapers, forward still. 


Tlie mood of thy main. 


Grow the crop on vale or hill, 


And to thee, bonny Slary 1 


Thick or scatter'd, stiff or Hthe, 


We meet not agiiin ! 


It sh.all down before tlie scythe. 




Forward with your sickles bright. 


F.arewell the wild ferry, 


Reap the harvest of the tight. — 


Wliich Hacon could br.ave. 


Onward footmen, onward horsemen. 


When the pe.aks of the Skerry 


To the ch.arge, ye gallant Norsemen 1 


Were white m the wave. 




There's a maid may look over 


"Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 


These wild waves in vain, — 


O'er you hovers Odm's daughter ; 


For the skiff of her lover — 


Hear the choice she spreads before ye, — 


He comes not again ! 


Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 




Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, 


The vows thou hast broke. 


Her evex'-circling mead and :de. 


On the wild currents fling them; 


Where for eternity unite ' 


On the quicksand and rock 


The joys of wassail and of fi-lit. 


Let the mermaidens sing them. 


Headlong forward, foot and horsemen. 


New sweetness .they'll give her 


Charge and fight, and die hke Norsemen r - 


Bewildering strain ; 


Chap. XV 


But there's one who will never 




Believe them again. 





wer« there an island, 




Though ever so wild. 


(4.)_S0NG OF THE MERMAIDS AND 


Where woman could smile, and 


MERMEN. 


No man be beguiled — 




Too tempting a snare 


MEEMAID. 


To poor mortals were given ; 


Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 


And the hope would fix there. 


Stringing beads of glistering pearl 


That should anchor in heaven. 


Singing the achievements brave 


Chap. xii. 


Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 



696 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Dwelling where the tempest'" raving, 


Daughters of northern Magnus, hail I 


Falls as light upon our eai; 


The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — 


As the sigh of lover, craving 


To you I come to tell my tale. 


Pity from his lady dear, 


Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! 


Children of wUd Thule, we, 


Chap, ziz 


From the deep caves of the sea. 




As the lark springs from the lea, 




Hither come, to share your glee. 






(6.)— CLAUD HAT,CRO AND NORN.A. 


MERMAN. 




From reming of the water-horse, 


CLAUD HALCEO. 


That bounded till the waves were foam- 


Mother darksome. Mother dread. 


ing, 


Dweller on the Fitful-head, 


Watcliing the infant tempest's course, 


Thou canst see what deeds are done 


Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 


Under the never-setting sun. 


From winding charge-notes on the shell. 


Look through sleet, and look through frost. 


When the huge whale and sword-fish duel. 


Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — 


Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. 


By the ice-berg is a sail 


When the winds and waves are cruel ; 


Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 


Children of wild Thule, we 


Mother doubtful. Mother dread, 


Have plough'd such furrows on the sea. 


Tell us, has the good ship sped ! 


As the steer di-aws on the lea. 


. 


And hither we come to share yom- glee. 


NORNA. 




The thought of the aged is ever on gear, — 


MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 


On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ; 


We .heard you in our twilight caves. 


But thrive may his fishmg, flock, fmrow, and herd, 


A hundred fathom deep below. 


While the aged for anguish shall tear his gray 


For notes of joy can pierce the waves. 


beard. 


That drown each sound of war and woe. 


The ship, well-laden as bark need be. 


Those who dwell beneath the sea 


Lies deep in the fuiTow of the Iceland sea ; — 


Love the sons of Thule well ; 


The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft. 


Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 


And gayly the garland is fluttering aloft : 


Dance, and song, and soimding shell. 


Seven good fishes have spouted then- last. 


Children of dark Thule, know. 


And their jaw-bones are hangiug to y ai-d and maat 


Those who dwell by haaf and voe, 


Two afe for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, — 


Where your d;iring shallops row, 


Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of alL 


Come to share the festal show. 




Cliap. xvi 


CLAUD HALCEO. 




Mother doubtful. Mother dread. 




Dweller of the Fitful-head, 




Tliou hast conn'd fuU many a rhyme. 


(5.)— NORNA'S SONG. 


That lives upon the surge of time ; 




Tell me, shall my lays be simg, 


For leagues along the wateiy way. 


Like Hacon's of the golden tongue. 


Through gulf and stream my course has been ; 


Long after Halcro's dead and gone i 


Tlie billows know my Runic lay. 


Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own 


And smooth their crests to silent greea 


One note to rival glorious John ? 


Tte billows know my Runic lay, — 


NORNA. 


■ The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; 


The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 


But human hearts, more wild than they. 


Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; 


Know but the rule of wajTvard will 


But different far the descant rings. 




As strikes a diiferent hand the strings. 


One hour is mine, in all the year, 


The eagle mounts the polar sky — 


To tell my woes, — and one alone ; 


The Imber-goose, unskiU'd to fly. 


When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here, — 


Must be content to glide along. 


When dies Oie mystic light, 'tis gone. 


Where seal and sea-dog list his nong. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 60i 


CLAUD HALCEO. 


Shall she marry, ay or not ? 


Be mine the Imber-goose to play, 


If she marry, what's her lot 1 


And haunt lone cave and silent bay ; 




The archer's aim so shall I shun — ■ 


NORNA. 


So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun — 


V ntouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 


Cori'ent my verses' tuneless jingle, 


Is Uke the snow on Rona's crest ; 


With Thule's sounding tides to mingle. 


So pure, so free from earth}' dye, 


While to the ear of wondering wight, 


It seems, whilst leaning on the sky. 


Upon the distant headland's height, 


Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; 


Soften'd by murmur of the sea. 


But ptission, like the wild March rain. 


The rude sounds seem like harmony 1 


M.ay soil the wreath with many a stain. 


» * * * ♦ 


We gaze — the lovely vision's gone— 


Mother doubtful. Mother dread. 


A torrent fills the bed of stone. 


Dweller of the Fitful-head, 


That hurrying to destruction's shock. 


A gallant bark from far abroad. 


Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 


Saint Magnus hath her in his road, 


Chap. xxi. 


With guns and firelocks not a few — 
A silken and a scarlet crew, 






Deep stored with precious merchandise, 




Of gold, and goods of rare device— 


(7.)— SONG OF THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN. 


W\\at interest hath our comrade bold 




In bark and crew, in goods and gold ? 


" While they were yet within hearing of the 




shore, they chanted an ancient Norse ditty, appro- 


NORNA. 


priate to the occasion, of wliich Claud Halcro had 


Gold is ruddy, fair, and free. 


executed the following hteral translation :" — 


Blood is crimson, and dark to see : — 


' 


I look'd out on Saint M:ignu3 Bay, 


Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh, 


And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, — 


For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the 


A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore. 


Haaf; 


And talons and singles are dripping with gore ; — 


And we must have labor, and hunger, .md pain. 


Let he that asks after them look on liis hand. 


Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again. 


And if there ia blood on't, he's one of their band. 






For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal. 


CLAUD HALCEO. 


We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise 


Mother doubtful,' Mother dread. 


and seal ; 


Dweller of the Fitful-head, 


The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high. 


Well thou know'st it is thy task 


And the guU be our songstress whene'er she flits by. 


To tell what Beauty will not ask ; — 




Then steep thy words in wine and TnilV, 


Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee. 


And weave a doom of gold and silk, — 


By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swiu-ms of the 


For we would know, shall Brenda prove 


sea; 


In love, and happy in her love ! 


And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line. 




Sing louder, brave bu-d, for their spoils shall be thine. 


NORNA. 




Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 


We'U sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we 


Is like the snow on Rona's crest, 


haul. 


High seated in the middle sky, 


For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all ; 


In bright and barren purity ; 


There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carlo 


But by the sunbeam gently Mss'd, 


And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the 


Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd. 


earl 


Ere, down the lonely valley stealing, 




Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, 


Hii77a I my brave comrades, give way for the 


It cheers the flock, revives the flower, 


Haaf; 


And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 


We shall sooner come back to the dance and the 




laugh ; 


MAG.VUS TROIL. 


For light without mirth is a lamp without oil ; 


Mother speak, and do not tarry, 


Then, mirth and long Ufe to the bold Magnus Troil i 


Here s a maiddi fain would marry. 

H8 


Cltap. zxii 



608 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



— 1 

(8.)— CLEVELAND'S SONGS. 


And you shall deal my lands so wide. 


1. 


And deal my castles nine. 


Love wakes and weeps 


But deal not vengeance for the deed, 


While Beauty sleeps I 


And deal not for the crime ; 


for Music's softest numbers, 


The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven'i 


To prompt a tbeme, 


gr.ace. 


For Beauty's dream, 


And the rest in God's own time. 


Soft as the piUo-w of her slumbers 1 




2. 


Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of trea- 


Through groves of palm 


son ; 
Saint Rouan rebuke thee, with rhyme i»jd with 


Sigh gales of balm. 


reason ; 


Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 


By the mass of Samt Martm, the migh' of Saint 


While through the gloom 


Mary, 


Comes soft perfume, 


Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if 


The distant beds of flowers revealing. 


thou tarry I 




If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; — ' 


3. 


If of Ul, let the earth swallow thee ; — 


w.ake and live I 


If thou'rt of air, let the gray mist fold thee ;— ■ 


No dream can give 


If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; — 


A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling ; 


If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; — 


No longer sleep, 


If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; — 


From lattice peep, 


If on middle earth thou'st been 


And list the tale that Love is telling. 


Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin. 





Hast eat the bread of toil and strife. 


Farewell ! Farewell 1 the voice you hear, 


And dree'd the lot which men call life ; 


Has left its last soft tone with you, — 


Begone to thy stone ! for thy coflin is scant oi 


Its next must join the seaward cheer, 


thee. 


And shout among the shouting crew. 


The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want 




of thee : 


The accents which I scarce could form 


Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thec^ 


Beneath your frown's controlling check. 


Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there 


Must give the word, above the storm. 


thou bide thee 1 — 


To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 


Phantom, fly hence i take the Cross for a token, 




Hence pass till Hallowmass ! — my spell is spoken 


The timid eye I dared not raise, — 




The hand, that shook when press'd to thine. 


Where corpse-Ught 


Must point the guns upon the chase — 


Dances bright. 


Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 


Be it by day or night. 




Be it by hght or dark. 


To all I love, or hope, or fear, — 


There shall corpse he stiff and stark. 


Honor, or own, a long adieu ! 




To all that life has soft and dear. 


Menseful maiden ne'er should rise. 


Farewell 1 save memory of you 1 


Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 


Cliap. xxiil 


Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, 




Till the sun has k-iss'd the rose ; 




Maiden's foot we should not view. 




Mark'd with tiny print on dew. 


(9.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S VERSES. 


Tin the opening flowerets spread 




Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 


And you shall deal the funeral dole ; 


Chap, xxiil 


Ay, deal it, mother mine. 
To weary body, and to heavy soul. 






The white bread and the wme. 


(10.)— NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. 


And you shall deal my horses of pride ; 


Champion, famed lor warlike toil. 


Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 


Art thou silent, Ribolt Troll 1 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69a 



S.and, and dust, and pebbly stones, 


Old Reim-kennar, to thy art 


Are leaving bare tby giaut bones. 


Mother Hcrtha sends her part ; 


Wlio dared toudi the "wild bear's skii 


She, whose gracious bounty gives 


Ye slumber'd on, while life was in? — 


Needful food for all that Uvea, 


A woman now, or babe, may come 


From the deep mme of the North 


And cadt the covering from thy tomb. 


Came the mystic metal forth. 




Doom'd amidst disjointed stones, 


T.''t be not wrathful. Chief, nor blight 


Long to cere a champion's bones. 


Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight 1 


Disinhumed my charms to aid — 


I come uot, with unhallow'd tread„ 


Mother Eai-th, my thanks are paid 


To wake the slumbers of the dead. 




Or lay thy giant rehques bare ; 


Girdle of our islands dear. 


But what I seek thou well canst spare. 


♦ Element of Water, hear 1 


Be it to my hand allow'd 


Thou whose power can overwhelm 


To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud ; 


Broken mounds and ruin'd realm 


Yet leave .thee sheeted lead enough 


On the lowly Belgian strand , , 


To shield thy bones from weather rough. 


All thy fiercest rage can never 




Of our soil a furlong sever 


See, I draw my magic knife — 


From our rock-defended land ; 


Never, wliile thou wert in life, 


Play then gently thou thy part, 


Laidst thou still for sloth or fear. 


To assist old Noma's art. 


When point and edge were glittering near ; 




See, the cerements now I sever — 


Elements, each other greeting. 


Waken now, or sleep for ever I 


Gifts and power attend your meeting! 


Thou wilt not wake — the deed is done ! — 




The prize I sought is f\iirly woa 


Thou, that over billows dark 




Safely send'st the fisher's bark, — 


Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this the sea 


GHving him a path and motion 


Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee — 


Through the wilderness of ocean ; 


And while afar its bdlows foam. 


Thou, that when the billows brave ye, 


Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. 


O'er the shelves canst drive the navy. 


Thanks, Ribolt, thanks — for this the might 


Didst thou chafe as one neglected. 


Of wild wmds raging at their height. 


While thy brethien were respected ? 


When to thy place of slumber ni^ , 


To appease thee, see, I tear 


Shall soften to a lullaby. 


This full grasp if grizzled hair ; 




Oft thy breath hath through it sung. 


She, the dame of doubt and dread, 


Softening to my magic tongue, — 


Norna of the Fitful-head, 


Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly 


Mighty in her own despite, — 


Through the wide expanse of sky. 


Miserable in her might ; 


'Mid the countless swarms to saU 


In despair and phrensy great. 


Of wild-fowl wheeUng on thy gale ; 


In her greatness desolate ; 


Take thy portion and rejoice, — 


Wisest, wickedest who lives, — 


Spu-it, thou hast heard my voice 1 


Will can keep the word she gives. 




Chap. xxT. 


She who aits by hapnted well. 




Is subject to the Nixies' spell ; 


[at interview WTTH MINNA.] 


She who walks on lonely beach. 


Thou, so needful, yet so dread. 


To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 


With cloudy crest, and wmg of red ; 


She who walks rourd ring of green, 


Thou, without whose genial breath 


Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 


Tlie North would sleep the sleep of death, 


And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's ca.'« 


Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, 


A weary weird of woe shall have. 


Yet hurls proud palaces to earth, — 


• 


Brightest, keenest of the Powers, 


By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, 


Which form and rule this world of ours, 


Minna TroU has braved all this and more 


With my rhyme of Runic, I 


And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill 


Thank thee for thy agency. 


A source that's more deep and more mystical 




still.— 



700 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS 



Thou art within a demon's hold. 

More wise than Heims, more strong than Trolld ; 

No siren sings so sweet as he, — 

No fay springs lighter on the lea ; 

No elfin power hath half the art 

To soothe, to move, to wring the heart — 

Life-bluod from the cheek to drain. 

Drench the eye, and dry the vein. 

Maiden, ere wo fartlier go, 

Ujst thou note me, ay or no ? 

MINNA. 

I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and 

sign ; 
Speak on with thy riddle — to read it be mine. 

NOENA. 

Mark me I for the word I speak 

Shall bring the color to thy cheek. 

This leaden heart, so light of cost, 

The symbol of a treasure, lost, 

Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, 

That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may 

cease, 
Wlien crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land. — 

(( Be patient, be patient; for Patience hath power. 
To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; 
A fairy gift you best may hold 
In a chain of fairy gold ! — 
The chain and the gift are each a true token, 
Tliat not without warrant old Noma has spoken ; 
But thy nearest and dearest must never behold 

them, 
Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told 

them. 

Chap, xxviii. 



(::.)_BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor sinners whom the snaVe deceives. 
Are fain to cover them with leaves. 
Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true. 
Because that trees are none, or few ; 
But we have flax .Tnd taits of woo'. 
For linen cloth and wadmaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks 
Of finer waft, than woo' or flax. 
Ye gallanty Lambma8 lads appear. 
And bring your Lambmas sist&rs here, 
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care. 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 

Ghnp, xxxii. 



(12.1— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP.n. 
'Tis not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo, 
Tlie man finds sympatliies in these wild w.a&tea 
And roughly tumbhng seas, which fairer views 
And smoother waves deny him. 

Ancient Drama. 

(2.) — Chap. vii. 
She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; 
Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb 
Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on. 
Their death at once, and sepulchre. 

Old Play. 

(3.)— Ch.u>. IX. 
Tliis i« a gentle trader, and a prudent — 
He's no Autolycus. to blear your eye. 
With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomenees ; 
But seasons all liis glittering mercliandise 
With wholesome doctrine suited to the use, 
As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 

Old Play. 

(4.) — Chap. xi. 

All your ancient customs. 

And long-descended usages, I'll change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor more, 
Tliink, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation ; 
The bride shall have the stock, ilie groom the wall 
For all old pr.actice will I turn and chtinge. 
And caU it reformation — marry, will 1 1 

'TU Even that we're at Oddi 

(5.) — Chap. xrv. 
We'U keep our customs — what is law itself. 
But old establisli'd custom ? What religion 
(I mean, with one-half of the men th.it use it), 
S.ave the good use and wont that carries them 
To worshiphow ahd wliere their fathers worshipp'dl 
AU tilings resolve m custom — we'll keep ours. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xxv. 
-I do love these ancient ruins S 



We never tread upon them but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend liistory. 
And questionless, here in this 0))en court 
(Which now Ties naked to tlie injuries 
Of stonny weather), some men lie interr'd, 
Loved (he Churcli so well, and gave so largely t'l il, 
They thought it should have canopied then- bon«« 
TiU doomsday ; — but all things have then- ena — 
Churches and cities, wliich liave diseases lite to wea, 
Must have like death wliich ive have. 

DucHesa oj Malfy, 



LYRIOAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



70. 



(7.) — Chap. xxix. 
See yonJer woniiui, whom our swains revere, 
AaJ dreail iii secret, wliile they take her counsel 
WTien sweetheiirt shall be kind, or when cross 

dame shall die ; 
Wlicre lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, 
And how the pestilent murrain may be cured ; — 
riiis sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend; 
Vet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning 
To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. 

Old Flay. 

(8.) — Chap. xxx. 

What ho, my jovial mates 1 come on I we'll frolic it 
Like fau'ies frisking in the merry moonshine^ 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some chris- 
tening. 
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — 
He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional, — and, ransacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn. 
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. 

Old Play. 



/, 



(9.) — Chap, xxxii. 
I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 
'WTiich, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power 
To stem tlie powerful current — Even so, 
Resolving daily to forsake my vices. 
Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation. 
Sweep me to sea again. — heavenly breath, 
Fill thou my saHs, and aid the feeble vessel. 
Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without / 
theel 

'Tis Odds when Evens meet. 

y (10.) — Chap. xxxm. 

Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom. 
And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure, 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spir- 
its.— 
So, when famed Prosper doff 'd his magic robe. 
It was Miranda pluck'd it from his shoulders. 

Old Play. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxrv. 
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, 
Tlie fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; 
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. — 

1 Written after a week's flhooting and fishing, in which the 
;toet had been engaged with some friends. The reader may see 
(hese veises set to music in Mr. Thonfson's Scottish Melodies 
Sir 1821!. 

'* Fee the famous salmon-spearing scene in Guy Mannering. — 
IfaverUy JVovels, vol. ni. p. 259-63. 



The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown, 
And true men have some chance to gain their own 
Captivity, a Poem 

(12.) — Chap, xxxvn. 
Over the mountains and under the wavesj 
Over the fountams and nnder tlie graves. 
Over floods that are deepest. 

Which Neptime obey. 
Over rocks that ai'e steepest. 
Love will find out' the way. 

Old Son^. 



®n fBttrfcft forest's iBountafns Bun ' 



1822. 



On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun. 
And seek the heath-frequenting brood 
Far through the noon-day solitude : 
By many a cairn and trenched mound, 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and soimd. 
And springs, where gray-hair'd shepherds tell, 
That still the fairies love to dweU. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed, 
'Tis bUthe the mimic fly to lead. 
When to the hook the salmon springs^ 
And the line whistles through the rings; 
The boiling eddy see him try, , 
Then dashing from the current high. 
Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

'Tis bhthe along the midnight tide. 
With stalwart arm the bci<it to guide ; 
On high the dazzUng blaze to rear. 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear ; 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, 
FUng on the stream their ruddy light, 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genii, arm'd with fiery spears.* 

'Tis bhthe at eve to teU the tals. 
How we succeed, and how we fail. 
Whether at Alwyn's' lordly meal. 
Or lowlier board of Ashcstiel ;' 

3 Mwyn. the seat of the Lord Somerville ; now, alas t a» 
tenanted, by the lamented death of that kind and hospitabk 
nobleman, the author's nearest neighbor and intinm'.« friaM^ 
Lord S. died in February, 1819. 

< Ashestiel. the poet's residence at that time. 



702 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 


Wliile the gay taper3 cheerly shine, 


acje m^iti of Esla. 


Bickers the fire, and flows the wine — 




Days free from thought, and nights from care, 


Air—" T!ie Maid of Jsla." 


My blessing on the Forest fair ! 


WBHTEN FOK MB. GEORGE THOMSON'S SCOTTISa 




MELODIES. 


ffarctoell to ti)c JHusc' 


1822. 






Oh, Maid of Isla, fi-om the cliff. 


1822. 


That looks on troubled wave and sky, 
Dost thou not see yon httle skiff 




Contend with ocean gallantly ? 


EscHANTKESs, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, 


Now beating 'gainst the breeze and sm'ge, 


At the close of the evening through woodlands 


And steep'd her leeward deck in foam. 


to roam. 


Why does she war unequal urge ? — 


Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 


Oh, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. 


Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for 


•■ 


home. 


Oh, Isla's maid, yon sea-bh-d mark, [spray 


Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild 


Her white wing gleams through mist and 


speaking 


Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark. 


The language alternate of rapture and woe : 


As to the rock she wheels away ;— 


Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are 


Where clouds are dark and billows rave. 


breaking, 


Wliy to the shelter should she come 


The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 


Of cUff, exposed to wind and wave ? — 




Oh, maid of Isla, 'tis her home 1 


Each joy thou couldst double, and when there 




came sorrow. 


As breeze and tide to yonder skiff. 


Or pale disappointment to darken my way. 


Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, 


What voice was like thhie, that could sing of to- 


And cold as is yon wintry cliff, 


morrow. 


Where sea-birds close then wearied wing. 


TUl forgot in the strain was the grief of to- 


Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave. 


day ! 


StiJl, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; 


But when friends drop around us in life's weary 


For in thy love, or in his grave. 


waning, 


Must Allan Vourich find his home. 


The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not 




assuage ; 




Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet re- 




maining. 
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 


fflatU, note tije Jiina's comB.' 




BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING. 


"Twas thou that once taught me, in accents be- 






wailing, 
To sing liow a warrior lay stretch'd on the 


1822. 




plain. 


The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 


And a raaiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, 


The North for ance has bang'd the South ; 


Aii4 held to his Ups the cold goblet in vain ; 


The deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth, 


Ajd vain thy enchantments, Queen of wild Num- 


Carle, now the King's come ' 


bers, , 




Tj a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, 


CHOEUS. 


<Lnd the quick pulse of feeUng in apathy slirai- 


Carle, now the King's come 1 


bers — 


Carle, now the King's come I 


Farewell, then. Enchantress ! I meet thee no 


Thou sh.alt dance, and I will sing 


more I 


Carle, now the King's come I 


i Written, during illness, for Mr. Thomson's Scottish Col- 


a This imitation of an old Jacobite ditty was writter 'ifl tn« 


ection, antl first published in 1822, united to an air composed 


appearance, in the Frith of Forth, of the tleet which err teyeo 


>y George KlnJoch of Kinloch, Esq. 


his Majesty King George the Fourth to Scotland, in 7*.ajust 




1822 ; and was published a^ a broadside. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



708 



AvJd England held him lang and fast ; 
And Ireliuid had a joyfu' cast ; 
But Scotland's turn is come at last — 
Carle, uow the King's come 1 

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay gray, 
Thought never to have seen the day ; 
Ho'e been a weaiy time away — 

But, Caile, now the King's come 

She's skirling frae the Castle-liill ; 
The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill, 
Te'll hear her at the Uanon-miU — 

Carle, now the King's come I 

" Up bairns !" she cries, " baith grit and sma', 
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw I 
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with yom' knights and squires. 
And match the mettle of your sires — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" You're welcome hame, my Montagu ! 
Bring in j'our hand the young Buccleuch ; 
I'm missing some that I may rue — 

Carle, now the King's come !' 

" Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, 
You've graced my causeway mony a day ; 
I'll weep the cause if you should stay — 
Carle, now the King's come !' 

"Come, premier Duke,' and carry doun 
Frae yonder craig* his ancient croun ; 
It's had a lang sleep and a soun' — 

But, Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, Athole, from the hill and wood. 
Bring down your clansmen like a clud ; 
Come, Morton, show the Dougl.os' blood, — ' 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Come, Tweoddale, true as sword to sheath , 
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death ; 



- ij<n Ja ntaga. ancle anj guardian to the young Duke of 
fcoccleuch, |ilaeed his Grace's residence of Dalkeith at hid Ma- 
aety's <lispo.=aI during Ids visit to Scotland, 

= Charle., the tenth Earl of Haddington, died in 1828. 

' The Lakt : :' H imiltOD. as Earl of Angus, carried the an- 
Ment royal crown of Scotland on horseback in King George's 
■rocession, from Ilolyrood to the Castle, 

' The Ca<tlc. 

* MS. — " Come, Athole, from yonr hills and woods, 

B»ing lown your Ilielandinen in clnds, 
With bnnnet, brogne, and tartan duds." 

• Sir George Clerk of Pennycuik, Bart. The Baron of Pen- 
Vctiik ie bound by his tenure, whenever the King comes to 



Come, Clerk,' and give your bugle breath ; 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids -, 
Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades ; 
Breadalbane, bring yoiu- belted plaids ; 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, stately Niddrie, anld and true. 
Girt with the sword that Minden knew 
We have 5'er few such lairds as you — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" King Arthur's grown a common crier 
He's "heard in Fife and far Cantire, — 
' Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire 1' ' 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Saint Abb roars out, ' I see hira pasa, 
Between Tantallon and the Bass I' 
Calton, get out your keeking-glass — 

Carle, now the King's come !" 

The Cai'liiie stopp'd ; and, sure I am. 
For very glee had ta'cn a dwam. 
But Oman" help'd her to a dram. — - 

Cogie, now the King's come I 

Cogie, now the King's come 1 
Cogie, now the King's come ! 
Tse be fou' and ye's be toom," 
Cogie, now the King's come 1 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COMK 



PART SECOND. 



A Hawick gill of motmtain dew, 
Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I frow. 
It minded her of Waterloo — 

Carle, now the King's come 

Again I heard her summons swell. 
For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 

• 
Edinburgh, to receive him at the Harestone (in which tht 
standard of James IV. was erected when his army encampet 
on the Boroughmuir, before his fatal expedition to England), 
DOW built into the park-wall at the end of Tipperiin Lonfr, 
near the Boroughmuir-head ; and, standing thereon, to glfv 
three blasts on a horn. 
' MS. — " Brave Arthur's Seat'g a story higher : 
Saint Abbe is shouting to Kintire, — 
' You lion, light up a crest of fire.' " 
As seen from the west, the ridge of Arthur's .Seal fjevt > 
marked resemblance to a lion couchant. 
^ Mr. Oman, lan'i^rd '"f the Waterloo Hotel 
5 Empty. 



704 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



It dro-wTi*d St: Giles's jowing bell — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" My trusty Provost, tried and tight, 
Stand forward for the Good Town's right, 
There's waur than you been made a knight — * 
'^arle, uow the King's come I 

"My reverend Clergy, look j^e say 
Thft best of thanksgivings ye ha'e. 
And ■^arstle for a sunny day — • 

Cai'le, now the King's com6 1 

" My Doctors, look that you agree, 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, dinua pike a plea — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, 
That dints on wood or clanks on airn, 
That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
Carle, now the Kings come ! 

" Come forward with the Blanket Blue,' 
Tour sires were loyal men and true. 
As Scotland's foemen oft might rue — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

f 

"Scots dowua loup, and riu, and rave, 

We're steady folks and something grave, 
We'll keep the causeway firm and brave — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

** Sir Thomas,^ thunder from your rock,* 
Till Pentlaud dinnles wi' the sh(^ck, 

1 The Lord Provost had the agreeable sarprise to hear his 
jealth proposed, at the civic banquet given to George IV. in 
'.he Parliiimeiit-House, as " Sir William Arbuthnot, Bart." 

3 The Blue Blanket is the standard of the incorporated trades 
jf Edinburgh, and is kept by their convener, " at whose ap- 
pearance therewith," observes Maitland, '■ 'tis said, that not 
>oIy the artificers of Edinburgh are obliged to repair to it, but 
all the artificers or craftsmen within Scotland are bound to fol- 
owii, and fight under the convener of Edinburgh as aforesaid." 
Accordnig to an old tradition, this standard was used in the 
Holy Wars by a body of crusading citizens of Edinburgh, and 
was the first tliat was planted on the walls of Jerusalem, when 
(ha.t oity was stormed by the Christian army under the famous 

lodfrey. But the real history of it seems to be this : — James 
If - « onnce vilio had virtues whicli the rude age in which he 
-?d could not appreciate, having been detainee! for nine 
nonUi^ in the Castle of Edinburgh by his factious nobles, was 
nr^iTC'l by the citizens of Edinburgh, who assaulted the castle 
4nd took it by surprise ; on which occasion James presented 
Ihe citizens with this banner, "with a po*ver to dispiay the 
lame H\ d._'fence of their king, country, and their own rights.'* 
--Mote to this stanza in the " Account of the King^s Visit,** 
fee, 8vo. ISii-I. 

Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in 
See! land. 

4 Edinbnrgh Castle. 

5 Lord Melville was colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry 
Cavalry ; Sir John Hope of rinkie, Bart., Major; and Robert 



And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Melville, bring out your bands of bluo 
A' Louden lads, baith stout and true, 
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockbiu-n, too— 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise. 
Rank out — rank out — my gallant Grays — ■* 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra'. 
Where are you with the Forty -twa V 
Ah ! wae's my heart tliat ye're awa' — ■ 
Carle, now the Kings come I 

" But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With durk and pistols at their belts, 
Thank God. we've still some plaids and kilts- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell ! 
Macdonnell's* ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell — 
Carle, uow the King's come I 

" Bend up your bow, each Archer spark, 
For you're to guard him light and dark; 
Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Young Errol,^ take the sword of state, 
The sceptre, Panie-Mor arch ate ;" 

Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in the same 
corps, to which Sir Walter Scott had formerly belonged. 

^ The Scots Grays, headed by their gallant coJonel. General 
Sir James Stewart of Coltness, Bart., were on duty at Edin- 
burgh during the King's visit. Bonaparte's exclamation a* 
Waterloo is well known: " Ces beaux chevaus gris, comm« 
%s travaillent !" 

' Marquis of Huntly, who since became the last Duke of 
Gordon, was colonel of the 42d Regiment, and died in 1S36. 

e Colonel Ronaldson Macdonell of Glengarry — who died in 
January, 1828. 

« The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord High-Constable ol 
Scotland. 

10 In more correct Gaelic orthography. Banamhorar-Chai 
or the Great Lady (literally Female Lard of the Chittte) ; the 
Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. " Evin unto thil 
day, the countrey of Sutherland is yet called Cattey, the in- 
habitants Catteigh, and the Earl of Sutherland Morweir Cai 
tey, in old Scottish or Irish ; which bnguage the inhabitantt 
of this countrey doe still use." — Goroos's Ocncahtrrical His- 
tory of the Earls of Sutherland, p. 18. It was determined 
by his Majesty, that the right of carrying the sceptre lay with 
this noble family ; and Lord Francis Leveson Guwer (now 
Egerton), second son of the Countess (aftefwards Duchess) ol 
Sutheriand, was permitted to act as deputy for his mother io 
that honorable office. After obtaining his Majesty's nerrait 
sion to depart for Dunrobin Castle, his place was supplied by 
the Honorable John M. Staart, second son of the Earl of Mo 
ray -Ed. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



lor. 



Knight Mareschal,' see ye clear the gate — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

' Kind cummer, Lcith, ye've been mis-set. 
But dinna be upon the fret — 
iTe'se hae the handsel of him yet, 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" My daughters, come with een sae blue. 
Your gai'lands weave, your blossoms strew ; 
He ne'er saw fiurer flowers vhan you — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" What shall we do for the propine — 
tVe used to offer something fine. 
But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

* Deil care — for that Fse never start. 
We'll welcome him with Highland heart ; 
Whate'er we have he's get a part — ' 

Cai'le, now the King's come ! 

* I'll show him mason-work this day — 
N^ane of your bricks of Babel clay, 

But towers shall stand till Time's away — 
Carle, now tlie King's come ! 

** m show him wit, I'll show liim lair. 
And gallant lads and lasses fair, 
And what wad kind heart wish for mair ? — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

* Step out, Sir John," of projects rife. 
Come win the the tlianks of an auld wife. 
And bring him health and length of life — 

Carle, now the Kinjj's come !" 



ifioiii tl)e lovtnnts of Nigel. 



1822. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. i. 
Now Scot and English are agreed, 
And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, 
Where, such the splendors that attend him. 
His very mother scarce had ken'd him 

1 The Acthor'a friend and relation, the late Sir Alexander 
Keith, of Dunoltar and Ravelstone. 

* MS. — " Rise up. Sir John, of projects rife, 

And WQss him health and length of life, 
And win the tliaoks of an anld wife." 



His metamorphosis behold. 
From Glasgow freeze to cloth of gold ; 
His back-sword with the iron-hilt, 
To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt ; 
Was ever seen a gallant braver I 
Hia very bonnet's grown a beaver. 

T/if Rrfor/^uz'-im. 

(2.)— Chap. n. 
This, sir, is one among the Seignory, 
Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealtli 
And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly 
Lies in a tlu'iftless sort of charity, 
That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects, 
Which wise men will not see wlien thrust upou 
them. T/ie Old Couple. 

(8.) — Chap. rv. 
Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in't, 
As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, 
In's grogram stiit, gold chtun, and well-black'il 

shoes. 
Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain 
Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather, 
Dr seethes within the statesman's velvet nightcap. 
Read me my Riddle 

(4.)— Chap. v. 
Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; 
There are silks and jewels gUstening, 
Prattling fools and wise men Mstening, 
Bullies among brave men justhng, 
Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; 
Low-breath'd talkers, minion lispera, 
Cutting honest throats by whispers ; 
Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 

Skelton Skeltonizeth. 

(5.) — Chap. vt. 

0, I dii know him — 'tis the mouldy lemyn 
Which our court wits will wet tlieir lips withai, 
T^en they would sauce their honeyed convors* 

tion 
With somewhat sharper flavor. — Marry, sir. 
That virtue's wellnigh left him — all the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out , 
Wliile the poor rind, althouf^h as sour as ever, 
Must season soon the draff we give otir gnmters, 
For two-lcgg'd things are wgary on't. 

The Chamberlain — A Comedy. 

The Right Honorable Sir John Sinclair, Bart., anthorof " Th« 
Code of Health and Longevity,'* &c. &c., — the well-known 
patron and projector of national and patriotic plana and im 
proveraenti innumerable, died 2Ist December, 1835, in hia 
eighty-second year. — Ed 



109 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



(6.) — Chap. vu. 
Things needful we have thought on ; but the thing 
Of all most needful — that wliich Scripture terms, 
As if alone it merited regard. 
The ONE tiling needful — that's yet unconsider'd. 
The Cliambcrlain. 

(7.) — Chap. vni. 
Ah 1 mark the matron well — and laugh not, Harry, 
At her old stueple-hat and velvet guard — 
I've call'd her Mke the ear of Dionysius ; 
I mean that ear-form'd vault, built o'er the dun- 
geon. 
To catch the groans and discontented murram-3 
Of his poor bondsmen. — Even so doth Martha 
Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes, 
Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city — 
She can retail it too, if that her profit 
Shall call on her to do so ; and retaU it 
For your advantage, so that you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 

The Conspiracy. 

(8.)— Chap. x. 

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 
Of yonder dancing cubs of mottled bone ; 
And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot, 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimm'd wine-cup. 
These are tJie arts, Lothario, which shrink acres 
Into brief yards — bring sterling pounds to far- 
things. 
Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. 
Who might have lived an honor'd, easy life, 
To ruin, and an unregarded grave. 



Tlie Changes 



(9.) — Chap. xu. 
■ This is the very 'oarn-y.ard, 



Where mustei daily the prime cocks o' the game. 
Ruffle theu" pinions, crow till they are hoarse, 
And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, chickens 
The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly, 
Leani first to rear the crest, and aim the spur. 
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer. 
llie Bear Garden. 

(10.) — Chap. xin. 
Let the proud salmon gorge the feather'd hook, 
Tlien strike, and then you have him. — He will 

wince ; 
Spin out your hne that it shall whistle from you 
faome twenty yai'ds or so, yet you shall have him— - 
MaiTy 1 you must have patience — the stout rock 
Which is his trust, hath edges something slmrji ; 
And the deep pool hath oozo and sludge enough 
To mar your fishing — 'less you are more careful. 
Albion, or the Double Kings. 



(11.) — Chap. xvi. 
Give way — give way — I must and will havejostiOQ 
And tell me not of privilege and place ; 
Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 
Look to it, every one who bars my access ; 
I have a heart to feel the injury, 
A hand to right myself, and, by my honor, 
That hand shall grasp what gray-beard Law deniei 
me. The Chamberlain. 

(12.) — Chap. xvn. 
Come hither, young one — Mark me ! Thou art now 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that Uve by reputation 
More than by constant income — Single-suited 
They are, I grant you ; yet each smgle suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand follow- 
ers — 
And they be men, who, hazarding their all, 
Needful apparel, necessary income. 
And liumaD body, and immortal soul. 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that all bound in reversion ; 
Clotlies to the broker, income to the usurer, — 
And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend; 
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes, 
Play better than liimself his game on earth. 
I The Mohocks. 

(13.) — Chap. xvui. 
Mother. What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid'i 
mirror. 
With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont. 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passengers- 
Then laughs to see them stum'ole ! 

Daughter. Motlier ! no — - 
It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me. 
And never shall these eyes see true again. 

Beef aiid Pudding — An Old English Comedy. 

(14.) — Chap. xix. 
By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! 
This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier, 
To bind Ms wounds, and kiss liis bloody brow. 
And sing a roundel as she help'd to arm him, 
Though the rough foeman's drums were beat so nigh, 
They seem'd to bear the burden. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Caj.p. XX. 
Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus. 
Since the ark rested on Mount Ai'arat. 
False man hath sworn, .-uid woman hath believed — 
Repented and reproach'd, and then believed once 
more. Tlie New World. 

(16.) — Chap, xxl 
Rove not from pole to pole — the man lives here 
Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer , 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



701 



And where in eitlier sense, the cockney-put 
May, if he pleases, get confounded ctit. 

On the Sign of an Alehouse kepi by a £ar^. 

(17.) — Chap. xxn. 
Chance will not do the work — Chance sends the 

breeze ; 
But if the pilot slumber at the helm. 
The very wind that wafts us towards the port 
Un) dash us on the shelves.U-The steersman's part 

is Tigilance, 
Blow it or rough or smooth. 

, Old Play. 

(18.)^CnAP. xxiT, 
lliis is the time — HeuTeu's maiden-sentinel 
Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser spangles 
Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 
And the short lever — bid Anthony 
Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; 
And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, 
For we will in and do it — darkness like this 
Is dawning of oiu- fortunes. 

Old Play. 

(19.) — Chap. xxv. 
Death finds us 'mid our playthings — snatches us. 
As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, 
From all our toys aud baubles. His rough call 
Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; 
And well if they are such as may be an-swer'd 
In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. 

Old Play.. 

(20.)— Ciup. XXVI. 
Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun not 
Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; 
Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 
With voice of flute and horn — we do but seek 
On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom 
To glide in silent safety. 

r/t« Double Bridal. 

(21.) — Chap. xxvn. 
This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; 
Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 
Most welcome danger then — Nay, let me say. 
Though spoke with swelling heart — welcome e'en 

shame ; 
And welcome punishment — for, call me guilty, 
I do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; 
And call me guiltless, theu that punishment 
Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. 

The Tribunal. 

(22.)— Chap. xxix. j 

How fares the man on whom good men would look ! 
With eyes where scorn and ctfosure combated, j 



But that kind Christian love hath taught the lee 

sou — 
That they who merit most contempt and hate. 
Do most deserve our pity Old Play. 

(2").)— Chap, x^ . 
' Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood I 
Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blu« 

doublet, 
That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn 
[ From the far source of old Assyri;m kings, 
[ Who fii'st made mankind subject to their sway. 

Old Pla^ 

. (24.) — Chap. xxxv. 

We are not worse at once — the course of evil 
Begins so slowly, aud from such shght source. 
An iufant's hand might stem its breach with clay 
But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy- 
Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vain 
To tm-n the headlong torrent. 

Old Ptam\ ) 



Jfrom |]ccml of tl)c |!]eaK. 



1S23. 



MOTTOES. 
(1.)— Chap. ii. 
Why then, we will have bellowing of beevee, 
Broacliiug of barrels, brandishing of spigots • 
Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore ^ 
Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry, 
Join'd to the brjive hearfs-blood of John-a- Barley 
corn ! Old Play. 

(2.) — Chap. iv. 
No, sir, — I will not pledge — I'm one of those 
Who tliink good wine needs neither bush nor preface 
To make it welcome. If you doubt my word. 
Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on't. 

Old Play. 

(3.) — Chap. vi. 
Tou ^hall have no worse prison than my chamber 
Nor jailer than myself 

The Captain 

(4.) — Chap. xvi. 

Ascasto. Can she not speak ? 

Oswald. If speech be only in accented sounds. 
Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden's dumb 
But if by quick and apprehensive look. 
By motion, sign, and glance, to give e.-ich meaning 



i"08 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Express as dothed in lan^age, be term'd speech, 

j She batli that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, 

Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, 
I rhough it be mute and soundless. 
I Old Play. 

(5.) — Chap. xvn. 
ITiis is a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 
I ind the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. 
! rhere's more hath pass'd between them than be- 



Old Play. 



\ To Love's sweet sorrows. 



(6.) — Chap. xtx. 
Now, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails 
Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind, 
Like lass that woos a lover. 

Anonymous. 

(7.) — Chap, xxil 
He was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; 
Yet one could censure you a woodcock's carving, 
fiike any courtier at the ordinary. 

The Ordinary. 



(8.)— Chap. 
We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, 
VVTiich ghde and sigh, and sign, and move tlieir Ups, 
But make no somid ; or, if tliey utter voice, 
Tis but a low and undistinguish'd moaning. 
Which has nor word nor sense of utter'd sound. 

Tfi£ Chieftain. 

(9.) — Chap. xxv. 
/(The course of human life is changeful still 
-As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 
Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze 

weaves 
A-midst the faded race of fallen leaves ; 
Wliich now its breath bears down, now tosses high. 
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
j Such, and so varied, the precarious play 
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day I 

Anonymous. 

(10.) — Chap, xxvl 
i tfeccssity — thou best of peacemakers, 

A.a well as surest prompter of invention — . 
Help us to composition I 

Anonytnous. 

(11.) — Chap. xxvn. 

This is some creature of the elements 

(ilost like your sea-gull.' He can wheel and whistle 
Hl» screaming song, e'en when the storm is loud- 
est — 
Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam 



Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm. 
And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a guU, 
An arrant gull, with all this. 

The Chieftain. 

(12.) — Chap. xxxi. 
I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock. 
Or, in the lack of them, old Calvm's cloak, 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonytnous. 

(13.) — Chap. xxxm. 
'Tis the black ban-dog of our jail — Pray look on hin^ 
But at a wary distance — rouse him not — 
He bays not tiLl he worries. 

The Black Dog of Newgate. 

(14.) — Chap, xxxvm. 
" Speak not of niceness, when there's chance oi 

wreck," 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dying dolpliin flap the deck: -<, 

" If we go down, on us tliese gentry sup ; 
We dine upon them, if we haul them up. 
Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters. 
As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat th« 

cheaters." 

The Sea Voyage. 

(15.) — Chap. xl. 

Contentions fierce. 

Ardent, and du-e, spring from no petty cause. 

Albion. 

(16.) — Chap. xini. 
He came amongst tliem like a new-raised spirit, 
To speak of dreadful judgments that impend. 
And of the wrath to come. 

Tlie Reformer. 

(17.) — Chap. xliv. 
And some for safety took the dreadful leap ; 
Some for the voice of Heaven seem'd calling on 

them ; 
Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake — 
I leap'd in frolic. 

T}ie Bream. 

(18.) — Chap. xlv. 
High feasting was there there — the gilded roofs 
Rung to the wassaU-health — the dancer's step 
Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay gamestei 
To fate's disposal flung liie heap of gold. 
And laugh'd alike when it increased or lessen'd : 
Such virtue hath court-au- to teach us patience 
Which schoolmen preach in vain. 

Why come ye not to Cowrt t • 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



fOtt 



(19.) — Chap. xivi. 
Here stand I tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, tlioiigh little of limb; 
He who denieth tlie word I have spoken, 
Betwixt him and me shuU lances be broken. 

Lay of the Little John de Saintri. 



Jfront (®uenfm JDurtuariJ. 



1823. 



(1.)— SONG— COUNTY GUT. 

Ah I County Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thiill'd all day, 

Sits hush'd his piu-tuer nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, 

But where is County Guy ? 

The Tillage maid steals through the shade. 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high. 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above, 

Now reigns o'er earth and skv ; 
Ajid high and low the infl-.ence know — 

But where is County Guy ? 

Chap. iv. 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. xi. 
Painters show Cupid bUnd — Hath Hymen eyes ! 
Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles 
Which parfrnts, guardians, and advisers, lend him, 
That he may look through them on lands and man 

sions, 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich donations, 
And see their value ten times magnified ! — 
Uethinks 'twill brook a question. 

The Miseries of Enforced Marriage, 

(2.)— Chap. xn. 
This is a lecturer so skill'd in policy, 
rhat (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) 
He well might read a lesson to the devU, 
And toach the old seducer new temptations. 

Old Play. 



(3.)— Chap. ,\iv. 
I see thee yet, fiiir France — thou favor'd land 
Of art and nature — thou art still before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport. 
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laiigliing oj"* 
And glossy raven-locks. But, favor'd France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell. 
In ancient times as now. 

Anonymoui. 

(4.) — Chap. xv. 
He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 
And one descended from those dread magicians, 
'Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt ip 

Goshen, 
'With Israel .ind her Prophet — matching rod 
With his the sons of Levi's — and encountering 
Jehovali's miracles with incantations. 
Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, 
And those proud s.iges wept for their first-boriL 
As wept the unletter'd peasant. 

Anonymoiti 

(6.) — Chap. aaiv. 
Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive 
Deal with me what your nobleness suggests — 
Tliinking the chance of wiu' m.iy one day place 

you 
Where I must now be reckon'd — i' the rol' 
Of melancholy prisoners. 

Anonymmis 

(5.)— Chap. xxt. 
'No human quality is so well wove 
In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it; ^ 
I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, 
A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy 
Had well m'gh been ashamed on't. For youi 

crafty. 
Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest. 
Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caugbi 
in them. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap. xxvi. 
When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunctiiin, full of boding. 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 

Old Play. 

(8.) — Chap. xxix. 
Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou serves' 
Has not as yet deserted thee. He ■•lids 
The friends who drudge for him, as the blind ma»' 
Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he rcach'd the brinlt 
Of the fell precipice — then hurl'd liim downward 

OldPUv. 



710 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


(9.)— Chap. xxx. 


■ ■ 

(5.) — Chap. xxni. 


Or-jr counsels waver like the unsteady bark, 


Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant, 


That reels amid the strife of meeting cuirents. 


The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake yom 


Old Play. 


purpose ; 




For here I bring in hand a joUy suitor 


(10.)— Chap. xxxi. 


Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences ' 


Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle 


That ladies love best — He is young and noble, 


maiden, 


Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and liberal 


Keep you yoiu- promise plight — leave age its sub- 


Tlie Nun. 


tleties. 




And gray-hair'd policy its maze of falsehood ; 


(6.) — Chap, yxtti. 


But be you candid as the morning sky. 


It comes — if iTuigs me in my parting hour, 


Ere the high sun sucks vapors up to stain it. 


The long-hid crime — the well-disguised guilt. 


The Trial. 


Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre 1 




OldFla;, 




(7.) — Chap. xxxv. 


JTrom 0t. Honan'a 111 ell. 








StiU though the headlong cavalier. 




O'er rough and smootli, in wild career, 


1823. 


Seems racing with the wind ; 




His sad companion — gliastly pale. 


MOTTOES. 


And darksome as a widow's veil, 




Caee — keeps her seat behind. 


j (1.)— Chap, u.— The Goest. 


Ho'/ace. 


1 Quia novus hie hospes ? 




I J)ido apiid Virgilium. 


(8.) — Chap, xxxviil 


I -* "^ 


What sheeted gho.°t is wsmdermg through thi 


Ch'm-maid ! — The German in the front parlor I 


storm ? 


Boots's free Translation oft/ieEneid. 


For never did a maid of middle earth 




Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows. 


(2.)— Chap. in. 


Old Play. 


There must be government in all society — 




Pees have theii- Queen, and stag herds have their 


(9.) — Chap, xxxix. 


leader ; 


Here come we to our close — for that which followB 


Rome had her Consuls, Athens' had her Archons, 


Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 


And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 


Steep crags and headlong lins may court tho pencL 


Tfie Album of St. Romans. 


Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adven 




tures ; 


(3.) — Chap. x. 


But who would paint the duU and fog-wrapt moor 


Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; 


In its long tract of sterile desolation ? 


I Thou art of those, who better help their friends 


Old Play. 


With sage advice, than usm-ers with gold. 

Or brawlers with theu- ewords — I'll trust to thee, 






For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 




JTie Devil hath met his Match. 


Slie aSannatsne €' ub.' 


(4.)— Chap. xi. 
Nearest of blood should still be next in love ; 




1823. 


And when I see these happy clnldren playmg. 




While William gathers flowers for EUen's ringlets, 


I. 


And EUen di-essea flies for William's angle, 
I scarce can tliink, that in advancing life. 


Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, 


Coldness, uukincbess, interest, or suspicion. 


To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, 


Will e'er divide that unity so sacred, 


1 Sir Walter Scott was the first President of the Cloo, au 


Which Nature bound at birth. 


wrote these verse" for tlie anniversary dinner of Itfarob, 18S3 


Anonymous. 


— See Life, vol. vii. p. 137. 



LYEICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



711 



W)io left euch a treasure of did Scottish lore 
&B ei.ablcs each age to print one volume more. 
One Tolume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
We'll ransack old Bannj' for one volume 
more. 

II. 

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean 
From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen ; 
Two Uttle light volumes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volume more. 
One volmne more, &c. 

III. 
His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a 

bore, 
So this accurate age caUs for one volume more. 
One volume more, Ac. 

iV. 

Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, 
And weigh'd every letter in critical scales, . 
But left out some brief words, which the prudish 

abhor. 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 

One volume more, iny friends, one volume 

more, 
We'll restore Banny's manhood m one volume 
more. 



John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd 
I can't call that worthy so candid as learn'd ; 
He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the clay- 
more, 
And set Scots by the eai's in his one volume 
more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one vol- 
ume more. 

1 In accordance with his own regimen, Mr. Ritson published 
1 volume cntilled, *' An Essay on Abstinence from Animal 
t Kjd as a M jral Duty. 1803." 

3 See an ai count of the Metrical Antiquarian Researches of 
piikerton. RiLsou. and Herd, &c. in the Introdaclory Remarlu 
•n Popular Poetry, ante, p. 544, et tteq. 

3 James Sibhald. editor of Scottish Poetry, &c. "The 
Ifeditur," was the name given him hy the late Lord Eldin, 
fchen Mr. John Clerk, advocate. The description of him here 
b very accurate. 

* David Herd, editor of Son*o and Historical Ballmds. 2 
trols. He was called Greysteel by his intimates, from having 
bean long in unsocces6ful quest of the romance of that 
jame. 

a This club was instituted in the year 1822. for the publication 
or ronrint of rare and curious works connected with the history 



VI. 

As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a zazor. 
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar,' 
His diet too acid, his temper too sour, 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. 
But one volume, my friends, one volume more 
We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volume 
more. 

VII. 
The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,' 
With liis beard hke a brush and as black as a coal 
And honest Greysteel* that was true to the core, 
Lent their hearts and then' hands each to one vol- 



imie more. 



One volume more, Ac. 



vin. 

Since by these sifegle champions what wonders 

were done, 
What may not be achieved by our Tliirty and One ! 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, 
An(J the Trade and the Press join for one volume 

more. 

One volimne more, &c. 



IX. 



, I asnij^.^ 



Ancient libels and contraband books, 1 a3SSK.ye, 
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury; 
Then hear your Committee and let tliem count o'er 
The Cliiels they Intend in their three volumes more. 
Three vohmie.i more, <to. 

X. 

They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and 

Soxt, 
And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops come 

next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your store, 
Resolving next year to print four volumes more. 
Four volumes more, my frii;;> Is, four volume*. 

more ; 
Pay down your subscription- for four volumes 
more.' 

and antiquities of Scotland. It consisted, at first, of a very Wvt 
members, — .gradually extended to one hundred, at which nuiil 
ber it has now made a final pause. They assume the name o* 
the Baniialyne Club from George Bannatyne. oi whom little ii 
known bevond that prodigions elfort which produced his pre* 
ent honors, and is. perhaps, one of the most t«ngular instance! 
of its kind which the literature of any country exhibits. Hii 
labors as an amanuensis were undertaken during the time ot 
pestilence, in 15138. The dread of infection had induced him 
to retire into solitude, and under such circumstances he had 
the energy to form and execute the plan of saving the literatum 
of the whole nation : and, undisturbed by the general nioun 
ing for the dead, and general fears of the living, to (levot« 
himself to the task of collecting and recording the triunipha of 
human genius in the poetry of his age and country ; — thus, . 
amid tlie wreck of all that n-as mortal, employing hiquelf !■ 



712 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Co 3- ®. aocfeljart, ISsq. 

ON THE COMPOSITION OF MAIDa's EPITAPH. 



1824. 



*' Maids Marmorea dormis snb imagine Maida I 
Ad ianuam doniini sit tibi terra levis." 

See Z,i/e of Scotl, vol. vii. pp. 275-281. 

■ l^EAR John, — I some titne ago wrote to inform his 

Fat worsliip of jaces, misprinted for donnis ; 

But that several Southrons assured me the jantiam 

Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Priscian's cra- 
nium. 

You, perhaps, may observe that one Lionel Ber- 
guer, 

In defence of our blunder appears a stout arguer : 

But at length I have settled, I hope, all these 
clatters. 

By a rmct in the papers — fine place for such 
matters. 

I have, therefore, to make it for once my com- 
mand, nil. 

That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in 
my hand, sir, 

And by no means accomplish what James says 
you threaten, 

Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog- 
Latin, 

I have various reasons of weight, on my word, sir, 

For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, 
sir. — 

Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against your advising 

I adopted the lines this monstrosity Ues in;. 

For you modestly hinted my English translation 

Would become better far such a dignified station. 

Second — how, in God's name, would my bacon be 
saved. 



By not having writ what I clearly r.ngraved ! 

On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better 

To be wliipp'd as the thief, than his lousy re- 
setter. 

Thirdly — don't you perceive that I don't care a 
boddle 

Although fifty false metres were flung it my 
noddle. 

For my back is as broad and as hard as Benio 
mon's. 

And I treat as I please both the Greeks and . the 
Romans ; 

Whereas the said heathens might rather loot 
serious 

At a kick on their drum from the scribe of Va- 
lerius. 

And, fourthly and lastly — it is my good pleasure 

To remain the sole somce of that murderous 
measme. 

So stet pro ratione voluntas — be tractile. 

Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl ; 

If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our inter 
course: 

To-morrow will see me in town for the winter- 
course, 

But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, 

My own pye-house daughter's good prog to de- 
vom', sir. 

Ergo — peace ! — on your duty, your squeamishness 
throttle. 

And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny 
third bottle. 

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, 

A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys ; 

A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, and 
west, sir, 

Speates and raxes' ere five for a famishing guest, 



preserving the lays by which mortality is at once given to 
others, and obtained ti : the writer himself. He informs us of 
some of the numerous .lifficulties lie had to contend with in 
this self-imposed task. The volume containing his labors, 
deposited in the Library of the Faculty of Advocates at Edin- 
burgh, is no less than eight hundred pages in length, and ver? 
neatly and closely written, containing nearly all the ancient 
poetry of Scotland now known to exist. I 

This Caledonian association, which boasts several names of 
'jstii'ction, both from rank and talent, has assumed rather a 
broader tbundation than the parent society, the Roxburghe 
Club in London, which, in its plan, being restricted to the 
reprinting of single tracts, each executed at the expense of an 
individual member, it follows as almost a necessary conse- 
quence, that no volume of considerable size has emanated from 
It, and its range has been thus far limited in i)oint of utility. 
The Bannalyne, holding the same system with respect to the 
erdina-v species of club reprint*, levies, moreover, a fund 
among its members of about X500 a year, expressly to be 
applied "or the editing and printing of works of acknowledged 
importance, and likely to be attended with expense beyond 
the reasonable bounds of ao individual's contribution. In this 
vay el.her a member of the Club, or a competent person under 



its patronage, superintends a particular volume, or set of vcj- 
umes. U|)0n these occasions, a very moderate number of copies 
are thrown olT for general sale ; and those belonging to the 
Club are only distinguished from the others by being printed 
on the paper, and ornamented with the decorations, peculiar to 
the Society. In this way several useful and-eminently valua- 
ble works have recently been given to the public for the first 
time, or at least with a degree of accuracy and authenticity 
which they had never before attained. — jibridged from the 
(Quarterly Review — Art. Piteaim's Ancient Criminal Tri- 
als. February, 1831. 

1 There is an excellent story (but toi long for quotation) in the 
Memaireofthe Somervillcs (vol. i. p. 240) about an old Lord 
of that family, who, when he wished preparations to be made 
for high feasting at his Castle of Cowthally, used to send on a 
billet inscribed with this laconic phrase, " Speates and raies," 
i. e. spits and ranges. Upon one occasion. Lady Somerville 
(being newly married, and not yet skilled in her husband's 
hieroglyphics) read the mandates as spears and jacks, and 
sent forth 200 armed horsemen, whose appearance on the 
moors greatly alarmed Lord Somerville and his guest, who 
happened to be no less a person than King James III. — Se< 
Scott's Miscellaneous Prose, vol. xxii. p. 312. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



713 



^d as Fatsraan' and I have some topics for ha- 
ver, he'll 

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Pev- 
eril. 

Upon whom, to say nothing of Omy and Anne, 
you a 

Dog shall be deem'd if you fasten your Janua. 



JLtnea, 

<J)DBESSED TO MONSIEUE ALEXANDRE,' THE CELE- 
BRATED VENTEILOQUIST. 



1824. 



rc 



Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good 

To carry two visages under one hood ; 

What should folk say to t/ou ? who have faces such 

plaity. 
That from under one hood, you last night show'd 

as twenty ! 
Btand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, 
Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth ? 
Man, wotnim, or child — a dog or a mouse ? 
Or are you, at once, each hve thing in the house % 
Each live thing, did I ask ? — each dead implement, 

too, 
A work-shop in your person, — saw, chisel, and 

screw! 
Above all, are you one individual ? I know 
You must be at least Alexandre and Co. 
But I think you're a troop — an assemblage — a 

mob. 
And that I, as the Sheriff, should take np the 

job ; 
And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, 
Must read you the Riot-Act. and bid you dis- 
perse. 
Adbotsfobd, 23d a^tU? 

1 Fntsmnn was one of Mr. James Ballantyne's many aliases. 
Another (to wliiuh Constable mostly adhered) was Mr. " Bas- 
kj'.fiU" — an al\usion to the celebrated printer Baskerville. 

^ " IVhrn Movsicw AlerandrCt the celebrated ventrilo' 
f'^ist. was in Scotland, in 1824, he paid a visit to Abbots- 
ford, where he entertained his distinguished host, and the 
ather visitors, with his unrivalled imitations. J^ext morn- 
ing, when he was a'jcut to depart. Sir tValter felt a good 
deal emoarrassedas to the sort of aeknowledgment he should 
offer; but at length, resolving that it would probably be most 
agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid in professional 
■coin, if in any, he stepped aside for a few minutes, and on 
returning, presented him with this epigram. The reader 
need h.irdly he reminded that Sir tVatter Seott held the of- 
fice of Sheriff of the ci/unty of Selkirk.*^ — Scotch newspaper, 
IS30. 

The lines, v-ith thia date, appeared in the Edinborgh An- 

*J Register of 1834 
M 



IBpflogue 

TO THE DKAMA FOUNDED O.N " ST. RONAN (> WBLI 



1824. 



** After the play, the followinr/ humorous c/J'^resa 
{ascribed to an emitient literary character') wa9 
spoken with infinite effect hy Mr. Mackay in tJie 
character of Meg Dodds." — Edinburgh Weekly, 
Jcrurnaly 9th June, 1824. 

Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd of ■unruly 
boys, whmn a town's-officer is driving off. 

That's right, friend — drive the gaitlings back, 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 
Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy. 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 

Upon your causey. 

I've seen the day they would been scaur'n 
Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — * 
The Water-hole' was right weel wared 

On sic a gang. 

But whar's the gude Tolbooth' gane now 
Wh^fr's the auld Claught,' wi' red and blue f 
Whar's Jamie Laing ! and whar's John Doo ?* 

And whar's the Weigh-houso'* 
DeU hae't I see but what is new, 

Except the Playhouse ! 

YourseUs are changed frae head to heel, 
Tliere's some that gar the causeway reel 
With clashing hufe and rattUng wheel. 

And horses canterin', 
Wha's fathers daunder'd hame .as weel 

Wi' lass and lantern. 

^ James Laing was one of the Depute-Clerks of the city i 
Edinburgh, and in his official connection with the Police and 
the Council-Chamber, his name was a con.=tant terror toer'l 
doers. He died in February, 1806. 

5 The Watch-hole. 

8 The Tolbooth of Edinburgh, The Heart of Mid -Lothian, 
was pulled down in 1817. 

7 The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of thif 
body of police was finally disbanded in 1817. 

8 John Doo, or Dim — a terrific-looking and high-spirit«d 
member of the Town Guard, and of whom there is a print bf 
Kay, etched in 1784. 

9 Tne Weigh-Honse, situated at the head of the \Vest Bow 
Lawnjnarket, and which had long been looked upon as an en 
combrance to the street, was demolished in order to niake wa» 
for the royal procession to the Caatle, vhich took piece on Ih* 
22d of August, 1822. 



ru 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne, 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine. 

And eat clieap dinners ; 
But deil a soul gangs there to dine, 

Of saints or sinners I 

fortune's' and Hunter's' gane, alas 1 
And Bayle's' is lost in empty space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace, 

Or crack a bottle, 
They gang to a new-fangled place 

They ca' a Hottle. 

The deevil hottle them for Megl 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 
That if ye're served but wi' an egg 

(And that's puir pickin'). 
In comas a chiel and makes a leg, 

And charges chicken 1 

And wha may ye be," gin ye speer, 
" That brmgs your auld-warld clavers here 8" 
Troth, if there's onybody near 

That kens the roads, 
ru hand ye Burgundy to beer. 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you're in a hurry. 
Your patience I'll nae langer woiTy, 

But be sae crouse 
As speak a word for ane Will Murray,* 

That keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fashion'd tilings, in truth. 
And ye've seen wonders mair uncouth ; 
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, 

Or want of dramock, 
Although they 6pe.ik but wi' their mouth, 

Not with their stamock. 

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry ; 

And surely to hae stooden sentry 

Ower this big house (that's far frae rent-free). 

For a lone sister. 
Is claims as gude's to be a ventri — 

How'st ca'd — loquiste'" 

1 Fonone's Tavem — a house on the west side of the Old 
Stamp-otfice Close, High Street, and which was, in the early 
{>art of the last century, the mansion of the Earl of Eglintoun. 
—The Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of 
the day held his levees and dinners in this tavern. 

2 Hunter's — another once much-freqnented tavem, io Wri- 
ter's Court, Royal Exciiange. 

3 Bayle's Tavern and Coffeehouse, originally on the North 
Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, bit rer 
moved to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. Such was 
• he iig'iifie'i cliaract-'j of this house, that the waiter always 



Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care, 
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair ; 
For gin they do, she tells you fair. 

And without tailzie, 
As sure as ever ye .«it there. 

She'll tell the Bailie 



35 jp f 1 fl u c .' 



1824. 



The sages — for authority, pray look 

Seneca's morals, or the copy-book — 

The sages to disparage woman's power, 

Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ; — 

I cannot tell — I've small philosophy — 

Yet, if it iiides, it does not surely die. 

But, Uke the violet, when decayed in bloom, 

Survives through many a year in rich perfume. 

Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, 

A third wanes fast, since Mary fiU'd the throne. 

Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day, 

'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 

But when, wliile Scottish hearts and blood you 

boast, 
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost ? 
O'er Mary's mem'ry the learned quarrel, 
By Mary's grave the poet plauts his laurel. 
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name 
The constant burden of his fault'ring theme ; 
In each old hall liis gray-hair'd heralds teU 
Of Maiy's picture, and of Mary's cell. 
And sliow — my fingers tingle at the thought — 
The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen 

wrought. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower 
Of ev'ry ill that w.oits on rank and pow'r, 
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends. 
Spite of tliree wedlocks so completely cur.^it. 
They rose in HI from bad to worse, and worst, 
In spite of errors — I dare not say more. 
For Dtmt^an Targe lays hand on his claymore. 
In spite of aU, however, humors vary. 
There is a talisman in that word Mary, 

appeared in full dress, anL ricbidy was admitted who had not 
a white neckcloth — then car-sidered an indispwnsable insigniall 
of a gentleman 

* Mr. William Marray became manager of the Ildinborgb 
Theatre in 1815. 

6 " I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe II 
was never spoken, but written for some play, afterwards with- 
drawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddous was to have spoken it in tho 
character of Clueen Mary." — Extract from a Letter of Str 
IVafe- Scott to Mr. ConstaUe. Jfti October, 1824. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



71 



Tlat unto Scottish bosoms all and some 
Is fiiund the genuine opm sesamum I 
In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 
It charms alik» the castle and the hoTcl, 
E".c you^furgive me — who, demure and shy, 
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly, 
Must rise to this, else iu her ancient reign 
n e Roje of Scotland has survived in vain. 



from llcbgauntlct. 



1824. 



" It was but three nights ago, that, worn 

out by the uniformity of my confinement, I had 
manifested more symptoms of despondence than I 
had before exhibited, which I conceive may have 
attracted the attention of the domestics, through 
whom the circumstance might transpire. On the 
next morning, tlie following Unes lay on my table ; 
but how conveyed there, I cannot tell. The hand 
in which they are written is a beautiful Italian 
manuscript." — Dairsie Latimer's Journal, Chap. x. 

Aa lords theu' laborers' hire delay, 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come. 

Which, if far short of present pay, 
StUl owns a debt "and names a smn. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then. 
Although a distant date be given; 

Despair is treason towards man. 
And blasphemy to Heaven. 



Jrom ®l)c 33ctrotl)ci». 



1825. 



(1.)— SONG— SOLDIER, WAKE. 



SoiDiEE, wake— the day is peeping, 
Hjncr ne'er wai" won in sleeping. 
Never when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the liill: 
'Tis when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 



IL 

Arm and up — the morning beam 
Hath call'd the rustic to his team, 
Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake. 
Hath call'd the huntsman to tlic brake • 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. 
Shield, that would bo foeman's terror. 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

ILL 
Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain : 
Vainest of all the student's theme 
Ends, in some metaphysic di-eam : 
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd 
Since first the peep of d.awn has smiled , 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror I 
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror. 

Chap, xix 



(2.)— SONG— THE TRUTH OF WOMAN. 



Woman's faith, and woman's trust — ■ ' 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the running stream, 
Print them on the moon's pale beam. 
And each evanescent letter 
Shall be clearer, fii'mer, better. 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the tiling those letters mean. 

n. 

' I have strain'd the spider's thread . 
'Gainst the promise of a maid ; '\ 
I have weigh'd a grain of sand 
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand , 
I told my true-love of the token. 
How her faith proved hght, and her word w»i 

broken : 
Again her word and truth she plight, 
And I beUeved them again ere night. 

Chap. XX 



(3.)— SONG— I ASKED OF MT HARP. 

-"The minstrel took from his side a roU, 

I and striking, from time to time, a Welsh descant 



rie 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bung at others a lay, of -which we can offer oily a 


Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, 


few fragments, literally translated from the an- 


And owns thy melancholy sway. 


cient language in which they were chanted, pre- 


WdsJi Poem. 


mising that they are in that excursive symbolical 




style of poetry, wliich Taliessin, Llewarch, Hen, 


(2.) — Cinp. vu. 


tnd other bards, had derived perhaps from the 


0, sadly shines the morning sun 


time of the Druids." 


On leaguer'd castle wall. 




When bastion, tower, and battlement 


[ ask'd of my harp, " Who hath injured thy chords ?" 


Seem nodding to their fall. 


And she rephed, "The crooked finger, which I 


Old Ballad. 


mocked in my tune." 




A bLade of silver may be bended — a blade of steel 


(3.)— Chap. xn. ^ 
Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 


abide th — 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


And" ladies of England that happy would 




prove, 


The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips. 


Marry never for houses, nor marry for land. 


But they are long corroded by the juice of worm- 


Nor marry for nothing but only love. 


wood ; 


* Family Quarrels. 


Tne lamb is brought to the sliambles, but the wolf 




raiigeth the mountain; 


(4.) — Chap. xni. 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


1 Too much rest is rust. 




There's ever cheer in changing ; ' 


I ask'd the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd on the 


We tyne by too much trust, 


anvil. 


. So we'U be up and ranging. 


" Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire- 


Old Song. 


brand i" 




' I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in 


(5.) — Ch.\p. XVII. 


the pleasant gi-eenwood." 


Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


The blash upon her cheek has shamed the morning 




For that is diiwnlng palely. Grant, good saints. 


I ask'd the green oak of the assembly, wherefore 


These clouds betoken naught of evil omen ! 


its boughs were dry and sear'd like the 


Old Play. 


horns of the stag ; 




' nd it show'd me that a small worm had gnaw'd 


(6.) — Chap, xxvu 


its roots. 


Julia. Gentle sir. 


The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the 


You are our captive — but we'll use you so, 


wicket of the castle at midnight. 


That you shall tliink your prison joys may match • 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance eudureth. 


Whate'er your hberty hath known of pleasm'e. 


4 


Roderick. No, fau'est, we have triiled here tot 


Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires 


long; 


pierce the clouds ; 


And, lingermg to see your roses blossom. 


Storms destroy armadas, though then: sails inter- 


I've let mv laurels wither. 


cept the gale. 


OldPla^. 


He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a con- 




temptible enemy. 
Kindaess fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


K 




Chap. xxd. 






from Sllje fialisman. 






^4.)— MOTTOES. 


1825. 


(1.)— Chap. n. 


(1.)— AHRIMAW. 


In Madoc's tent the clai'iou sounds. 


"With rapid clangor hm-ried far ; 


" So aayins;, the Saracen proceeded to cnaul 


Each hill and dale the note rebounds. 


verses, very ancient iu the language and structure 


But when return the sons of war I 


which some have thought derive their som-ce ftom 


Thou, born of stem Necessity, 


the worshippers of Arimaues, the Evil Principle.' 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



71 



Dabs Aliriman, -H-bom Irak still 


Thou rul'st the fate of men ; 


Holds origin. of woe and ill ! 


Thine are the pangs of life's last hour. 


When, bending at tby shrine, 


And — who dare answer ? — is thy power, 


We view tlie worl. with troubled eye, 


DarkSpuitI endeJTHEN? 


Where see we 'neath the extended sky, 


Chap. iiL 


An empire matching thine ! 




• If th'. Benigner Power can yield 




A fountam in the desert field, 




Where weary pilgrims drmk ; 


(2.)— SONG OF BLONDEL.— THE BLOODi 


Tliine are the waves that lash the rock, 


■ VEST. 


Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 




Where countless navies sink 1 


" The song of Blondel was, of course, in the Nor 




man language ; but the verses which follow ex 


Or if He bid the soil dispense 


press its meaning and its manner." 


Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, 




How few cau they deliver 


'TwAS near the fair city of Benevent, 


From lingering pams, or pang intense, 


Wlien the sun was setting on bough and bent. 


Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 


And knights were prep.aring in bower and tent. 


The an'owa of thy quiver ! 


On the eve of the Baptist's tournament ; 




Wlien in Lincoln-green a stripling gent. 


Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway, 


Well seeming a page by a princess sent. 


And frequent, while in words we pray 


Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went. 


Before another throne, 


Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. 


Whate'er of specious form be there. 




The secret meaning of the prayer 


Far hath he fared, and farther must fare. 


Is, Abriman, thine own. 


TUl he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare, — 




Little save iron and steel was there ; 


Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form. 


And, as lacking the coin to pay armorer's care, 


Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm. 


With Ills sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, 


As Eastern Magi say ; 


The good knight with liammer and file did repair 


With sentient soul of hate and wrath. 


The mail tliat to-morrow must see him wear, 


And wings to sweep thy deadly path, 


For the honor of Saint John and his lady lair. 


And fangs to tear thy prey ? 






" Thus speaks my lady," the page said he. 


Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source. 


And the knight bent lowly both head and knee. 


An ever-operating force, 


" She is Bcnevent's Prmcess so high in degree, 


Converting good to ill ; 


And thou art as lowly as knight may we'd be — 


An evil principle innate, 


He that would climb so lofty a tree, 


Contending with our better fate, 


Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee. 


And oh 1 victorious still ? 


Must dare some high deed, by which all men may 


Howc'er it be, dispute is vain. 


see 
His ambition is back'd by his high chivalrie. 


On all witliout thou bold'st thy reign. 




Nor less on all within ; 


" Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he 


Each mortal passion's fierce career, 


said, 


Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, 


And the knight lowly louted with liaad and with 


Thou goadest into sin. 


head. 




" Fling aside the good armor m wliich thou xrl :iad, 


Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, 


And don thou this weed of her niglit-gear instead, 


To brighten up our vale of tears, 


For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of tliread ; 


Thou art not distant far ; • 


And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread, 


'Mid such brief solace of our lives, 


And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed. 


Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives 


And bring honor away, or remam with the dead." 


To tools of death and war. 






Untroubled m his look, and untroubled in his 1 reast, 


Thus, from the moment of our birth, 


The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently 


Long as we Unger on the earth. 


hath kiss'd : 



ns 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" Now bless' tl be the moment, the messenger be 

blest I 
Much honor' (1 do I hold me in my lady's high behest ! 
And say unto my lady, in this dear night weed 

dress'd. 
To the best arm'd champion I will not veil ray 

crest ; 
Cut if I live and bear me well, 'tis her turn to tate 

the test." 
Eere, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay 

of the Bloody Vest. 



TKE BLOODY VEST. 

FTTTE SECOND. 

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — 
There was winning of honor, and losing of seats — 
There was hewing with falcliions, and splintering 

of staves. 
The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves. 
0, many a knight there fought bravely and well, 
Tet one was accounted his peers to excel, 
And 'twas he whose sole armor on body and breast, 
Seem'd the weed of a damsel when boune for her 

rest. 

There were some dealt him wounds that were 

bloody and sore, 
But others respected liis plight, and forbore. 
*' It is some oath of honor," they said, "and I trow, 
'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." 
Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament 

cease, 
He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung 

peace ; 
And the judges declare, and competitors yield, 
That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the 

field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher. 
When before the fair Princess low louted a squire. 
And deUver'd a garment unseemly to view. 
With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and 

pierced through ; 
AL rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood. 
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud, 
Not the point of that lady's small J^nger, I ween. 
Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. 

" Tills token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, 
Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; 
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the 
fi"uit, [suit ; 

He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his 
Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won, 



And now must the faith of my mistress be shown 
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run 
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. 

" ' I restore,' says my master, ' the garment Tve 

worn, 
And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; 
For its stains and its rents slie should prize li the 

more. 
Since by shame 'tis uusulUed, though crunson'd 

with gore.' " [press'd 

Then deep blush'd the Prurcess — yet kiss'd she and 
The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast 
" Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall 

show 
If I value the blood on this garment or no." 

And when it was time for the nobles to pass. 
In solemn procession to minster and mass. 
The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall. 
But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore ovei 

aU; 
And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine 
Wlien she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine 
Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. 

Then lords wliisper'd ladies, as well you may think, 
And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink ; 
And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd 

down, . [a frown : 

Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with 
" Now since thou hast.publish'd thy folly and guilt, 
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast 

spilt ; 
Tet sore for your boldness you both will repent, 
When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent." 

Tlien out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he 

stood, 
Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood : 
" The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, 
I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine ; 
And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, 
Do not doubt I wiU save her from suffering and 

shame ; 
And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent, 
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." 

Cliap. xxvi. 



(3.)— M T T E S . 

(1.) — Chap. ix. 
This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague. 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on hiin 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 

Anonymous. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



riB 



(2.)— Chap. xi. 
Due tiling is certain ia our Niirthern laud, 
Allow that bii'th, or valor, wealtli, or wit, 
Give each jirecoJeuce to their possessor, 
Euvy, that follows ou such eminence, 
A« couiea the lyme-houiul on the roebuck's trace, 
Shall jiull them down each one. 

Sir David lAndsay. 

(3.) — CUAP. -Mil. 
You talk of Gayety and Innocence ! 
The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, 
rhey parted ne'er to meet again ; and Midice 
Has ever since been playmate to Ught Gayety 
From the first moment when the smiling infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with, 
To the List chuckle of the dying miser, 
Who on Ills deathbed laughs his last to hear 
His wealthy neighbor has tecome a bankrupt. 

Old Play. 

(4.) — Chap. xn. 
Tis not her sense— for sure, in that 

There's nothing more than common ; 
And all her wit is only chat, 

Like any other woman. Son^. 

(5.) — ChjIP. xvn. 
Were every hair upon his head a life, 
And eveiy Ufe were to be supplicated 
By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, 
Life after Hfe should oat lilie waning stars 
Before the daybreak — or as festive lamps. 
Which have lent lustre to the mii.lnight revel, 
Each after each ai'e quench'd when guests depart. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Ch.\p. XIX. 
Must we then sheath our still victorious sword ; 
Turn back our forward step, whicli ever trode 
O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory ; 
Unclasp the mail, which with a solenm vow. 
In God's own house we hung upon oiu- shoulders ; 
That vow, as unaccomplish'd .is the premise 
Which village nurses make to still their children, 

And alter think no more of ? 

7'he Crusade, a Tragedy. 

^7.)— CtiAP. XX. 
Wcen beauty leads the lion in her toils. 
Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane, 
Far less expand the terror of !us ftrngs, 
Bo gi'eat Alcides made his club a distafi^ 
And sjjun to please fair Omphale. Ananymom 

(8.) — Chap. xxin. 
Ilia these wild scenes Enchantment waves hor 

hand. 
To ctuuige the fac<> of the mysterious land ; 



Till the bewildering scenes around us seem 
The vain productions of a feverish dreaia. 

Astolpho, a Roman x. 



(9.). 



-Chap. xxiv. 

A grain of dust 



SoiUng our cup, will make our sense reject 
Fastidiously the draught which we tUd thirst for 
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, 
WUl sway it from the truth, and wreck the argoty 
Even this small cause of anger and disgust 
Will break'the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, 
And wreck theii' noblest purposes. 

The Crusade 

(10.) — Chap. XXVI. 
Tlie tears I shed must ever fall ! 

I weep not for an absent swain. 
For time mjiy happier hours recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 

I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er, 
And those that loved their steps must treat 

When death shall join to part no more 

t 

But worse th.in absence, worse than death, 
She wept her lover's sullied fame. 

And, fired with all the pride of birth, 
She wept a soldier's injured name. 

Ballad 



aifc of Wajjolcon. 



June, 18-25. 



While Scott was engjiged in writing the Hie u« 
Napoleon, Mr. Lockhart says, — " Tlie rapid ac- 
cumulation of books and MSS. w.is at once flatter- 
ing and alarming ; and one of his notes to me, 
about the middle of June, had these rhymes by 
way of postscript : — 

i When with Poeti-y dealing 

Room enough in a sliiehng : 

Ncitlier cibin nor hovel 
I Too small for a novel : 

Though my back I should nib 
I On Diogenes' tub. 

How my fancy could prance 

In a dance of romance ! 
{ But my liouse I must swap 

i With some Brobdignag chap, 

I Ere I grapple, God bless me I with Emperai 

I Nap." 

1 Idfe, vol. \u. p. 391 



720 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jfom tUooirstotk. 



1826. 



(1.)— AJ!f HOUR "WITH THEE. 

AiT hour with thee ! — When earliest day 
Dapples -with gold the eastern gray, 
Oh, -n liat can frame my mind to beai 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care, . 
New griefs, which coming hem's unfold. 
And sad remembrance of the old ? 

One horn- with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When burning June 

Waves liis red flag at pitch of noon ; 

Wliat shall repay the faithful swain. 

His laboi *)n the sultry plain; 

And more tlian cave or sheltering bough, 

Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ? — 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 

0, what can teach me to forget 

The thankless labors of the day ; 

The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 

The increasmg wants, and lessening gains. 

The m.oster's pride, who scorns my pains ? — 

One hour with thee. 
CJiap. xxvi. 



(3.) — Chap. it. 
■ Yon path of greensward 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. n. 

Come forth, old man — Thy daughter's side 

Is now the fitting place for thee : 
When Time hath quell'd tlie oak's bold pride. 
The youthful tendril yet may Iiide 

The ruins of the parent tree. 

(2.) — Chap. m. 
(Tow, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your 

stage, 
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age, 
btout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the 

West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought best ; 
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear, 
Wheft bullets flew between the head and eai. 
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, 
Of you 1 spjak. 

Legend of Captain Jones 



Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavihon ; 
There is no flint to gaU thy tender foot, 
There's ready shelter from each breeze Dr show- 
er. — 
But Duty guides not that way — see her stand. 
With wand entwined with amaranth, ntar yoj 

cUffs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy foot- 

steps, 
Oft where she leads thy head must bear the 

storm. 
And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and 

hunger ; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
Wliich he who gains seems native of tlie sky, 
While eai-thly things he stretch'd beneath his 
feet, 

Diminish'd, shrunk, and valueless 

AnonyTnmia. 

(4.)— Chap. v. 
My tongue pads slowly under this new language. 
And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phra 

ses. 
Tliey may be great in worth and weight, but hang 
Upon the native glibness of ray language 
Like Saul's plate-armor on tlie shepherd boy. 
Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.B. 

(5.) — Chap. x. 
Here we have one head 



Upon two bodies — your two-headed bullock 

Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 

These two liave but one meaning, thought, and 

counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has spoke oiit. 
The four legs scrape assent to it. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xiv. 
Deeds are done on earth. 



Which have their punishment ere the eartk 

closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 
Of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision. 
Distinct and real, of unearthly bemg, 
AU ages witness, that beside the couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. 

Old Flay. 

(7.) — Chap. xvn. ^ 
We do that in our zeal. 
Our calmer moments are afraid to answer 

Anonymout 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



721 



(8.) — Chap. xxrv. 

The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 
'mongst flowers, 

Blend their bright coloring with the varied blos- 
soms, 

Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew- 
drop ; 

In all so Hke what natvre has most harmless. 

That sport ire mnocence, which dreads no danger, 

Is poisun'd unawares. 

Old Play. 



afitcs to Sft ffiut!)i)ert Sljatp. 



182Y. 



• Sm Cdtheeut Shakp, who had been particu- 
larly kind and attentive to Scott when at Sunder- 
land, happened, in writing to him on some matter 
of business, to say he hoped he had not forgotten 
his friends in that quarter. Sir Walter's answer 
to Sir Cuthbert (who had been introduced to him 
by hia old and dear friend Mr. Surtees of Mains- 
For"" ) begins thus :" — 

Forget tuee ? No I my wortby fere 1 
jb'orget blithe mu-th and gallant cheer I 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget the universal shout' 
Wlien " camiy Sunderland" spoke out — 
A truth which knaves affect to doubt- 
Forget thee ? No. 

m 

Forget you ? No — though now-a-day 
I've heard your knowing people say, 
Disown tne debt yon cannot pay. 
You'll find it far the thriftiest way — 

But I ?— no. 

Forget your kindness found for all room. 

In what, though large, seem'd still a small 

room, 
("orget my Surtees in a ball-room — 

Forget you f No. 

forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, 
And beauty tripping to the fiddles. 
Forget my lovely friends the Liddelh — 

Forget you ? No. 

• An allQsion to the enthnsiastic reception' of the Dake of 
Weiim^ton ot Sunderland. — Ed. 

• This lay has heen ut to beaatifal maaic b a ladv whoso 

91 



" So much for- oblivion, my dear Sir C ; and 
now, having dismoimted fi'om my Pegasus, who ia 
rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like an old dra- 
goon as I am," <fec. &c. — Life of Scott, vol ix. p. 1 6.5, 



Jrom CljroniiUs of tl)e (STanongate 



1827. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— THE TWO DROVERS 

Chap. it. 
Were ever such two loving friends I — 

How could they disagree ? 
O thus it was he loved him de.ir. 

And thought how to requit". him, 
And having no friend left but he. 
He did resolve to fight liim. 

Duke upon X>u)u^ 



(•-'.)— MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR 

There are times 
When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seern 
When the broad, palpable, and marked partition 
'Twist that which is and is not, seems dissolved. 
As if the mental eye gain'd power to gaze 
Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
Such hours of shadowy di-eams I better lov? 
Than all the gross realities of fife. 

Ano7i;pnout 



Irom tl)£ Jair iHaib of PcxU) 



1828. 



(1.)— THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE.' 

Ah, poor Louise I the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 

composition, to say notning of her singing, might make any 
poet prond of his venoi Mi3, Robert Arkwdgbt, bnrn Mia 
Kemble. 



792 



SCOTT'S POETICAL ■WORKS. 



And still her voice and viol say, 

Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 

Think on Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise 1 The. sun was high, 
It smhch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye. 
The woodland walk was cool and nigh. 
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
To cheer Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise I The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
The waives molest not paths so fair — 
But better fai' had such been there 

For poor Louise. 

Ah. poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
His baldric was of silk and gold. 
And many a witching tale he told 

To poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 
For peace of mind that gift divine. 
And spotless innocence, were thine, ' 

Ah, poor Louise I 

Ah, poor Louise I Thy treaGure's reft ! 
I know not if by force or theft, 
Or part by violence, pait by gift ; 
But misery is all that's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have 1 
She will not long your bounty crave. 
Or tire the gay with warning stave — 
Tor heaven has grace, and earth a grave, 
For poor Louise. 

Chap. X. 



(2.)— DEATH CHANT. 

'' Ere he guessed where he was going, the 

.cech was hurried into the house of the late Oliver 
Proudfute, from which he heard the chant of the 
w.iacn, as they .swathed and dressed the corpse 
rf the umqulule Bonnet-maker, for the ceremony 
of next morning ; of wliich chant, the following 
rerees may be received as a modern imitation :" — 

1. 

f FEWXESS Essence, thin and bare, 

Wellnigh melted into air • 

Still with fondness hovering near 

The earthly form thou once didft wear ; 



Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or right ; 
Bo thou doom'd to soar or sink. 
Pause upon the awful brink. 



To avenge the deed expelling 
Thee untimely from thy dwelling, 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain 



When the form thou shalt espy 
That darken'd on thy closing eye ; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear, 
That thriU'd upon thy dying ear ; 



Then strange sympathies shall wake, 
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quakti 
The wounds renew their clotter'd fljod, 
And every drop cry blood for blood. 

Chap, xxii 



(3.)— SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN. 

"She sung a, melancholy dirge in Normao 
French ; the words, of which the following is an 
imitation, were united to a tune as doleful as they 
are themselves." 

1. 

Yes, thou mayst sigh, 
And look once more at all around. 
At stream and bank>, and sky and ground. 
Thy Ufe its final course has found. 

And thou must die. 



Yes, lay thee down, 
And wliile thy struggling pulses flutter. 
Bid the gi'ay monk his soiil-mass mutter, 
And the deep bell its death-tone utter — 

Thy life is gone. 



Be not afraid. 
Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a chill ; 
And then an end of human ill. 

For .thou art dead 

( 'hap. 



LTRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



723 



(4.)— M T T E S . 

( 1 .) — rNTRODUCTORT. 

The ashes licre of murilei'd lungs 

Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 
And yonder lies the scene of death, 

Wliere Mary learu'd to weep. 

Captain Marjoribanks. 

(2.)— Chap. i. 
■ Behold the Tiber I" the vain Roman cried. 
Viewing the ample Tay from B.iiglie's side ; 
Rut Where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay, 
And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay I 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap. xi. 
Fair is the damsel, passing fair — 

Sunny at distance gleams her smile 1 
Approach — the cloud of woeful care 
Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 

Lucbiduy a Ballad. 

(4.) — Chap. xv. 
O for a draught of power to steep 
The soul of agony in sleep 1 

Bertha, 

(5.) — Chap. .xxin. 
Lo ! where h« lies embahn'd in gore, 

His wound to Heaven cries ; 
Ylie floodgates of his blood implore 
For vengeance from the skies. 

Uranus and Psyche. 



S))e Beat!) of l^eeltrat 



1828. 



'^EKCT or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redes- 
.■talie, Northmuberland, is celebrated in tradition as 
A huntsman, and a soldier. He was, upon two 
occasions, singularly unfortunate ; once, when an 
nrrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed 
his celebrated dog Keeldar ; and again, when, be- 
ing on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the 
hands of a cl.an called Crossar, by whom he was 
murdered. Mr. Cooper's pamting of the first of 
these incidents, suggested the following stanzas, 

1 These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from ^tr. Coop- 
er's subject, " The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Ocm 
of 1829, a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In 
the acknowledgment to iiis contributors. Mr. Hood says, " To 
Sir Walter Scott — not merely a literary feather in my cap, bat 



Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead ; 
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ; 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, 

Career'd along the lea ; 
The Palfrey sprung with sprightly boumi, 
As if to match the gamesome hound ; 
His hiirn the gallant htuitsman wound; 

They were a jovial three I 

Man, liound, or horse, of higher fame, 
To wake the wild deer never came. 
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game 

On Cheviot's ruefid day ; 
Keeldar was matchless in his speed, 
Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed, 
A peerless archer, Percy Rede : 

And right dear friends were they. 

The chase engross'd their joys and woes 
Together at the dawn they rose, 
Together shared the noon's repose. 

By fountain or by stream ; 
And oft, when evening skies were red. 
The heather was their common bed, 
Where each, as wildering fancy led. 

Still hunted in his dream. 

Now is the thrilling moment near, 

Of silvan hope and silvan fear, ' 

Ton thicket iitilds the harbor'd deer. 

The signs the hui>ter3 know ; — 
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears. 
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears; 
The restless palfrey paws and rears; 

Tlie archer strings his bow. 

The game's afoot ! — Halloo ! HaUoo I 
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue ;— 
Biit woe the shaft that erring flew — 

That e'er it left the strmg ! 
And ill betide the fmthless yew I 
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew 
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true 

Has drench'd the gray-goose wing 

The noble hound — he dies, he dies. 
Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, 
Stiff on the bloody heath he hes. 

Without a groan or quiver. 
Now day may break and bugle soimd; 
And whoop and hollow ring around, 
And o'er his couch the stag may bound. 

But Keeldar sleeps for ever. 

a whole plame of them — I owe, and with the hand of my liean 
acknowledge, a deep obligation. A jioem from his pen is like- 
ly to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, al 
least a very Old Mortality." — Prifitzc, p. 4. The orij'iual 
nainting by Cooper, remains at Abtotsford. -liUi 



r24 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Dilated nostrils, staring eyes. 


the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, ■weariil| 


Mai-k the poor palfrey's mute surprise, 


then- cowls drawn over their heads, so as to con- 


He laiows not tliat his comrade dies, 


ceal theu- features. They appeared .anxiously en 


Nor wliat is death — but still 


gaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment, 


HLs aspect hath expression drear 


and, wliile occupied in that employment, they sunf. 


Of giief anil wonder, mix'd witli fear. 


in the ancient German langu.age, rhymes more rudr 


Lilie startled childi-en when they heai- 


than Pliilip^on could well understand, but whid 


Some mystic tale of ill. 


may be imitated thus :" — 


But he that bent the fatal bow, 


Measurer.s of gobd .and evil, 


Can well the sum of evil know, 


Bring the, square, the line, the level, — 


4.nd o'er his favorite, bending low, 


Rear the altar, dig the trench. 


In speechless grief recline ; 


Blood both stone and ditch shall di'ench. 


Can think he hears the senseless clay, 


Cubits six, from end to end. 


In unreproachful accents say, 


Must the fat.al bench extend, — 


" The hand that took my Ufe away, 


Cubits six, from side to side. 


Dear master, was it thme ? 


Judge and culprit must divide. 




On the east the Court assembles. 


" And if it be, the shaft be bless'd, 


On the west the Accused trembles — 


Which sure some erring aim address'd, 


Answer, brethren, aU and one. 


Since in your service prized, caress'd 


Is the ritual rightly done ? 


I in your service die ; 




And you may have a fleeter hound, 


On life and soul, on blood and bone. 


To match the dun-deer's merry bound. 


One for all, sind aU for one. 


But by yom- couch will ne'er be found 


We warrant tliis i^ rightly done. 


So true a guard as L" 






How wears the night ? — Doth morning shine 


And to his last stout Percy rued 


In early radiance on the Rliine ? 


The fatal chance, for when he stood 


What music fio.ats upon liis tide ? 


'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud. 


Do birds the tardy morning cliide ? 


And fell amid the fray. 


Brethren, look out from hiU and height, 


E'en with liis dying voice he cried, 


And answer true, how weai's the night ! 


" Had Keeldar but been at my side. 




Your treacherous ambush had been spied — 


Tlie night is old ; on Eliine's broad breast 


I had not died to-day 1" 


Glance drowsy stars which long to rest. 




No beams are twinkling in the east. 


Remembrance of the erring bow 


There is a voice upon the flood. 


Long since had join'd the tides which flow 


The stern still call of blood for blood ; 


Convoying human bhss and woe 


'Tis time we listen the behest. 


Down dark oblivion's river ; 




But Art can Time's stern doom arrest, 


Up, then, up 1 When day's at rest, 


4nd snatch his spoil from Lethe's breast, 


'Tis time that such as we are watchers ; 


&jid, in her Cooper's colors drest. 


Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 


The scene shall live for ever. 


Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes. 




He and night are matchers. 




Chap. rs. 




, 5rom ^nw of ®cicrstcm. 


(■2.)— MOTTOES 




/' (1.) — Chap. m. 


1 


\ 1829. 


CuKSED be the gold and silver, wliich percuada 




Weak man to follow far fatiguing trada 


(1.)— THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 


Tlie lUy, peace, outshines the silver store, 




And life is dearer than the golden ore. 


— " Philipson covdd perceive that the lights 


Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, 


proceeded from many torches, borne by men muf- 


To every distant mart and -wealthy town. 


Sed in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or 


Hassan, or the Oamel-Driva. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



72/ 



('J.>--Chap. V. 

I was one 

^VTio loved the greemvood bank and lowing herd, 
The russet prize, the lowly pe:isant's life, 
Season'd with sweet content, more than the halls 
Where revellers feast to fever-height. Believe me, 
There ne'er was pviison mix'd in maple bowl. 

Anoni/mous. 

(3.) — Chap. vi. 
When we two meet, we meet like rushing torrents ; 
Like warring winds, hkeflames from various points. 
That mate e.ich other's fury — there is naught 
Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it, 
Can matuh the wrath of man. 

FVenaud. 

(4.)— Chap. x. 
We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. 
Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, 
Which to the slumberer seem realities; 
•ind while they waked, some men have seen such 

sights 
As set at naught the evidence of sense. 
And left them well persuaded they were dreaming. 

Anonipruma. 

(5.) — Chap. xi. 
'I'hese be the adept's doctrines — every element 
Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its peculiar sprite — the Salamander. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap. xvin. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster. 

The grapes of juice divine, 
Winch make the sohiier's jovial courage miT'tor ; 
0, blessed be the Rhine 1 

Drinking Song? 

(7.) — Chap. sxii. 
Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide 
The mummery of all that forced civility. 
" Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams 
The speech is spoken, and with bended knee. 
Heard by the smiling courtier. — " Before you, sir ? 
It must be on the earth, then." Hang it all I 
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion 
la scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 

Old Play. 

• This is one of the best and most popular of the German 
titles — 

" Am Rhein am Rhein, da wachseo onscre Rebea, 



(8.) — Chap, xxtiii. 
A mirthful man he was — the snows of ago 
Fell, but tliey did not chill him. Gayety, 
Even in life's closing, touch'd his teeming brao 
With sucli wild visions as the setting sun 
Raises in front of some hoar glacier. 
Painting the bleak ice with a thorsiUid hues. 

(9.) — Chap. xxx. 
Ay, tliis is he who wears the wreath of ba} > 
Wove by Apollo and the Sisters Nine, 
Which Jove's dread hghtning scathes not. He hatl 

doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside 
The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 
While, with a leafy circlet round liis brows. 
He reigns the King of Lover.s and of Poets 

(10.) — Chap. xxxi. 

Want you a man 

Experienced in the world and its affairs ? 
Here he is for your purpose. — He's a monk. 
He hath forsworn the world .and all its work- 
The rather that he knows it p.assing well, 
'Special the worst of it, for he's a monk. 

Old Plan. 

(11.) — Qb.kv. xxxin. 
Toll, toll the bell I 
Greatness is o'er. 
The heart has broke, 
To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral palL 

Old Poen. 

(12.) — Chap. xxxv. 

Here's a weapon now. 

Shall shake a conquering gener.al in his tent, 
A monai'ch on his throne, or re.ich a prelate. 
However holy be his offices. 
E'en while he serves the altar 

Old Play 



SET TO KUSIO BY JOHN WHITEFIELD, Mlia :O0 CX 



1830. 



The last of our steers on the board has been spreaa 
And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red , 

Gesegnet sei der Rhein." &c. 
3 Set to music in Mr. Tliomson's Scottish Collection, pik 
lishcd in 1830. 



f26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



IJp ! up, my brave kinsmen I belt swords and be- 
gone, 

I There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be 
won. 

I The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours, 
F'^r a space must be dim, as they gaze from the 

towers, 
And strive to distinguish through tempest and 

gloom. 
The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 

The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a 

cloud ; 
Tis the better, my mates ! for the warder's dull 

eye 
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream wo are nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Gray! 
There is life in his hoof clang, and hope in liis neigh ! 
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 
Shall marshal your mai-ch thi'ough the darkness 
and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown ; 

One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount and be- 
gone ! — 

To their honor and peace, that shall rest with the 
slain; 

To their health and their glee, that see Teviot 
again! 



inscription 

POa THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEOEOE SCOTT ' 



1830. 



Tti youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier. 
The parents' I'ondest hopes Ue bmried here. 
Alt thou a youth, prepared on Ufe to start. 
With opeiung talents and a generous heart. 
Fail' hopes and flattering prospects all thine own ? 
Lo 1 here their end — a monumental stone. 
But let submission tame each soiTowing thought. 
Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight was 
fought. 

1 This young genAeman, a son of the aathor's friend and 
Biation, Hugh Scott of Harden, Esq. (now Lord PoUvarth), 
vecame Rector of Kentisbeare, in Devonshire, in 1828, and 
iied there the 9th of June, 1830. This epitaph appears on his 
tomb i: tbe chancel there. 



JLines on jfottunt. 



1831. 



" Bt the advice of Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, Sit 
Walter consulted a skilful mechanist, by namu For- 
tune, about a contrivance for the support of the lame 
limb, which had of late given him much pain, as well 
as inconvenience. Mr. Fortune produced a clever 
piece of handiwork, and Sir Walter felt at first 
great reUef fiom the use of it : insomuch that his 
spirits rose to quite the old pitch, and his letter to 
me upon the occasion overflows with merry ap' 
plications of sundry maxima and verses about 
Fortune. ' Fortes Fortuna adjuvat ' — he says— 
' never more sing I 

" ' Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown on me f 
And will my Fortune never better be ? 
Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain ! 
And wilt thou ne'er return my joys again V 

No— let my ditty be henceforth — 

Fortune, my Friend, how well thou favorest me I 

A kinder Fortune man did never see I 

Thou propp'st my thigh, thou rid'st my knee o{ 

pain, 
rU walk, rU moimt — m be a man again.' " — 
Life, voL X. p. 38. 



Jrom (Sount Eobcrt of Paris. 



1831. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. u. 

• This superb successor 



Othus. 

Of the earth's mistress, as thou vamly speakest, 
Stands 'midst these ages as, on the wide ocean, 
The last spared fragment of a spacious land, 
That in some grand and awful ministration 
Of mighty nattu-e has engulfed been. 
Doth hft aloft its dark and rocky cliffs 
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns 
In lonely majesty. 

Constantine Paleologua, Scene L 

3 '• I believe this is the only verse of the old song (often al 
Inded lo by Shakspeajpe and his contemporaries) thai has M 
yet been recovered." — LocKBART, Lift of Scott, vol. x 
p. 38 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. "'av 


(2.)— Chap. ni. 


To meet a lover's onset. — But though Nature 


Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 


Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 


Here, youth, thy brow uubraid, 


Feudal Times 


Each tribute that may grace 




The threshold here be paid. 


(8.)— Chap. xi. 


Walk -with the stealthy pace 


Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, 


Which Nature teachea deer, 


Within it was a Uttle paradise, 


When, echoing m the chase, 


Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statuary, 


The hunter's horn they hear. 


Fhst-born of human art, moulded her images, 


Tlic Court. 


And bade men mark and worship. 




Anonymous 


(3.)— Chap. v. 




The storm increases — 'tia no sunny shower, 


(9.) — Chap. xn. 


Foster'd in the moist breast of March or April, 


The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 


Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with ; 


Weighing each werd, and canvassing each syllable 


Heaven s windows are flung wide ; the inmost 


Evading, arguing, equivocating. 


deeps 


And the stern Frank came with his two-hand 


Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; 


sword, 


On comes the flood m all its foaming horrors, 


Watching to see which way the balance sways. 


And wheres the dike shall stop it ! 


That he may thi'ow it in, and turn the scales. 


The Deluge, a Poein. 


Palestine 


See Life, vol x. p. 37. 






(10.)— Chap. xvi. 


(4.)— Chap. ti. 


Strange ape of maul who l<*the3 thee while- he 


• Vain man I thou mayst esteem thy love as fair ' 


scorns thee ; 


As fond hyperboles suiBce to raise. 


Half a reproach to us and half a jest. 


She may be all that's matchless in her person. 


What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure . 


And all-divme in soul to match her body ; 


In viewing our own form, our pride and passions, 


Bu' take this from me — thou shalt never call her 


Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine ! 


Superior to her sex, while one survives, 


Anonymaut. 


And I am her true votary. 




Old Flay. 


(11.) — Chap. xvn. 




'Tis strange that, in the dark sulphm-eous mine, 


(5.) — Chap. vm. 


Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 


Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists' skill, 


Of slumbering thunder, Love will interpose 


Plain sense and honest meaning work their way ; 


His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 


So sink the varying clouds upon the hill. 


To burst, when the deviser's least aware. 


When the clear dawning brightens mto day. 


Anonymous, 


Dr. Watts. 






(12.) — Chap. xxj,-. 


(6.)— Chap. ix. 


All is prepared — tlie chambers if the mine 


Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent, 


Are cramm'd with the combustible, which, harm- 


The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; 


less 


By level long he subdivides theu- strength, 


While yet unkindled, as the sable sand. 


Stealing the waters fi-om their rocky bed. 


Needs but a spark to change its nature ss 


First to diriinish what he means to conquer ; 


That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mooa. 


Ttsn, foj tb; residue he forms a road, 


Dreads scarce the explosion less than he -wbi 


Easy to keep, and painful to desert. 


knows 


And guiding to the end the planner aim'd at. 


That 'tis his towers -which meet its fury. 


The Engineer. 


Anonymous. 


(7.)— Chap. x. 


(13.) — Chap. xxv. 


These were wild times — the antipodes of ours : 


Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its billet. 


Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves 


Arrow and javelin each its destined purposfi • 


[n 1\ e broad lustre of a foeman's shield 


The fated beasts of Nature's lower strain 


Thaii 'n a mirror, and who rather sought 


Have each their separate task. 


Vo match themselves in battle, than in dalliance 


Old Play. 



'38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



5rom dastU JBangeroua. 


But he that creeps from cradle on to grsye, 
Unsldli'd save in the velvet course of fortuiei 




Hath miss'd the discipline of nobis, htarls. 

' Ola r lay. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 


(4.) — Chap. xvin. 




His talk was of another world — liis ^vodements 


(1.)— Chap. v. 


Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those wh( 


A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; 


heard him 


A tale of horror, for youi" flesh may tingle ; 


Listen'd as to a man in feverish ureams. 


A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch. 


Who speaks of other objects tha': the present; 


And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. 


And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 


Old Play. 


Old Play. 


(2.)— Chap. xi. 


(5.) — Chap. xx. 


VThere is he » Has the deep earth swallow'd him? 


Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 


Or hath he melted like some airy phantom 


Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; 


That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun ? 


Upon Saint Andrew thrice cau they thus cry, 


Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness. 


Ana thrice they shout, on height. 


And pass'd beyond the cu-cuit of the sight 


And tuen marked them on the Englishmen, 


With things of the night's shadows ? 


As I have told you riglit. 


Anonymous. 


Saint' George the bright, om- ladies' knight, 




To name they were fuU fain ; 


(8.>— Chap. xtv. 


Our EngUshmen they cried on height. 


The way is long, my children, long and rough — 


'And thrice they sliout again. 


Ibe moors are dreary, anil the woods arn dark; 


Old BalUi 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 



i§ a I i b n t) i 1 1 :" 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORy. 



PREFACE. 

TaoDGn the Public seldom feel much interest in 
such communications (nor is there any reason why 
they sliould), the Author takes the hberty of stat- 
ing, that these scenes were commenced with the 
purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected 
by a much-esteemed friend." But instead of being 
confined to a scene or two, as intended, the work 
gradually swelled to the size of an independent 
publication. It is designed to illustrate military 
jitiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The 
jama (if it can be termed one) is, in no particular, 
either designed or calculated for the stage.^ 

The subject is to be found in Scottish history ; 
out not to overload so shght a publication with 
antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure 
chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the 
following passage from Pinkekton's History of 
Scotland, ToL i. p. 72. 

"The Governor (anno 1402) dispatched a con- 
riderable force under Murdac, his eldest son : the 
Earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, 
who entered England with an army of ten thou- 
sand men, carrying terror and devastation to the 
Uralls of Newcastle. 

" Henry IV. was now, engaged in the Welsh 
war agauist Owen Glendour ; but the Eai'l of 

1 Published by Constable & Co., Jdm, 1822, in 8vo. 6s. 

* Tile auttior alludes to a collection of small pieces in veree, 
idited, for a charitable purpose, by Mrs. Joanna Bailbe. — See 
Life of Scott, vol. vii. pj 7, 18. 169-70. 

3 In the first edition, the text added, " In case any attempt 
shall be made to produce it in action (as has liappened in simi- 
lar cases), the author takes the present opportunity to in- 
timate, tliat it shall be at the peril of those who make such 
an experiment.'* Adverting to this passage, tlie A'cto Edin- 
burgh Uevicw (July. 1822) said, — " We, nevertheless, do not 
believe that any thmg more essentially dramatic, in so far as 
it goes, more capable of stage effect, has appeared in England 
gjice the days of her greatest genius ; and giving Sir Walter, 
Iherefore. full credit lor his coyness on tne present occasion, 
we ardently hope that he is but trying his strength in the 
QOlt arduous of all literary enterprises, and that, ere long, he 



Northumberland, and his son, the Hotspur Percy 
with tile Earl of March, collected a numerous array 
and awaited the return of the Scots, imp'r-ded with 
spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of Northum- 
berland. Douglas had reached Wooler, in' his re- 
tm'n ; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong 
post between the two armies, called Homildon- 
hill. In this method he rivalled bis predecessor at 
the battle of Otterburn, but not with like success. 
The EngUsh advanced to the assault, and Henry 
Percy was about to lead them up the liill, when 
March caught his bridle, and adi-ised him to ail- 
vance no farther, but to pour the dreadful shower 
of English arrows into the enemy. This advice 
was fallowed by the usual fortmie ; for in all agee 
the bow was the English instrument of victory 
and though the Scots, and perhaps the French, 
were stiperior m llie use of the spear, yet this 
weapon was useless after the distant bow had de- 
cided the combat. Robert the Great, sens'ble of 
this at tlie battle of Bannockbum, ordered a pre- 
pared detachment of cavalry to rush among the 
English archers at the commencement, totally to 
disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But 
Douglas uow used no such precaution, and the con- 
sequence was, that his people, drawn up on the 
face of the hill, presented one general mark to tha 
enemy, none of whose aiTows descended in vain 

will demonstrate his right to the highest honors of the tragic 
muse," The British Critic, for October, 1822, says, on th 
same head, " Tliough we may not accede to the author^s <4ec- 
laration, that it is ' in no particular calculated for tlie stage, 
we must not lead our readers to look for any thing aniouuunf 
to a regular drama. It would, we think, form an unlerplfft 
of very great interest, in an historical play of customary length ; 
and althouglt its incidents and personages are mixed up, io 
these scenes, with an event of real history, there is nothing in 
either to prevent their being interwoven in the plot of scy 
drama of wltich the action should lie in the confines of Eng.antt 
and Scotland, at any of the very nuiiieroQs periods of Border 
warfare. The whole interest, indeed, of the story, i* engrossed 
by two characters, imagined, as it appears to us, with great 
force and probability, and contrasted with considerable ikiU 
and efiect." 



730 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Scots fell without fight, and unreTengetl, till 
a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, * my 
brave countrvnien ! what fascination has seized 
Vou to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, in- 
stead of indulging your ancient courage, and meet- 
ing youi* enemies hand to hand ? Let those who 
will, descend with me, that we may gain victory, 
or life, or fall like men." This being heard by 
Adam Gordon, between whom and Swinton there 
remained an ancient deadly feud, attended with 
the mutual slaughter of many followers, he in- 
stantly fell on his knees before Swinton, begged 
ois pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by 
him whom he must now regard as the wisest and 
the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony 
performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the 
hill, accompanied only by one hundred men ; and 
a desperate valor led the whole body to death. 
Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish 
army, it is probable that the event of the day 
would have been diflferent. Douglas, who was cer- 
tainly deficient in the most important qualities of 
a general, seeing his army begin to disperse, at 
length attempted to descend the hill; but the 
English ai'chers, retiring a Uttle, sent a flight of ar- 
rows 80 sharp and strong, that no armor could 
withstand ; and the Scottish leader himself, whose 
panoply was of renaai'kable temper, fell under five 
wounds, though not mortal. The Enghsh men-of- 
arms, knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, 
but remained spectators of the rout, which was 
now complete. Great numbers of the Scots were 
slain, and near five hundred perished in the river 
Tweed upon their flight. Among the illustrious 
»;aptive3 was Douglas, whose cliief wound deprived 
bim of an eye ; Murdac, son of Albany ; the Earls 
of MoTzj and Angus ; and about twenty-four gen- 
tlemen of eminent rank and power. The cliief 
slain were, Swinton, Gordon, Livingston of Calen- 
dar, Ramsay of Dalhousie, Walter Sinclair, Roger 
Gordon, Walter Scott, and others. Such was the 
issue of the unfortunate battle of Homildon." 

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of 
action has, in the following pages, been transferred 
from Homildon to HaUdon Hill. For this there 
was an obvious reason ; — for who would again ven- 
ture to introduce upon the scene the celebrated 
ITotspiu-, who commanded the EngUsh at the for- 
mer battle ? There are, however, several coinci- 
dences which may reconcile even the severer anti- 
quary to the substitution of HaUdon Hill for 
Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the 
English on both occasions, and under nearly the 

> " Miles ma^animns dominos Johannes Swinton, tanquam 
voce liorrida prseconis exclaraavit, dicens, O commilitonea 
inclyti ! q^^^ vos hodie faacinavit non jndulgere soIitiE probi- 
tati, quod nee dextns eonseritis, nee ut viri eorda erigitis, ad 

vadeudum a;mnlos, qui vos, lauquam damulos vel liinnulos 



same circumstances of address on the part of the 
victors, and mismanagement on that of the van- 
quished, for the EngUsh long-bow decided the day 
in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was 
left on the field of battle ; and at HaUdon, as sA 
Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill- 
fated representative of the great house of Douglas. 
He of Homildon was surnamed Tincman, i. e. Lose 
»!««, from his repeated defeats and miscarriAges; 
and, with all the personal valor of h'!s race, seems 
to have enjoyed so small a portion of their saga- 
city, as to be unable to learn miUtary experience 
from f eiterated calamity. I am far, however, fi-om 
intimating, that the traits of imbecility and envy 
attributed to the Regent in the foUowipg sketch, 
are to be historically ascribed either to the elder 
Douglas of HaUdon Hill, or to him called Tinetnan^ 
who seems to have enjoyed the jespect of his 
countrymen, notwithstanding that, Uke the cele- 
brated Anne de Montmorency, he was either de- 
feated, or wounded, or made prisoner, in every 
battle which he fought. The Regent of the sketch 
is a chaj'acter purely imaginai'y. 

The tradition of the Swinton family, which still 
survives in a Uneal descent, and to which the au- 
thor has the honor to be related, avers, that the 
Swinton who fell at Homildon in the manner re- 
lated in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's 
father ; which seems sufficient ground for adopting 
that circumstance into the following dramatic 
sketch, though it is rendered unprobable by other 
authorities. 

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at 
Froissart, Fordmi, or other historians of the period, 
he will find, that the character of the Lord ot 
Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by 
no means exaggerated. 



W. S 



Abbotsfoed, 1822. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

scottish 
The Regent of Scotland. 

GOEDON, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

sutheeland, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

LiNDESAT, 

imparcat03, sagittarum jacalis perdere fesUnant. Deaoed 
dant mecum qui velint, et in nomine Domini hosies peoetrft' 
bimus, ul vel sic vita potiamur, vel aalteni ul raitites cum ho* 
nore occanibamus " &c. — Fordun, Scoti-C/iroTiuon, vol U 
p. 434. 



Scottish Chiefs and IVMet 



HALIDON HILL. 



731 



^DAM DE VtPONT, o Knight Te: iplar. 

Fde Prior of Maison-Dieu. 

Retnald, Swiulon's Squire. 

Hob Hattely, a Border Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
EiNS Edward III. 

CaANDOf ) 

Peecy. > English and Norman Nobles. 

BiBAUMO.VT, * 

Fbe Abbot of Walthamstow. 



(^alilion ^ill. 



ACT I.— SCEKE I. 

The northern side of tlie emiiience of Halidon. The 
back Scetie represents the summit of the ascent^ 
occupied by the Rear-guard of "the Scottish army. 
Bodies of armed Men appear as advarmng from 
fUfferettt points, to join the main Body. 

Enter De Vipont and the Prior of iLusoN-DiED. 

Vip. No further, Father — here 1 need no guid- 
ance — 

I haTB already brought your peaceful step 

Too near the verge of battle. 

Pel Fiiin would I see you join some Baron's 
banner, 

Before I say farewell. The honor'd sword 

That fought so well in Syria, should not wave 

Aniid the ignoble crowd. 

Vip. Each spot is noble in a pitched field, 

So that a man has room to fight and fall on't. 

But I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve 
years 

Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, 

Anil then the flower of all the Scottish nobles 

Were known to me ; and I, in my degree, 

Not all unknown to them. 

Pei. Alas 1 tliere have been changes since that 
time 1 

Tbe Royal Bruce, with Randol^ Douglas, Gra- 
hame, 

Then shook in field the banners which now moulder 

Over their graves i' the chanceL 
Vip. And thence comes it. 

That wliile I look'd on many a well-known crest 

And blazon'd shield,' aa hitherward we came, 

Fhe faces of the Barons who display'd them 



' MS.- 



' I've look'd on many a well-known pennon 
Plavinp tbe air," &c. 



Were all unknown to me. Brave youths thoj 

seem'd ; 
Tet, surely, fitter to adorn the tilt-yard. 
Than to be leaders of a war. Tlieir followers, 
Young like themselves, seem like themselves iin 

practised — 
Look at their battle-rank. 

Pri. I cannot gaze on't with undazzled eye. 
So thick the rays dart back from shield and h> ■ 

met. 
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon 
Sure 'tis a gallant show 1 The Bruce himself 
Hath often conquer'd at the head of fewer 
And woise appointed followers. 

Vip. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Rev 

erend Fathei, 
'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat ; 
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it. 
Ill fate, that we should lack the noble King, 
And all his champions now 1 Time call'd them not, 
For when I parted hence for Palestine, 
The brows of most were free from grizzled hair. 
Pel Too true, alas ! But well you know, in Scot 

land 
Few h.airs are silver'd underneath the helmet ; 
'Tis cowls like mine which hide them. 'Mongst 

. the laity, 
War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle 
Before the grain is white. In threescore yea?° 
And ten, wliich I have seen, I have outhved 
Wellnigh two generations of our nobles. 
The race which holds' yon summit is the third 
Vip. Thou mayst outlive them also. 
Pel Heaven forfend I 

My prayer shall be, that Heaven will close mj 

eyes. 
Before they look upon the wrath to come. 

Vrp. Retire, retire, good Father I — Pray for 

Scotland — 
Tliink not on me. Here comes an ancient friend, 
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me. 
Back to your choir, assemble all your brother- 
hood, 
And weary Heaven with prayers for victory.' 

Phi. Heaven's blessing rest with thee. 
Champion of Heaven, and of thy suffering country I 

[Erit Prior. Vipont draivs a little asidt 
and lets down the beaver of his Itelmt . 

Enter Swditos, followed by Reykald and other; tn 
whom he speaks as he enters. 

Swi. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till tht . 
Regent 
Assign our band its station in the host. 



»MS.- 
'MS.- 



' The youtlis who hoUl," &c. *' are." 
" with nn"Rre *V»r Scotland's weal * 



732 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ret. That must be by the Standard. We have 
)iad 
Tliat right since good Saint David's reign at least. 
Fain would I see the Marcher would dispute it. 
Swi. Peace, Reynald ! Where the general plants 
the soldier, 
Tliere is liis place of honor, and there only 
His valor can win worship. Thou'rt of those, 
T\''ho would have war's deep art bear the wild sem- 
blance 
Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell. 
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse. 
Gallant.* press on to see the quarry falL 
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Reynald, are no deer ; 
And England's Edward is no stag at bay. 

Vip. (advancing^ There needed not, to blazon 
forth the Swinton, 
His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar 
Chain'd to the gnarl'd oak,' — nor his proud step. 
Nor gi.ant stature, nor the ponderous mace. 
Which only he, of Scotland's realm, can wield : 
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader. 
As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave 
Swinton ! 
Swi. Brave Templar, tlianks ! Such your cross'd 
shoulder speaks you ; 
But the closed vLsor, which conceals your features. 
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps — 
Vip. {unclosing his helmet.) No ; one less worthy 
of our sacred Order. 
Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my featm'es 
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton 
Will welcome Symon Vipont. 

Swi. (embracing him.) As the blithe reaper 
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest 
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high ! 
Thou'lt follow yon old pennou, wilt thou not ! 
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the Boar- 
heads 
Look as if brought from off some Christni,as board. 
Where knives had notch'd them deeply. 

Vip. Have with them, ne'ertheless. The Stuart's 
Chequer, 
The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Ross's Lymphads, 
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion, 
Rainpant in golden treasure, wins me from them. 
We 11 hack the Boar-heads bravely. I see round 

them 
A chosen band of lances — some well known to me. 
Where's tlie main body of thy followers ? 

Swi. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all 
That Swiuton's bugle-horn can caU to battle. 
However loud it rings. There's not a boy 
Left in my halls, whose arm has strength enough 

' " The armorial bearings of tlie ancient family of Swinton 
we sable, a cheveron, or, between tliree boars' heads erased, 
urgent. Crest — a boar chained to a tree, and above, on an 
wcroll, Xespere. Supporters — two boars standing on a 



To bear a sword — there's not a man behind. 
However old, who moves without a staff. 
Striplings and graybeards, every one is here. 
And here all should be — Scotland needs them ajl 
And more and better men, were each a Hercules, 
And yonder handful centupUed. 

Vip. a thousand followers — such, with friend! 
and kinsmen, 
Allieu and vassals, thou wert wont to lead — 
A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances 
In twelve years' space ? — And thy brave sons. Sii 

Alan J 
Alaa ! I fear to ask. 

Swi. All slain, De Vipont. In my empty homo 
A pimy babe hsps to a widow'd mother, 
*' Where is my grandsue ! wherefore do .you 

weep ?" 
But for that prattler, Lyulph's house is hen-less. 
I'u: an old oak, from wloich the foresters 
Have hew'd four goodly boughs, and left beside 

me • 
Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs over it. 

Vip. All slain ? — alas ! 

Swi. Ay, all, De Vipont. And their attributes, 
John with the Long Spear — Archibald with the 

Axe — 
Richard the Ready — and my youngest darling. 
My Fau'-hair'd WilUam — do but now survive 
In measures which the gray-hair'd minstrels sing. 
When they make maidens weep. 

Vip. These wars with England, thuj have rooted 
out 
The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who might 

win 
The sepulchre of Christ from tho rude heathen. 
Fall in unholy warfare I 

Swi. Unlioly warfare ! ay, -^ell hast thou named 

it; 

But not with England — wo'jld her cloth-yard shafts 
Had bored their cuira3s,e^ ! Then" lives had been 
Lost like their grandsirc's, in the bold defence 
Of theu' dear country^ — but m private feud 
With the proud Uordon, fell my Long-spear'd 

John, 
He with the Axo, and he men call'd the Ready, 
Ay, and my Fair-hair'd Will — the Gordon's wi'ath 
Devour'd my gallant issue. 

Vip. iih.ca tliou dost weep, their death is un- 
avenged ? 
S.vi. Templar, what think'st thou me? — Sea 
yonder rock. 
From which the foimtain gushes^s it less 
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it I 



compartment, whereon are the words, Je Pcnse.' 
Baronage, p. 132. 



-Douglas^t 



>MS.- 



' Of the dear land that nursed them — but in fend. 



HALIDON HILL. 



733 



Firm hearts have raoister eyes. — They are 

nvo iged ; 
I wept not till they were — till the proud Gordon 
Had with his life-blood dyed my father's sword, 
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage, 
And then 1 wept my sons ; and, as the Gordon 
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him. 
Which mingled with the rest. We had been 

friends, 
Uad shared the banquet and the chase together, 
Fought side by side, — and our cause of strife. 
Woe to the pride of both, was but a Ught out" ' 
Vip. Yon are at Teaa, men, with ttj sughty 

Gordon ? 
Swi. At deadly feud. Here in this Border- 
. land. 
Where the sire's quarrels' descend upon the son. 
As due a part of his inheritance. 
As the strong castle and the ancient blazon. 
Where private 'Vengeance holds the scales of jus- 
tice. 
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously 
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence. 
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and Saint Abb's, 
Kages a bitterer feud than mine and theirs. 
The Swinton and the Gordon. 

'Vip. You, with some threescore lances — and the 

Gordon 
Leading a thousand followers. 
Swi. You rate him far too low. Since yon 

sought Palestine, 
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships 
In the far-distant North. A thousand horse 
His southern friends and vassals always number'd. 
Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dey and 

Spey, 
He'U count a thousand more. — And now, De 'Vi- 

pont. 
If the Boar-heads seem in your eyes less worthy 
For lack of followers — seek yonder standard — ' 
The bounding Stag, with a brave host around it ; 
There the young Gordon makes his earliest field. 
And pants to win his spurs. His father's friend. 
As well as mine, thou wert— go, join his pennon. 
And grace him with thy presence. 
Vip. When you were friends, I was the friend 

of both, 
xVnd now I can be enemy to neither ; 
But my poor person, though but slight the aid, 
Joins on tliis field the banner of the two 
Which hath the smallest following. 
Swi. Spoke like the generous Knight, who gave 

up all. 
Leading and lordship, in a heathen land 
To fight, a Chiistian soldier ! Yet, in earnest, 

■ MS — " Sharp.y." 

« MS. — " As we do pass,'* &c 



I pray, De Vipont, you would join the Gor(^n 

In tills high battle. 'Tis a noble youth, — 

So fame doth vouch huu, — amorous, quick, and 

valiant ; 
Takes knighthood, too, this day, and well may use ■ 
His spurs too rashly' in the wish to win them. 
A friend like thee beside him in the fight. 
Were worth a hundred spears to rein his valor 
And temper it with prudence : — 'tis the aged eagle 
Teaches his brood to gaze upon the sm> 
^itn eye unaazzleu. 

'Vip. Alas ! brave Swinton ! Wouldst thou train 
the himter 
That ^oon must bring thee to the bay! Your 

custom. 
Your most unchristian, savage, fiend-hke custom, 
Binds Gordon to avenge his father's death. 

Swi. Why, be it so ! I look for nothing else : 
My part was acted when I slew his father, 
Avenging my four sons — Young Gordon's sword, 
If it should find my heart, can ne'er inflict there 
A pang so poignant as his father's did. 
But I would perish by a noble hand. 
And such will liis be if he bear him nobly. 
Nobly and wisely on this field of Halidon. 

Snter a Puescivant. 
PuE. Sir Knights, to Coimcil! — 'tis the Regent! 
order, 
That knights and men of leading meet him ii» 

stantly 
Before the royal standard. Edward's army 
Is seen from the hiU-summit. 

Swi. Say to the Regent, we obey his orders. 

[£■«< PtIRSUIVANT. 

[To Betnald.] Hold thou my casque, and furl 
my pennon up 
Close to the staff. I will not show my crest. 
Nor standard, till the common foe shall challenge 

them. 
I'll wake no civil strife, nor tempt the Gordon 
With aught that's like defiance. 

■Vip. Will he not know yom- features ? 

Swi. He never saw me. In the distant North 
Against liis will, 'tis said, his friends de:aiji'd him 
During liis nurttire — caring not, belike. 
To trust a pledge so precious.near the Boai-tu^k*. 
It was a natural but needless caution : 
I wage no war with children, for I think 
Too deeply on mine own. 

■Vu". I have thought on it, and will see thf 
Gordon 
As we go hence' to council. I do bear 
A cross, which binds me to be Christian priest, 
As well as Christian champion.' God may grani 



» MS. — " Tlie cross I wear appoints me Christiau priftll 
As well as rhrislian wairior." Slo 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tliat • at once his father's friend and yours, 
May make some peace betwixt you.' 
Swi. When that your priestly zeal, and knightly 
valor, 
Shall force the grave to render up the dead. 

\^Exeiint severally. 



SCENE IL 



The summit of Salidon Hill, before the Regents 
Tent. The Moyal Standard of Scotland is seen 
in the background, with the Pennons anil Ban- 
ners of the principal Nobles ar&and it. 

Council of Scottish Nobles and Chiefs. SuTHEa- 
LAND, Ross, Lennox, Maxwell, and other No- 
bles of the highest rank, are close to the Regent's 
person, and in the act of keen debate. Vipont 
with Gordon and others, remai7t grouped at some 
distance on the right hand of the Stage. On the 
left, standing also apart, is Swinton, alo7ie and 
bare-headed. The Nobles are dressed in Highland 
or Lotdand habits, as historical costnme requires. 
Trumpets, Heralds, (t*c. are in attendance. 

Len. Nay, Lordings, put no shame upon my 
counsels. 
I did but say, if we retired a little, 
We shoiUd have fairer field and better vantage. 
Fve seen King Robert — ay, The Bruce himself — 
Itetreat six leagues in length, and think no shame 
on't. 
Reg. Ay, but King Edward sent a haughty 
message. 
Defying us to battle on this field, 
This very hill of Hahdon ; if we leave it 
Unfought withal, it squares not with our honor. 
Swi. (apart.) A perilous honor, that allows the 
enemy. 
And such an enemy as this same Edward, 
To choose our field of battle I He knows how 
To make our Scottish pride betray its master 
Into the pitfall. 

[During this speech the debate among the No- 
bles is continued. 
SuTH. {aloiul.) We will not back one furlong — 
not one yard, 
No, nor one inch ; where er we find the foe, 
Or where i\\^ foe finds us, there wiU we fight him. 
Retreat will dull the spuit of our followers. 
Who now stand prompt for battle. 
Ross. My Lords, methiuks great Morarchat' has 
doubts. 
That, if his Northern clans once turn the seam 

1 In the MS. the scene termiriates willi this hne. 
' Morarcliate is the ancient Gaelic desi-^nation r*" the Earls 
ff Satherland. See ante, page 704, note. 



Of their checfd hose behind, it will be hard 

To halt and rally them. 

SuTH. Say'st thou, MacDonnell ? — Add anothei 
falsehood. 
And name when Morarchat was coward or traitor 
Thine island race, as chronicles can tell. 
Were oft affianced to the Southron cause ; 
Loving the weight .ind temper of their gold. 
More than the weight and temper of their steel. 

Reg. Peace, my Lords, ho ! ] 

Ross {throwing down his Glove!) MacDonn.vU j 

will not peace ! There lies my pledge, j 

Proud Morarchat, to witness thee a har. j 

ILix. Brought I all Nithsdale from the Western ' 

Border ; ! 

Left I my towers exposed to foraying England, ! 

And tliieviug Annandale, to see such misrule ? i 

John. Who spe.aks of Annandale ? Dare Max- 
well slander j 
The gentle House of Lochwood ?' j 

Reg. Peace, Lordings, once again. We represent ' 
The Majesty of Scotland — in our presence 
Brawhng is treason. 

ScTH. Were it in presence of the King himself 
Wliat should prevent my saying — ' 

Enter Lindesat 

Lin. You must determine quickly. Scarce a mile 

Parts our vanguard from Edward's. On the plain 

Bright gleams of armor flash thi^ough clouds of dust. 

Like stai's through fi-ost-mist — steeds neigh, and 

weapons clash — 
And arrows soon will wliistle — the worst sound 
That waits on English war. — You must deterniinu. 
Reg. We are determined. We will spare proud 
Edward 
Half of the ground that parts us. — Onward, Lords , 
Saint Andrew strike for Scotland ! We will lead 
The middle ward ourselves, the Roy.al Standard 
Display'd beside us ; and beneath its .shadow 
Shall the young gallants, whom we knight tliis day 
Fight for their golden spurs. — Lennox, tliou'rt wise 
And wilt obey command — lead thou the reai-. 
Len. The rear ! — why I the rear ? The van wers 
fitter 
For liim who fought abreast with Robert Bruce. 
Swi. (apart.) Discretion hath forsaken Lennca 
tool 
The wisdom he was forty years in gathering 
Has left Iiim in an instant. 'Tis contagious 
Even to witness phrensy. 

SuTH. The Regent hath determined well. Th« 
rear 
Suits him the best who o: josell'd our retreat. 

3 Lochivood Castle was the ancient seat of the JfihnstACiei 
Lords of Annandale. 



HALIDON HILL. 



73» 



Ljcn. Proud Northern Thane, the van were soon 
the rear, 
Were tliy cHsorder'd followers planted there. 

SuTii. Then, for that very word, I make a vow 
By my bruad Earldom, and my fatlicr's soul, 
That if 1 have not leading of the v.in, 
( will r..>. fi^ht to-day ! 

Ro**. Jlorarchat ! thou the leading of the van I 
Not whilst MacDonnell lives. 

Swi. (apart.) Nay, then a stone would spe.ak. 
[Addresses the Regent.] May't please your Grace, 
And you, groat Lords, to hear an old man's counsel, 
Tliat hath seen fights enow. Tliese open bickerings 
Dishearten all our host. If that yom- Grace, 
With these gi-eat Earls and Lords, must needs 

debate, 
Let the closed tent conceal your disagreement ; 
Else 'twill be said, ill fares it with the flock. 
If shepherds wrangle, when the wolf is nigh. 
Reg. The old Knight counsels well. Let every 
Lord, 
Or Chief, who leads five hundred men or more. 
Follow to council — others are excluded — 
We'U have no vulgar censurers of om' conduct — 

\_LooHng at Swinton. 
iToung Gordon, your high rank and numerous fol- 
lowing 
Give you a seat with us, though yet unknighted. 
GoKDON. I pray ^ou, pardon me. My youth's 
unfit 
To sit in council, when that Knight's gi'ay hairs 
And wisdom wait without. 

Reg. Do as you will ; we deign not bid you twice. 
[The Regent, Ross, Slthekland, Lennox, 
Maxwell, d'C. •enter the Te?it. The rest re- 
main grouped about the Stage, 
floK. (observing Swi.) That helmetless old 
Knight, his giant stature. 
His awful accents of rebuke and wisdom, 
Have caught my fancy strangely. He doth seem 
Like to some vision'd form which I have dream'd of, 
But never saw with waking eyes till now. 
I wil! accost him. 

Vip. Pray you, do not so ; 
Anon m give you reason why you should not. 

There's other work in hand 

Gob. I will but ask his name. There's in hia 
presence 
Soroetliing that works upon me like a spell. 
Or like the fecUng made my childish ear 
Dote upon tales of superstitious dread. 
Attracting while tliey chill'd my heart with fear. 
fTow, born the Gordon, I do feel right well 
Tm bound to fear naught earthly — and I fear 
naught. 

■ " A n.ime nnmusical to Volscian ears, 

Antl hanjii in soand to thine." — Coriotanus. 



I'll know who this man is 

[Aeeosts SwnjTO* 
Sir Knight, I pray you, of your gentle courtesy, 
To tell your honor'd name. I am ashamed, 
Being unkno^vn in arms, to say that mine 
Is Ailam Gordon. 

Swinton (shows emotion, but instantly subdues it 
It is a name that soimdeth in my ear 
Like to a death-knell — ay, and Uke the call 
Of the sluill trumpet to the mortal Usts ; 
Yet, 'tis a name which ne'er hath been dishonor'd, 
And never will, I timst — most sm-ely never 
By such a youth as thou. 

GoR. There's a mysterious courtesy in tliis. 
And yet it yields no answer to my question. 
I trust j'ou hold the Gordon not unworthy 
To know the name he asks ? 

Swi. Worthy of all that openness and honor 
May show to friend or foe — but fur my name, 
Vipout will show it you ; and, if it sound 
Harsh in your ear,' remember that it knells there 
But at your own request. This day, at least, 
Tliough seldom wont to keep it in concealment, 
As there's no cause I should, you had not heard it 

GoR. This strange 

Vip. Tlie mystery is needful. Follow me. 

[They retire behind the side scent ■ 

Swi. (looking after them.) 'Tis a brave youth 
How blush d his noble cheek, 
Wliile youthful modesty, and the embarrassmeJit 
Of curiosity, combined with wonder, 
.And half suspicion of some sUght intended. 
All mingled in the flush ; but soon 'twill deepen 
Into revenge's glow. How slow is Vipont ! — 
I wait tlie issue, as Fve seen spectators 
Suspend the motion even of the eyelids. 
When the slow gunner, with liis lighted match, 
Approach'd the charged c;vnnon, in the act 
To waken its dread slumbers. — Now 'tis out ; 
He draws his sword, and rushes towards nje, 
Who will nor seek nor shun him. 

Enter GoEnoN, withheld by VrpoNT. 
Vip. Hold, for the sake of Heaven 1 0, for th« 
sake [your father 

Of your dear country, hold ! — Has Swinton slait 
And must you, therefore, be yourself a parricide. 
And stand recorded as the selfish traitor, 
Wlio, in her hour of need, his country's* Ciiose 
Deserts, that he ma) wreak a private wrong ? 
Look to yon banner — that is Scotland's standard ; 
Look to the Regent — he is Scotland's general ; 
Look to the Enghsh — they are Scotland's foemen , 
Bethink thee, then, thou art a son of Scotland. 
And tliink on naught beside.' 

3 In the Md. the tive ttut lines of Vipont's speech an IDtfli 
polated. 



GoE. He hath come here to brave me 1 — Off 1 
unhand me ! 
Thou canst not be my father's ancient friend, 
That stands 'twixt me and him who slew my father. 

Vir. You know not Swinton. Scarce one pass- 
ing thought 
Of his high mind was with you ; now, his soul 
Is fix'd on tliis day's battle. You might slay him 
A-t unawares before he saw your blade drawn. — 
Stand still, and watch him close,' 

Enter Maxwell /rom the tent. 

Swi. How go our councils, Maxwell, may I ask ? 

Max. As wdd as if the very wmd and sea 
With every breeze and every billow battled 
For their precedence.'' 

Swi. Most sure they are possess'd ! Some evil 
spirit, 
To mock their valor, robs them of discretion. 
Fie, fie upon't ! — O, that Dunfermline's tomb 
Could render up The Bruce ! that Spain's red shore 
Could give us back the good Lord James of Doug- 
las! 
Dr that fierce Rtmdolph, with Iiis voice of terror. 
Were here, to awe these brawlers to submission 1 

Vip. to GoR. Thou hast perused him at more 
leisure now. 

GoR. I see the giant form which all men speak of. 
The stately port — but not the sullen eye. 
Not the bloodtliirsty look, that should belong 
To him that made me orphan. I shall need 
To name my father twice ere I can strike 
At such gray hahs, and face of such command ; 
Yet my hand clenches on my falchion hilt, 
In token he shall die. 

Vir. Need I again remind you, that the place 
Permits not private quarrel. 

GoE. I'm calm. I will not seek — nay, I will 
slmu it — • 
And yet methuiks that such debate's the fashion. 
You've 'heard liow taunts, reproaches, and the Ue, 
The lie itself, have flown from moutli to mouth ; 
As if a band of peasants were disputing 
About a foot-ball match, rather than Chiefs 
Were ordering a battle. I am young. 
And lack experience ; tell me, brave De Vipont, 
Is such the fasliion of your wars m Palestine ? 

Vip. Sucli it at times hath been ; and then the 
Cross 
Hath sunk before the Crescent. Heaven's cause 
Won us not victory where wisdom was not. — 
Behold yon Enghsh host come slowly on. 
With equal front, rank marshaU'd upon rank, 
■ As if one spirit ruled one moving body ; 

» MS. — " Yon mast not here — not where the Royal Standard 
Awaits the attack of Scotland's enemies, 
Against the common foe — wage private quarrel. 
He bravea you not — liis thought is on the event 



The leaders, in their places, each prepared 
To charge, support, and rally, as the fortun« 
Of cliangeful battle needs: then look on ours. 
Broken, disjointed, as the tumbling surges 
Which the winds wake at random. Look on botli 
And dread the issue ; yet there might be succor. 

GoK. We're fearfully o'ermatch'd in discipline ; 
So even my inexperienced eye can judge. 
What succor save in Heaven ! 

Vip. Heaven acts by human means. The art- 
ist's skill 
Supphes in war, as in mechanic crafts, 
Deficiency of tools. There's courage, wisdom, 
And skUl enough, hve in one leader here. 
As, flung into the balance, miglit avail 
To counterpoise the odds 'twixt that ruled host 
And om' wild multitude. — I must not name him. 

GoE. I guess, but dare not ask. — What band a 
yonder. 
Arranged so closely as the English discipline 
Hath marshaU'd theh best files ? 

Vip. Know'st thou not the pennon ? 
One day, perh.tps, thou'lt see it all too closely \—^ 
It is Sir Alan Swinton's. 

GoR. These, then, are his,— the reUcs of hie 
power ; 
Yet worth an host of ordinary men. — 
And I must slay my cotmtry's sageet leader. 
And crush by numbers that d^termino.d handful, 
When most my country needs their pra.'-tised aid. 
Or men will say, " There goes degenerate Gordon 
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword, 
And his is m his scabbard !" [J/«scs 

Vip. (apart.) High blood and mettle, mix'd with 
early wisdom. 
Sparkle in this brave youth. If he survive 
This evil-omen'd day, I pawn my word 
Tliat, in the rtiin wliich I now forbode, 
Scotland has tretisure left. — How close he eyes 
Each look and step of Swinton I Is it hate, 
Or is it admiration, or are both 
Commingled strangely in that steady gaze ? 
[Swinton and Maxwell return from the bottom 
of the staf/e. 

Max. The storm is laid at length amongst ihCK 
counsellors ; • 
See, they come forth. 

Swi. And it is more than time ; 
For I can mark the vanguard iu-chery 
Htmdling their quivers — bending up their bows. 

Enter the Regent and Scottish Lords. 
Reg. Tlius shall it be, then, since we may D* 
better : 

or this day's field. Stand atiU and waHh him 
closer." 
2 " Mad as the sea and wind, when ooth contend 
Which is the mightier." — Hamlet. 



And, since no Lord will yield one jot of way 
To this high urgency, or give the vanguiird 
Up to another's guidance, we will abide the-n 
Even on this bent ; and as our troops are rank'd, 
So shall they meet the foe. Chiet nor Thane, 
Nor Nol Ic, can complain of the precedence 
Whidi c lance has thus assign'd him. 

Swi. [apart.) 0, s.age disciphne. 
That leaves to chance the marsliallitg of a battle ! 
GoK. Move liim to speech, De Vipont. 
\''ip. Move liim! — Move whom? 
GoE. Even him, whom, but brief space since. 
My hand did burn to put to utter silence. ' 

Vip. I'll move it to him. — Swinton, speak to 
them. 
They lack thy counsel sorely. 

Swi. Had I the thousand spears which once I led, 
1 had not thus been silent. But men's wisdom 
Is rated by their means. Fr-^m the poor leader 
Of sixty lances, who seeks words of weight ? 
GoE. (stfps forward.) Swinion, there's that of 
wisdom on thy brow. 
And valor in thine eye, and that of peril 
In this most m'gent hour, that bids me say, — 
Bids me, thy mortal foe, say, — Swinton, speak, 
For King and Country's sake I 

Swi. Nay, if that Toice commands me, speak I 
will'; 
It sounds as if the dead lays charge on me. 
Reg. (To Lennox, with whonn he has been consult- 
inc^) 
'Tis better than you think. This broad hill-side 
Affords fair compass for our power's display, 
Rank above rank rising in seemly tiers ; 

So that the rearward stands as feir and open 

Swi. As e'er stood mark before an Enghsh archer. 
Reg. Who dares to say so ? — Who is't dai'e im- 
peach 
Our rule of discipline ? 
Swi. a poor Knight of these Marches, good my 
Lord ; 
Alan of Swinton, who hath kept a house here. 
He and his ancestry, since the old days 
Of Malcolm, called the Maiden. 

Reg. You have brought here, even to this pitched 
field, 
In which the Royal Banner is-displ.'iy'd, 
I think some sixty spears, Sir Knight of Swinton ; 
Our musters name no more. 

Bvn. I brought each man I had ; and Chief, or 
Earl, 
Thane, Duke, or dignitary, brings no more ; 
And with them brought I what may here be use- 
ful— 
An aged eye ; wh>ch, what in England, Scotland, 
Spain, France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty battles. 
And ta'en soiae judgment of Xhna ; a stark hand 
too. 



Wliicli plays as with a straw with tliis same m.icc, 
AVhicli if a young arm here can wield more lighi?.y; 
I never more will offer word of counsel 

Len. Hear liim, my Lord ; it is the noble Swin 
ton — 
He hath had high e-xperience. 

Max. He is noted 

The wisest warrior 'twixt the Tweed and Solway,-— 
I do beseech you, hear him. 

John. Ay, heai' the Swinton — hear stout old Sir 
Alan ; 
Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once 

Reg. Where's your impatience now ? 
Late you were all for battle, would not hear 
Ourself pronounce a word — and now you gaze 
On yon old warrior in his antique armor. 
As if he were arisen from the dead. 
To bring us Bruce's counsel for the battle. 

Swi. 'Tis a proud word to speak ; but he wh» 
fought 
Long under Robert Bruce, may something guesa, 
Without communication with the dead, 
At what he would have counsell'd. — Bruce had 

bidden ye 
Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly 
Here on the bare hill-side, and biuden you mark 
Ton clouds of Southron archers, bearing down 
To the green meadow-lands which stretch beneatb- 
The Bruce had warn'd you, not a shaft to-day 
But shall find mark witliin a Scottish bosom. 
If thus our field be order'd. The callow '"Sys, 
Wlio draw but fom--foot bows, sliall gall our from, 
While on our mainward, and upon the rear. 
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's own 

darts. 
And, though blind men discharge them, find a mark. 
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd deer. 
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease 
By boys and women, while they toss aloft 
All idly and m vain their branchy horns. 
As we shall snake our unavailing spears. 

Reg. Tush, tell not me ! If their shot fall likti 
hail, 
Our men have Milan coats to bear it out. 

Swi. Never did armorer temper steel on stithy 
That made sure fence against an English arrow 
A cobweb gossamer were guard as good' 
Against a wasp-stmg. 

Reg. Who fears a wasp-sting 7 

Swi. I, my Lord, fear non» 

Yet should a wise man brush the insect c", 
Or he may smart for it. 

Reg. We'll keep the hill; it is the vantage- 
ground 
When the main battle joins. 

Swi. It ne'er will join, while their light ai-chery 



iHS.- 



-"guard as thick." 



738 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Can foil our spearmen and our barbed horse. 
To hope Pl.intagenet would seek close combat 
When lie can conquer riskless, is to deem 
Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe 
In battle-knowledge. Keep the hill, my Lord, 
With the main body, if it is your pleasure ; 
But let a body of your chosen horse 
Make execution on yon waspish archers. 
I've done such work before, and love it well ; 
If 'tis your pleasure to give me the leading, 
The dames of Sherwood, Inglewood, and Weardale, 
Shall sit in widowhood and long for venison. 
And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannock- 

^ burn, — 
And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud trumpet. 
Forget that stirring word ! — knows that great battle 
Even thus was fought and won. 

Len. Tills is the shortest road to bandy blows ; 
For when the bUls step forth and bows go back. 
Then is the moment that our hardy spearmen, 
With their strong bodies, and theh stubborn hearts. 
And limbs well knit by mountain exercise. 
At thi' r'..-e tug shall foil the short-breath'd South- 
I't'ii. 
8wi. I do not say the field will thus be won; 
The English host is numerous, brave, and loyal ; 
Their Monarch most accomplish'd in war's art, 

Skill'd, resolute, and wary 

Reg. And if your scheme' seem'e not victory,' 
What does it promise us ! 

Swi. This much at least — 

Darkling we shall not die : the peasant's shaft, 
Loosen'd perchance without an aim or purpose. 
Shall not drink up the life-blood we derive 
From those famed ancestors, who made their breasts 
This frontier's barrier for a thousimd years. 
We'U meet these Southron bravely hand to hand. 
And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon ; 
Each man who fails shall see the foe who strikes 
I him. ' 

While our good blades are faithful to the hilts, 
: And our good hands to these good blades are faith- 
ful. 
Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged — 
We shall not bleed alone. 
i Reg. And this is all 

I Your wisdom hath devised ? 

1 Swj. Not all ; for I would pr-ay you, noble Lords 
i (If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might), 
For this one day to charm to ten hours' rest 
The never-dying worm of deadly feud, 

1 ' Tlie geneioaa abandonment of private dissension, on the 
1 part of GorJon, which the historian has described as a momen- 
tary impulse, is depicted by the dramatist with great skill and 
knowledge of human feeling, as the result of many powerful 
^d conflicting emotions. He has, we think, heen very suc- 
lessfnl in his attempt to express the hesitating, and sometimes 
^trograde movements of a youti;: and ardent mind, in its tran- 
tion from the first glow of in iignation aga t^L his heredjlary 



That gnaws our vexed hearts — think no one foe 

Save Edward and his host : — days will remain,' 

Ay, days by far too many will remain, 

To avenge old feuds or struggles for precedence ;- - 

Let this one day be Scotland's. — For myself, 

If there is any here may claim from me 

(As well may chance) a debt < f blood and hatred, 

My life is his to-morrow unres sting. 

So he to-day will let me do the best 

That my old m'm may achieve for the dear coimtry 

That's mother to us both. 

[Gordon shows much emotion during thu 
and t}}e preceding speech of Swinton. 
Reg. It is a dream — a vision ! — if one troop 
Rush down upon the archers, all wUl follow, 
And order is destroy'd — we'U keep the battle- 
rank 
Our fathers wont to do. No more on't. — Ho 1 
Where be those youths seek knighthood from ow 
sword ? 
Her. Here are the Gordon, Somerville, and Hay 
And Hepburn, with a score of gallants more. 
Reg. Gordon, stand forth. 

GoK. I pray your Grace, forgive me. 

Reg. How 1 seek you not for knighthood ? 
GoK. I do tliirst for't. 

But, pardon me — 'tia from another sword. 

Reg. It is your Sovereign's — seek you for a wor- 
thier ? 
GoR. Who would drink purely, seeks the secret 
fomitain. 
How small soever — not the general stream. 
Though it be deep and wide. My Lord, I seek 
The boon oi knighthood fi-om the honor'd weapon 
Of the beet knight, and of the sagest leader, 
That ever graced a ring of cliivalry. 
— Therefore, I beg the boon on bended knee. 
Even from Sir Alan Swinton. [Kneels. 

Reg. Degenerate boy ! Abject at once and in- 
solent ! — « 
See, Lords, he kneels to him that slew his father I 
GoR. {starting up.) Shame be on him, who speaks 
such shameful word ! 
Shame be on him, whose tongue woidd sow dissen- 
sion. 
When most the tune demands that native Scotsmen 
Forget each private wrong ! 

Swi. {interrupting him.) Youth, since you crave 
me 
To be your she in chivalry, I remina you 
War has its duties. Office has its reverence 

foeman, the mortal antagonist of his father, to the no less warm 
and generous devotion of feeling which is inspired in it by tht 
contemplation of that foemau's valor and virtues." — British 
Critic. 
• a MS — " For this one day 1o chase our counlry's curse 

From your vex'd bosoms, and think noonceneU; 

But tbose in yonder army— ^lays eno#. 

Ay days.'* &c 



HALIDON HILL. 



73» 



Wlio governs in the Sovereign's name is Sover- 
eign ;— 
Crave tlie Lord Regent's pardon. 

GoR. You task me justly, antl I crave his pardon, 
[Bows to the JIegent. 
nia and these noble Lords' ; and pray ihem all 
Boar witness to my words, — Ye noble presence. 
Here I remit unto the Knight of Swintou 
All Litter memory of my father's slaughter, 
All thoughts of mahce, hatred, and revenge : 
By no base fear or composition moved, 
But by the thought, that in our country's battle 
AU hearts should be as one. I do forgive him 
As freely as t pijjy to be forgiven. 
And once more kneel to him to sue for knighthood. 

Swi. {ittf'rcted, and drawing hU sword.) 
Alas ! brave youth, 'tis I should kneel to you. 
And, tendering thee the liilt of the fell sword 
That made thee fatherless, bill thee use the point 
After thine own discretion. For thy boon — 
Trumpets be ready — In the Holiest name, 
And in Om- Lady's and S;unt Andrew's name, 

[Touching his shoulder with his sword. 
1 dub thee Knight ! — Arise, Sir Adam Gordon ! 
Be faithful, brave, and O, be foitunate, 
Should this ill hoiu' permit 1 

[The trumpets sound; the Heralds cry 
*' Largesse," and the Attendants shout 
" A Gordon ! A Gordon !" 

Reg. Beggars and flatterers ! Peace, peace, I say 1 
We'U to the Stand.-ird ; knights shall there be made 
Who will with better reason crave your clamor. 

Lex. What of Swinton's counsel ? 
Here's Maxwell and myself think it worth noting. 

Reg. {with concentrated indignation) 
Let the best knight, ;md let the s.agest leader, — 
So Gordon quotes the man who slew his father, — 
With his old pedigree and heavy mace. 
Essay the adventiu'e if it pleases him, 
With his fan- threescore horse. As for ourselves. 
We will not peril aught upon the measiu"e. 

GoR. Lord Regent, you mistake ; for if Sir Alan 
Shall venture such attack, each ipan who calls 
The Gordon chief, and hopes or fears from him 
Or good or evil, follows Swinton's banner 
In this achievement. 

Reg. Why, God ha' mercy I This is of a piece. 
Let yomig and old e'en follow their own counsel. 
Since none will list to mine. 

Ross. The Border cockerel fain would be on 
horseback ; 
TTis safe to be prepared for fight or flight : 
And this comes of it to give Northern lands 
Xo the false Norman blood. 

GoR. Hearken, proud Chief of Isles ! Within 
my stalls 
I have two hundred horse; two hundred riders 
Mount guard upon my castle, wht would tread 



Into the dust a thousand of your Redshanks, 
Nor count it a day's service. 

Swi. Hear I this 

From thee, young man, and on the day of battle 
And to the brave MacDonnell ? 

GoR. 'Twas he that urged me; but I am re 

buked. 
Reg. He crouches like a leash-hound to his mas- 
ter 1' 
Swi. Each hound must do so that would head 
the deer — 
'Tis mongrel curs that snatch at mate or master. 
Reg. Too much of this. Sirs, to the Royal Stand- 
ard! 
I bid you in the name of good King David. 
Sound trumpets— sound for Scotland and King 
David I 
[The Regent and the rest go off, and tht 
Scene closes. Manent Gordon, Swin 
TON, and ViPONT, with Reynald andfol 
lowers. Le.vxox follows the Regent 
but returns, and addresses Swinton. 
Len. 0, were my western horsemen but come up 
I would take part with you ! 

Swi. Better that you remaia 

They lack discretion ; such gi'ay head as yours 
May best supply that want. 
Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honor'd lord, 
Farewell, I think, for ever ! 

Le.v. Farewell, brave friend ! — and farowell, 
noble Gordon, 
Whose sun will be eclipsed even as it rises I— 
The Regent will not aid you. 

Swi. We will so bear us, that as soon the blood- 
hound 
Shall halt, and take no part, what time his com 

rade 
Is grappUng with the deer, as he stand still. 
And see us overmatch'd. 

Len. Alas ! thou dost not know how mean nil 
pride is. 
How strong liis envy. [him 

Swi. Then we will die, and leave the shame with 

[Exit Lennox. 
Vrp. (to Gordon.) Wliat ails thee, noble Toatk ' 
What means tliis pause ? 
Thou dost not rue thy generosity ! 

GoR. I have been hurried on by strong impiilse. 
Like to a barji that scuds before the storm, 
Till driven upon some strange and distant coast, 
Which never pilot dreimi'd of. — Have I not for 

given ? 
And am I not still fatherless ? 

Swi. Gordon, no; 

For while we live I am a fiither to thee. [be 

GoR. Thou, Swinton ? — no ! — that cannot, cannol 

> la the MS. this speecli and the next are interpolated 



140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Swi. Then cliange the phrase, and say, that 
while we live, 
Gcrdon shall bo my son. If thou art fatherless, 
Am I not chiUUesa too ? Bethink thee, Gordon, 
Our death-feiid was not like the household fire, 
Which the poor peasant hides among its embers. 
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking. 
Ours was the conflagration of Sie forest, 
VVhinh, in its fury, spares nor sprout nor stem, 
Hoar oak, nor sapling — not to be e.\tinguish'd. 
Till Heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters ; 
But, once subdued, its flame is quench'd for ever ; 
And spring shall hide the tract of devastation,' 
With foUage and with flowers. — Give me thy 
hand. 
GoE. My hand and heart ! — And freely now I — 

to fight ! 
Vip. How wUl you act ? [TbSwiNTON.] The Gor- 
don's band and thine 
Are in the rearward left, I thmk, in scorn — 
m post for them who wish to charge the foremost I 
Swi. We'U turn that scorn to vantage, and de- 
scend 
Sidelong the liill — some winding path there must 

be— 
0, for a well-skill'd guide ! 

[Hob H.\ttely starts up from a TlilcJcet. 
Hob. So here he stands. — An ancient friend. Sir 
Alan. 
Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better, 
Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide. 
Swi. An ancient friend ? — a most notorious 
knave, 
Wliose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak 
Before ray castle, these ten months and more. 
Was it not you who drove from Simprim-mains, 
And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle '* 
Hob. What then, if now I lead your sixty 
lances 
Jpon the English flank, where they'll find spoil 
8 worth six hundred beeves ? 
Swi. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would not 
trust thee 
(Vith one poor bullock ; yet would risk my life, 
iind all my followers, on thine honest guidance. 

Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one 
^I've trod each step by star-hgLt), that sweeps 

round 
The rearward of this hill, !ind opens secretly 
[Jpon the archers' flank. — Will not that serve 
Your present turn, Sir Alan ! 

Swi. Bravely, bravely t 

GoE. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. 
Let all who love the Gordon foUow me 1 
SwL Ay, let all follow — but in silence follow. 

kfd.- -" Bat, once extiiirraish'd, it i% quench'd for ever, 

Aad spring Ftiall iiide the blacltness of its ashes." 



Scare not the bare that's couchant on her form— 
The c'jshat from her nest — brush not, if posslblei 
The dew-drop from the spray — 
Let no one whisper, until I cry, " Havoc !" 
Then shout as loud 's ye will. — On, on, brave Hob 
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scots 
man I 

[Exeunt 



ACT II.— SCENE L 

A rising Ground immediately in front of the Posi- 
tion of the Emjlish Main Bodi^ Pekcy, Chandos, 
RiBAUMONT, and other English and Norman No- 
bles, are grouped oji the Stage, 

Pee. The Scots still keep thehiU — the sim growl 

high. 
Would that the charge would sound. 

Cha. Thou seent'st the slaughter, Percy. — Who 

comes here ? 

Enter the Abbot of Walthamstow. 
Now, by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow 
Like to a l.amb among a herd of wolves 1 
See, he's about to bleat. 

Ab. The King, methinks, delays the onset long. 

Cha. Your general. Father, like your rat-catcher 
Pauses to bait liis traps, and set his snares. 

Ab. The metaphor is decent. 

Cha. . Reverend sir, 

I will uphold it just. Our good King Edward 
Will presently come to this battle-field, 
And speak to you of the last tilting match, 
Or of some feat he did a twenty years since ; 
But not a word of the day's work before him. 
Even as the artist, sir, whose name offends you, 
Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall, 
Aimounciug that the vermin me secured. 
And then 'tis up, and on them. 

Pee. Chandos, you give your tongue too Bold a 
Ucense. 

Cha. Percy, I am a necessary evil. 
Kuig Edward would not want me, if he could, 
A.nd could not, if he would. I know my value. 
My heavy hand excuses my light tongue. 
So men wear weighty swords in their defence, 
Although they may offend the tender shin. 
When the steel-boot is doff 'd. 

Ab. My Lord of Chando^ 

This is but idle speech on brink of battle, 
Wlien Christian men should think upon their sms 
For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie, 
Be it for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee. 
Thou hast withheld from our most reverend houa« 
The tithes of Everingham and Settleton ; 



Wilt thou make satisfaction to the Chtjch 
Before her tliuniiers strike thee ! I do wai-n thee 
[n most paternal sort. 

Ch^v. I thank you, Father, filially, 
rhough but a truant son of Holy Church, 
I would not choose to undergo her censures, 
Wlien Scottish blades are waving at my throat. 
I'll make fair composition. 

Ab. Na composition ; I'll have all, or none. 

Cha. None, then — 'tis soonest spoke. I'll take 
my chance. 
And trust my sinful soid to Heaven's mercy, 
Rather than risk my worldly goods with thee — 
My hour may not be come. 

Ab. Impious-^inipenitent — 

Pee. Hush ! the King — the King I 

Enter King Edwakd, attended bg B.\liol and 

others. 
Kino (apart to Cha.) Hark hither, Chandos I — 
Have the Yorkshire archers 
■Jet join'd the vanguard ? 

Cha. They are marching thither. 
K. Ed. Bid them make haste, for shame — send 
a quick rider. 
iTie loitering knaves I were it to steal my venison, 
Their steps were hght enough. — How now. Sir 

Abbot! 
Sajj, is your Reverence come to study with us 
The princely art of war ? 

Ab. I've had a lecture from my Lord of Chandos, 
In which he term'd your Grace a rat-catcher. 
K. Ed. Chandos, how's this ? 
Cha. 0, I will prove it, su' ! — These skippmg 
Scots 
Have changed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and 

BaUol, 
tiuitting each House when it began to totter ; 
They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, as 

rats. 
And we, as such, will smoke them in their fast- 
nesses. 
K. Ed. These rats have seen your back, my Lord 
of Chandos, 
And noble Percy's too. 

Pek. Ay ; but the mass which now lies welter- 
ing 
On yon hiU. side, like a Leviathan 
That's stranded on the shallows, then had soul 

in't, 
Order and discipline, and power of action. 
Now 'tis a headless corpse, wliich only shows, 
By wild convulsions, that some Ufe remains in't. 
K Ed, True, they had once a head ; and 'twas a 
wise, 
^though a rebel head. 
Ab. (homing to the ICing.) Would he were here 1 
we should find one to match him. 



K. Ed. Tlicre's son.etliing in that wish wlvich 
wakes an echo 
Within my bosom. Yet it is as well. 
Or better, that The Bruce is in his grave. 
We have enough of powerful foes on earth. — 
No need to summon them from other worlds. 
Per. Your Grace ne'er met Tlie Bruce i 
K. Ed. Never himself; but in my earliest fiel^ 
I did encounter with liis famous captains, 
Douglas and Randolph. Faith ! they press'd m« 
hard. 
Ab. My Liege, if I might lu-ge you with a ques- 
tion. 
Will the Scots fight to-day? 

K. Ed. {sharp!)/.) Go look yoiu- breviary. 
Cr.!. (apart.) The Abbot has it — Edward wiL 
not answer 
On that nice point. We must observe his hu- 
mor.— 

[Addresses the KiNa 
Your first campaign, my Liege ?^That was in 

Weardalc, 
When Douglas gave our camp yon midnight ruffle, 
And tmn'd men's beds to biers i 

K. Ed. Ay, by Saint Edwai'd ! — I escaped right 
nearly. 
I was a soldier then for hoUdays, 
And slept not in mine armor :. my safe rest 
Was stixrtled by the cry of " Douglas 1 Douglas 1" 
And by my couch, a grisly chamberlain, 
Stood Alan Swinton, with his bloody mace. 
It was a churchman saved me — my stout chaplain, 
Heaven quit liis spu-it ! caught a weapon up, 
And grappled with the giant. — How now, Louis • 

Enter an Officer, who whispers i/ie KiNii. 

K. Ed. Say to him, — thus — and thus 

[ Wldsperi 
Ab. That Swinton's dead. A monk of ours re- 
ported, 
Bound homeward from St. Ninian's pilgrimage. 
The Lord of Gordon slew him. 

Per. Father, and if your house stood on om 
borders. 
You might have cause to know that Swinton live* 
And is on horseback yet. 

Cha. He slew the Gordon, 

That's all the difference — a very trifle. 

Ab. Trifling to those who wage a war morf 
noble 
Than with the arm of flesh. 

Cha. (apart.) The Abbot's vex'd. Til rub the 
sore for liim. — 
(Aloud.) I have seen priests that used that arm ;)• 

flesh. 
And used it sturdily. — Most reverend Father, 
What say you to the chaplain's deed of arm* 
In the King's tent at Wcardale ? 



Ab. It was most sinful, being against the canon 
Prohibiting all churchmen to bear -weapons ; 
A.nd as he fell in that unseemly guise, 
Perchance his soul may rue it. 
K. Ed. (otierhearing the last words.) Who may 
rue? 
And what is to be rued ? 

Cha. (apart.) Fll match his Reverence for the 
tithes of Everingham. 
— The Abbot says, my Liege, the deed was sir.ful. 
By which your chaplain, wielding seciUar weap- 
ons, 
Secured your Grace's life and Mberty, 
And that he suffers for't in purgatory. 
K. Ed. (to the Abbot.) Sajf'st thou my chaplain 

is in purgatory ? 
Ab. It is the canon speaks it, good my Liege. 
K. Ed. In pm'gatory ! thou shalt pray him out 
on't, 
Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him. 

Ab. My Lord, perchance his soul is past the aid 
Of all the Church may do — there is a place 
From which there's uo redemption. 

K. Ed. And if I tliought my faithful chaplain 
there, 
'riiou shouldst there join him, priest ! — Go, watch, 

fast, pray, 
.^ud let me have such prayers as will storm Heav- 
en — 
None of your maim'd and mutter'd hunting masses. 
Ab. {apart to Cha.) For G^d's sake take him off. 
Cha. Wilt thou compound, then. 
The tithes of Everingham ? 
K. Ed. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of 
Heaven, 
Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them 
Gauist any well-deserving English subject. 
Ab. (to Cha.) We will compound, and grant thee, 
too, a share 
r the next indulgence. Thou dost need it much, 
And greatly 'twill avail thee. 
Cha. Enough — we're friends, and when occasion- 
serves, 
I will strike in.— — 

[Looks as if towards the Scottish Army. 
K. Ed. An.swer, proud Abbot ; is my chaplain's 

BOul, 

If thou knowest aught on't, in the evil place i 
Cha. My Liege, the Yorkshire men have gain'd 
the meadow. 
Isee the pennon green of merry Sherwood. 
K. Ed. Then give the signal instant 1 We have 
l(Ht 

But too much time already. 

> MS. — " The viewless, the resistless plague," &o. 
The well-known expression by which Robert Broce cea- 



Ab. My Liege, your holy chaplain's blessed 

soul — 
K. Ed. To hell with it and thee 1 Is this a time 
To speak of monks and chaplains ? 

[Flourish of IVumpets, answered by d 
distant sound of Bugles. 
See, Chandos, Percy — Ha, Saiat George! Saint 

Edward ! 
See it descendmg now, the fatal hail-»hower, 
The storm of England's wrath — sure, o-mft, rosiflt- 

less, 
Which no mail-coat can brook. — Brave Eng1iQl^ 

hearts I 
How close they shoot together ! — as one eye 
Had aim'd five thousand shafts — as if one hand 
Had loosed five thousand bow-strings ! 

Pee. The thick voUey 

Darkens the air, and hides the sun from ua. 

K. Ed. It falls on those shall see the sim QO 
more. 
The winged, the resistless plague' is with them. 
How their vex'd host is reeling to and fro, 
Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in him, 
They do not see, and camiot shun the wound. 
The storm is viewless, as death's sable wing, 
Unerring as liis scythe. 

. Pee. Horses and riders are going down together 
'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall. 
And by a peasant's arrow. 

Bal. I could weep them, 

Although they are my rebels. 

Cha. (aside to Pee.) His conquerors, he means^ 
who cast him out 
From his usurped kingdom. — (Aloud.) 'Tis the 

worst of it, 
That knights can claim small honor in the field 
Which archers win, unaided by our lances. 

K. Ed. The battle is not ended. . [Looks toward* 
the field. 
Not ended ! — scarce begun I What horse are 

these. 
Rush from the tliicket underneath the hill ? 

Pee. They're Hainaulters, the followers of Queen 

Isabel 
K. Ed. (hasiihj.) Hainaulters ! — thou art blind — 
wear Hainaulters 
Saint Andrew's silver cross ? — or would they 

charge 
FuU on our archers, and make havoc of them !— 
Bruce is aUve again — ^ho, rescue ! rescue ! — 
Wlio was't survey'd the ground I 
RiB.A. Most royal Liege — 
K. Ed. a rose hath fallen from thy chapletv 
Ribaumont. 



sored the negligence of Randolph, for permitting an English 
body of cavalry to pass his tlank on tb* lay preceding tna 
battle of Bannockbam 



HALIDON HILL. 



74S 



RinA I'll win it bacl;, or lay my head beside it. 

[Ji^it. 
K. Ed. Saint George ! Saint Edward ! Gcutle- 
men, to horse, 
And to the rescue !— Percy, lead the biU-raen ; 
Chatulos, do thou bring up the me!i-at-arms. — 
If yonder numerous liost sliould now bear down 
Bold as tlieir vanguai'd (to the Abbot), thou mayst 

pray for us, 
We may need good men's prayers. — To the rescue, 
Lords, to the rescue ! ha, Saint George I Saint Ed- 
ward 1' 

[Exeunt, 

■ SCENE II. 

d part of the Field of Battle betwixt tne two Main 
Armies. Tumults behind the scenes ; alarums, 
and cries of " Gordon, a Gordon," " Swinton," iSsc. 

Unter, as victorious over the English vanguard, 
ViPONT, Reynald, and others. 

Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries sound 
together, — 
Gordon and Swinton. 

Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange 
withal. 
Faith, when at first I heard the Gordon's slogan 
Sounded so near me, I had nigh struck down 
The knave who cried it.^ 

Enter Swinton and Gordon. 

!SwT. Pitch down my pennon in yon holly bush. 

Gor. Mine in the thorn beside it ; let them wave, 
A.S fought this morn their masters, side by side. 

Swi. L^t the men rally, and restore their ranks 
Here in tliis vantage-ground — disorder'd chase 
Leads to disorder'd flight ; we have done our 

part, 
ind if we're succor'd now, Plantagenet 
Must turn his bridle southward. — 
Reynald, spur to the Regent with the basnet 
Of stout De Grey, the leader of their vanguard ; 
Say, that in battle-front the Gordon slew him, 
And by that token bid him send us succor. 



I " In the second act, after the English nobles have amnsed 
themseU-es in some trifling conversation witli the Abbot ot" 
Walthamstow, Edward is introduced ; and his proud coura- 
geous temper and short manner are very admirably delineated ; 
though, if our historical recollections do not fail us, it is more 
completely the picture of Longshanks than that of the third 
Edward.. .... We conceive it to be extremely probable 

that Sir Walter Scott had resolved to commemorate some of 
the events in the life of Wallace, and had already sketched 
that hero, and a Templar, and Edward the First, when his 
sye glanced over the description of Homildon Hill, in Pinker- 
ion's History of Scotland ; that, being pleased with the char- 
kcters of Swinton and Gordon, he transferred his Wallace to 

wintaQ : and that, for tlaa sake of retaining his portrait of 



Gor. And tell him that when Selby's headlonf 

cliarge 
Hail wellnigh borne me down. Sir Alan smote him 
I cannot send his helmet, never nutshell 
Went to so many shivers. — Harkye, grooms I 

[7'o those behind the soentt 
Why do you let my noble steed stand stiffening 
After so hot a course ? 

Swi. Ay, breathe yoiu' horses, they'll have worl 

anon. 
For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on us. 
The flower of England, Gascony, and Flanders ; 
But with swift succor we wiU bide them bravely.— 
De Vipont, thou look'st sad P 

Vip. It is because I hold a Templar's sword 
Wet to the crossed lult with Clu-istian blood. 
Swi. Tlie blood of Enghsh arcliers — what cat 

gild •, 

A Scottish blade more bravely ? 

Vip. Even therefore grieve I for those gallan* 

yeomen, 
England's peculiar and appropriate sons. 
Known in no other land. Each boasts his hearth 
And field as free as the best lord liis barony. 
Owing subjection to no himian vassalage. 
Save to their King and law. Hence are they re»» 

lute. 
Leading the van on every day of battle. 
As men who know the blessings they defencL 
Hence are they frank and generous in peace, 
As men who have their portion in its plenty. 
No other kingdom shows such worth and hapj)! 

ne.ss 
Veil'd in such low estate— therefore I mourL 

them. 
Swi. I'll keep my sorrow for our native Scots, 
Who, spite of hardship, poverty, oppression. 
Still follow to the field their Chieftain's banner. 
And die in the defence on't. 

GoK. And if I live and see my halls again. 
They shall have portion in tl.-^ good they fight 

for. 
Each hardy follower shall have his field. 
His household hearth and sod-liuUt home, as free 
As ever Southron had. Thej .■ hall be happy ! — 



Edward, as there happened to be a Gordon and a Douglas « 
the battle of Halidoun in the time of Edward the Third, and 
there was so much similarity in the circumstances uf the uoa- 
test, he preserved his Edward as Edward the Third, retaining 
also his old Knight Templar, in defiance of the anachronism * 
—Mmtlily Review, July, 18*2. 

2 Tlie MS. adds — " snch was my surprise." 

3 " While thus enjoying a breathing time, Swinton observa 
the thoughtful countenance of De "Vipont. See what follows 
Were ever England and Englishmen more nobly, more beauth 
fully, more justly characterized, than by the latter, or waa 
patriotic feeling ever better sustained than by the former and 
bis brave companion in arnii?" — ^eu> Edinbursli Review. 



U4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it 1 — ' 
I hare betray'd myself. 

SwL Do not believe it. — 

Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height, 
And see what motion in the Scottish host, 
And in Kin?- Edward's. — 

[Exit VrpoNT. 
Now will I counsel thee ; 
The Templar's ear is for no tale of love, 
Being wedded to his Order. But I tell thee, 
The brave young knight that hath no lady-love 
Is hke a lamp unlighted ; his brave deeds. 
And its lioh painting, do seem then most glorious, 
When the pure ray gleams through them. — 
Hath thy Elizabeth no other name ?" 

GoK. Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan ? 
The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strengtli, 
Hath *onjured phantoms up amongst her dreams. 
The name of Swinton hath been spell sufficient 
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek, 
And wouldst thou now know hers ? 

Swi. I would, nay must. 

Thj father in the paths of chivalry. 
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy course 

t.y- 

!tor. Nay, then, her name is — hark 

[ ]]'Tiispcrs. 

Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern house. 

GoR. 0, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honor 
[n my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee — — 

Swi. It did, before disasters had untuned me. 

GoR. O, her notes 
Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion. 
Or melt them to sucli gentleness of feeling. 
That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she. 
Know? the wild harpings of our native land ? 
Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill, 
Or wake the knight to battle ; rouse to merriment, 
Or soothe to sadm ^s; she can touch each mood. 
Princes and statesii;en, chiefs renown'd in arms, 
An4 gray-hair'd bui Is, content! wliich shall the first 
And choicest homage render to the enchantress. 

Swi. Tou speak her talent bravely. 

GoE. Though you smile, 

I do not speak it half. Her gift creative. 
New measures- adds to every air she w:dies ; 
Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness, 
IJke the wild modulation of the lark ; . 
Now leaving, now returning to the strain ! 
To listen to her, is to seem to wander 
111 some enchanted labyrinth of romance. 
Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will, 

1 " There wanted but a little of the tender passion to make 
ibis j-onth every way a hero of romance. Bui tlje poem has 
no ladies. How admirably is tliis defect 6up;,lied ! In his 
entliosiastic anticipation of prosperity, he allows a name to 
fscape liim." — JVew Edinburgh Review. 

^ ' Amid tl.e confusion and din of tlie battle, tte reader is 



Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer. 
Methinks I hear her now ! — 

Swi. Bless'd privilege 

Of youth ! There's scarce three minutes to decide 
'Twixt death and hfe, 'twixt triumph and defeat, 
Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, 

List'ning her harping ! 

[Enter ViPONH 
Where are thine, De Vipont I 

ViP. On death — on judgment — on eternity I 
For time is over with us. 

Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to ota 
aid. 
Of all that flutter yonder 1 

Vip. From the main English host come milling 
forward 
Pennons enow — .ay, aiid their Royal Standard. 
But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. 

Swi. (to himself.) I'll rescue him at least.— 
Young Lord of Gordon, 
Spur to the Regent — show the instant need 

GoR. I penetrate thy purpose ; but I go not. 

S«^. Not at my bidding? I, thy sire in chiv- 
alry— 
Tliy leader in the battle ? — I command thee. 

GoR. No, thou wilt not command me seek mj 
safety, — 
For such is thy kind meaning — at the expense 
Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scot 

land. 
WliUe I abide, no follower of mine 
Will turn liis rein for life ; but were I gone, 
Wliat power can stay them ? and, our baud uu: 

persed. 
What swords shall for an instant stem yon host, 
And save the latest chance for victory ? ■ 

Vip. The noble youth speaks truth ; and -wer* 
he gone, 
There will not twenty spears be left with us. 

GoR. No, bravely as we have begim the field. 
So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes. 
More certain than a thousand messages, 
Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host 
Ag.ainst yon bursting storm. If not for honoi, 
If not for warlike rule, for shame at least 
He must bear do-sra to aid us. 

Swi. Must it be so ? 

And am I forced to yield the sad consent. 
Devoting thy young life ?^ 0, Gordon, Gordon I 
I do it as the patriarch doom'd }iis issue ; 
I at my country's, he at Heaven's command ; 
But I seek vainly some atoning sacrifice,* 

unexpectedly greeted with a dialogue, which breathes inda*c 
Ihe soft sounds of the lute in tlie clang of trumpets." — Month 
ly Rcvicio. 

3 MS. — " And am I doom'd to yield the sad consent 
Tliat thus devotes thy life V 

* MS. — " O, could there be some lesser sacrilice." 



HALIDON HILL. 



741 



Rather tlian eiich a victim ! — (Trumpets.) Hark, 

tbey come I 
That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. 

GoK. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it 

gny'y-— 

Mount, vassal 9, couch your lances, and cry, " Gor- 
don I 
Gordon for Scotland and lilizabeth I" 

[Exeunt. Loud Alarums. 



SCENE m. 

another part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to tlie 
former Scene. 

Alarums. Enter Svnmois, followed by 
Hob IIjttely. 

SwT. Stand to it yet I The raiin who flies to-day, 
May bastards warm them at his household hearth 1 
Hob. That ne'er shall be my curse. My Magdalen 
Is tru.sty as my broadsword. 

Swi. Ha, thou bnaTe, 

Art thou dismounted too ? 

Hob. 1 know. Sir Alan, 

Fou want no homeward guide ; so threw my reins 
Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose. 
Witliin ay. hour he stands before my gate ; 
And JIagdaleu will need no other token 
To bid the Melrose Monks say masses for me. 
Swi. Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then ? 
Hob. It is my purpose, 

Having Uved a thief, to die a brave man's death ; 
And never had I a more glorious chance for't. 
Swi. Here lies the way to it, knave. — Make in, 
make in. 
And aid young Gordon ! 

\_Exewnt. Loud and long Alar^tms. Af- 
ter which the back Scene rises, and 
discovers Swinton on the ground, 
Gordon supporting hitn ; both much 
vjounded. 
Bwi. All ai-e cut down — the reapers have pass'd 
o'er us. 
And hie to distant harvest. — My toil's over ; 
There Hes my sickle. [Dropping his sword.] Hand 

of mine again 
Bhall never, never wield it 1'^ 

GoK. vaUant leader, is thy hght extinguish'd I 
That only beacon-flame which promised safety 
Tn this day's deadly wrack 1 

fewi. My lamp hath long been dim 1 But thine, 
young Gordon, 

i^Thia speech of Swinton's ii interpolated on the blank page 
the manascr'pt. 



Just kindled, to be quencn d so suddenly, 
Ere Scotland saw its splendor 1 — — 

Goa. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hiH 
Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us I 
Swi. It was the Regent's envy. — Out I — alaa ' 
Why blame I hinj I — It was our civil discord. 
Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred. 
Which fi'amed this day of dole for our poor coun 

try.- 
Had thy brave father held yon leading staff, 
As well his rank and valor miglit have claim'd t, 
We had not fall'n unaided. — How, how 

Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented 

GoE. Alas I alas 1 the author of the death-feud 

He luis his reckoning too ! for had your sons 

And num'rous vassals lived, we had lack'd no iud. 

Swi. May God assbU the dead, and him who 

follows ! 

We've drank the poison'd beverage wliich ws 

5 brew'd : 
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirl- 
wind I — ■ 
But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart 
Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted ; 
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgive 

ness, — ■ 
Why should'st thou share our punishment ! 
GoE. All need forgiveness — [distant alarum.] ■ 
Hark, in yonder shout 
Did the main battles counter ! 

Swi. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou 
canst. 
And tell me how the day goes. — But I guess, 

Too surely do I guess 

GoR. AD'S lost ! all's lost I — Of the main Scot 
tish host. 
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward , 
Anil some there are who seem to turn their speara 
Against their countrymen. 

Swi. Raslmess, and cowardice, and secret trea- 
son, 
Combine to ruin us ; and our hot valor. 
Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength, 
More fatal unto friends than enemies '. 
I'm glad that these Him eyes shall see no mora 

on't. — 
Let thy hands close them, Gordon — I will dream 
My fair-hair'd William renders me that office I 

[Diet 
GoE. And^ Swmton, I will think I do that duty 
To my dead father. 

Enter De Vipont. 
Vrp. Fly, fly, brave youth ! — A handful of thj 
followers, . 
The scatter'd gleaning of this desperate day, 
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue. — 
linger not ! — Pll b'J your guide.to them. 



r46 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



GoE. Look there, and bid me fly I — The oak has 
falln; 
(Vnd tlie young ivy bush, which learn'd to climb 
By its support, must needs partake its fall. 
Vip. Swinton ? Alas I the best, the bravest, 
strongest, 
Anri sagest of our Scottish cliivalry ! 
i%rgive one moment, if to save the living, 

tongue should wrong the dead. — Gordon, be- 
tliiijv thee. 
Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse' 
Of him who slew thy father. 

GoE. Ay, but he was my sire in chivah-y. 
P.e tauglit my youth to soar above the promptings 
Of mean and selfish vengeance ; gave my youth 
A name that shall not die even on tliis death- 
spot. • 
Records shall tcU this field had not been lost. 
Had all men fought like Swinton and Uke Gordon. 

[Trumpets. 
Save thee, De Vipont. — Hark I the Southion 
trumpets. 
Vip. Nay, without thee, I stir hot. 

Xnter Edwaei», Chandos, Peeot, Baliol. cfcc. 
GoK. Ay, they come on — the Tyrant and the 
Traitor, 
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and BaUoI. — 
for a moment's strength in this poor arm. 
To do one glorious deed ! 

\_He rushes on the EvxiUsh^ but is made 
prisoner with Vipont. 
K. En. Disarm them — ^harm them not ; though 
it was they 
Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard, 
They and that bulky champion. Wliere is he ? 
Chan. Here hes the giant ! Say his name, young 

Knight ? 
Goe. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning." 
CuA. I question'd thee in sport. I do not need 
Thy information, youth. Who that has fought 
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows his 
crest, 

* MS. — " Thoa hast small canse to tarry with the corpse." 
> In his narr.-itive of events on tlie day after the battie of 

Pheritfmair, Sir Walter Scott says, " Amongst the gentlemen 
who fell on this occasion, were several on both sides, alike 
eminent for birth and character. The body of the gallant 
jronng Earl of Strathmore wa3 found on the field watched by 
ft faitbfol old domestic, who, being asked the name of the pep- 
ton whose body he waited upon with so mucl^care, made this 
striking reply, 'He was a man yesterday.'" — Tales of a 
Grandfather, 

3 MS. — " StAod arm'd beside my couch," &c. 

* "The character of Pwinton is obviously a favorite with 
the author, to which circnmstance we are probably indebted 
for the strong relief in which it is given, and the perfect verisi- 
ai.litnde which belongs to it. The stately commanding figure 
if the veteran warrior, whom, by the illusion of his art, the 



The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak. 
And that huge mace still seen where war wa» 
wildest ! 
King Ed, 'Tis Alan Swinton 1 
Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Weardale, 
Stood by my startled couch^ with torch and mace, 
When the Black Douglas' war-cry waked my 
camp. 
GoE. (sinking down.) If thus thou know'st him 
Thou wilt respect his corpse.* 

K. Ed. As belted Knight and crowned King, 1 

will. 
GoK. And let mine 
Sleep at his side, in token that our douth 
Ended the feud of Swinton and of OrOidon. 

K. Ed. It is the Gordon ! — Is tliere aught beside 
Edward can do to honor bravery. 
Even in an enemy ? 

GoE. Nothing but this : • 

Let not base Baliol, with his touch or looli. 
Profane my corpse or Swinton's. Tve some breath 

still. 
Enough to say — Scotland — Elizabeth ! [Diea, 

Cha. Bahol, I would not brook such dying 
looks. 
To buy the crown you aim at. 

K. Ed. {to Vip.) Vipont, thy crossed sliield sho^ra 
ill in warfare 
Against a Clu-istian King. 

Vip. That Cliristian King is warring upon Scot- 
land. 
I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar,' 
Sworn to my country ere I knew my Order. 
K. Ed. I will but know thee as a Chi'istian cham 
pion, 
And set thee free unransom'd. 

Enter Abbot of Walthamstow, 
Ab. Heaven grant your Majesty 
Many sucli glorious days as this has been I 

K. Ed, It is a day of much and high advao 
tage; 
Glorious it might have been, had all our foes 

author has placed in veritable presentment before us ;~hi6 ven 
erable age, sui?erioi nrowess, and intuitive decision ; — {hi broilt 
in which he had engaged, the misfortunes he had suffered, and 
the intrepid fortitude with which he sustained tliem, — togethel 
with that rigorous control of temper, not to be shaken even 
by unmerited contumely and insult; — these qualities, grouped 
and embodied in one and the same character, render it n:orally 
in'^ossible that we sbouldTiot at once sympathize and admire. 
The inherent force of his character is finely illustrated in th« 
eifect produced npon Lord Gordon by the first appearance oi 
the man 'who had made him fatherless.'" — Kdinbtirgh 
Magazine, July, 1822. 

fi A Venetian General, observing his soldiers testified sjmc 
unwillingness to fight against those of the Pope, whom they 
regarded a? father of the Churc*- addressed them in terms <rf 
similar encouragement, — "Figl,. — ' "" were Velietiaiu b» 
fore we were Christians." 



HALIDON HILL. 



741 



Fought lite these two brave champions. — Strike 

the druiiis, 
Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, 

* " It 13 generally the case that much expectation ends in 
liwappoiiitinont. The fre^. delineation of character in some of 
Ihe recent Scot'ioh Novels, and the admirable converaations 
iutcrsporjed throughout them, raised hopes that, wiien a regu- 
lar dr.'iiu.i should be attempted hy tlie person who was con- 
lidered ;i^ their auihor, tlie success would be eminent. Its 
miiounccmcnt, too, in a solemn and formal manner, did not 
dimini.>.h the interest of the public. The drama, however, 
which was expected, turns out to be in fact, and not only in 
uonie, merely a ilramatic sketch, which is entirely deticient in 
plot, and contains but three characters, Swinton, Gordon, and 
Edward, in whom any interest is endeavored to be excited. 
With some exceptions, the dialogue also is flat and coarse; 
and for all ll. ^e defects, one or two vigorous descriptions of 
battle scenes \v.ll scarcely make sufficient atonement, except 
m the eyes of very enthusiastic friends." — Monthly Rcoieuj. 



'• Halidon Hill, we understand, unlike the earlier poems of 
tLs author, has not been received into the i?nk9 of popular 
favor. ?iich rumors, of course, have no effect on our critical 
jatigment ; but we cannot forbear saying, that, thinking as we 
do very highly of the spirit and taste with which an interest- 
ing tale is here sketched in natural and energetic verse, we 
are yet far frorr feeling sur[irised that the approbation, which 
k ia our pleasing duty to bestow, should i.oi have been antici- 
•aled by the ordinary readers of the work before uu. It bears, 
JQ tfnth, DO great resemblance to tho narrative poeiv <ium 



Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwicff 

reuder'd — 
Tlieae wars, I trust, will soon fiud lasting close.* 

which Sir Walter Scbtt derived his first and high reputation 
and hy which, for the present, his genius must he character- 
ized. It is wholly free from many of their most obviou'* laulta 
— their carelessness, their irregularity, and tlieir ine(iuality both 
of conception and of execution ; hut it waul^ likowifte no incon 
siderahle portion of their beauties— it has les^ ' pomp ana ci^ 
cumstance,' less pictorcsftue description, romantic association, 
and chivalrous glitter, less sentiment and retleution. lesw per* 
haps of all tlieir striking charms, with the single exciption ot 
that one redeeming and sufficing quality, which furnis, in out 
view, the highest recommendation of al/ tlu- auihor'a worka 
of imaginaiiou, their unaffected and unflagging vigor. Thia 
perhaps, after all, is only saying that we have before us a 
dramatic poem, instead of a metrical tale of romance, and 
that the author has had too much taste and discretion to be- 
dizen his scenes with inappropriate and encumbering orna 
n:cnt. There is, however, a class of readers of poetry, and a 
pretty large class, too, who have no relish for a work, howevei 
naturally and strongly the characters and incidents may be 
conceived and sustained— however appropiiate and manly may 
be the imagery and diet ion— from whiuh tlit-y cannot select 
any isolated passages to store in their memories or tlieir com- 
monplace books, to whisper into a lady's ear. or transcribe into 
a lady's album. With this tea-table and watering-place school 
of critics, ' Halidon Hill' must expect no favor ; it has no rant 
— no mysticism — and, worst otience o.*" ?11. no afrectatioD.''- 
British Critic, Ociober, 1822, 



746 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



iHaclDuff's €ro0s. 



INTRODUCTION. 

These few scenea had the honor to be included 
in a Miacollany, published in the year 1823, by Mrs. 
Joanna BaUhe, and are here reprinted, to unite 
them with the trifles of the same kind which owe 
Uieir birth to the author. The singular history of 
the Cross and Law of Clan MacDuff is given, at 
length enough to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in 
The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border} It is here 
only necessary to state, that the Cross was a place 
of refuge to any person related to MacDuff, within 
the ninth degree, who, having committed homicide 
in sudden quati'el, should reach this place, prove 
his descent from the Thane of Fife, and pay a cer- 
taiif penalty. 

The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the 
Reformation. The huge block of stone wliich 
served for its pedestal is still in existence near 
the town of Newburgh, on a kind of pass which 
commands the county of Fife to the southw.ird, 
and to the north, the windings of the magnificent 
Tay and fertile country of Angus-shire. The Cross 
bore an uiscription, which is transmitted to us in 
in uniutelUgible form by Sir Robert Sibbald. 

Abdotsford, January^ 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 

NlNiAN, ) Honks of Lindores. 

Waldhave, ) 



Ll.NDESAT, 
MaUEICE BE2KELET| 



.f 



Scottish Barons. 



TO 

MRS. JOANNA BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS OF 

"THE PLAVS ON THE PASSIONS.' 



PRKLUDE. 



Natt, smile not, Lady, when I speai of witchcraft, 
And say, that still there Im'ks amongst our glens 
Some touch of strange enchantment. — Mark that 
fragment, 

1 Vol. IV. p. 266, io me Appendix to Lord Sonlis, '• Law of 
dan MacDuS'." 



I mean that rough-hewn block <if massive stoDe 
Placed on the summit of tliis mountain-pass, 
Commanding prospect wide o'er field and fell, 
And peopled village and extended moorland. 
And the wide ocean and majestic Tay, 
To the ftu' distant Grampians. — Do not deem it 
A loosen'd portion of the neighboring rock, 
Detath'd by storm and tlmnder — 'twas Ihe pedestui 
On which, in ancient times, a Cross was rear'd, 
Carved o'er with words v/liich foil'd philologists' 
And the events it did conmiemorate 
Were dai'k, remote, and uudistiuguishable, 
As were the mystic characters it bore. 
But, mark, — a wizard, born on Avon's bank. 
Tuned but his harp to this wild northern theme, 
And, lo 1 the scene is hallow'd. None shall pass, 
Now, or in after days, beside that stone, 
But he shall have strange visions ; thoughts and 

words, 
Tliat shake, or rouse, or thrUl the human Jieart. 
Sliall rush upon his memory when he hears 
Tlife spirit-stirrmg name of this rude symbol ; — 
Oblivious sages, at that simple spell, 
Shall render back their terrors witli their woes, 
Alas! and with their crimes — and the proud 

phantoms . 
Shall move with step familiar to his eye. 
And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets nn 
Though ne'er again to hst them. Siddons, tliino, 
Thou matchless Siddons ! tlirill upon om' ear • 
And on our eye thy lofty Brother's form 
Rises as Scotland's monarch. — But, to thee, 
Joanna, why to thee speak of such visijoua i 
Thine own wild wand can raise them. 

Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine. 
Take one which scarcely is of worth enough 
To giro or to withliold. — Our time creeps on, 
Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair 
Tells the advancing winter of our life. 
But if it be of worth enough to please, 
TTiat worth it owes to her who set the task; 
If otherwise, the fault rests with the author. 



iHacHura €ross. 



SCENE L 



The summit of a Rocky Pass near to Newburgh 
about two miles from the ancient Abbey of lAn 
dores, in Fife. In the centre is Macl.hiff's Crott 



MACDUFF'S CROSS. 



74» 



on anti(jite Monument ; and, at a small distance, 
on one side, a Chapel, with a Lamp burning. 

Enter, as having ascended the Tass, Ninian OTid 
Waldiiave, Monk's of Lindores. Ninian crosses 
himself, and sceins to recite his devotions. Wald- 
HAVE Stands gazing on tfie prospect, as if in deep 
eontcmplation. 

NiN. Here stands the Cross, good brother, conse- 
crated 
By the bold Tliane unto his patron saint 
Magridius, once a brother of our house. 
Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed ? 
Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you ? ^^o™®' 
You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toil- 

Wal. I hare trode a rougher. 

NiN. On the Higliland hills — 

Scarcely ■within our sea-girt province here. 
Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennarty. 

Wal. I spoke not of the hteral path, good father. 
But of the road of life which I have travell'd, 
Ere I assumed this habit ; it was bounded. 
Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects, 
As ours beneath was closed by dell and thicket. 
Here we see wide and far, and the broad sky, 
With wide horizon, opens full around, 
Wbile earthly objects dwindle. Brother Ninian, 
Fain would I hope that mental elevation 
Could raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts, 
And place me nearer heaven. 

NiN. 'Tis good morality. — But yet forget not, 
''Tiat though we look on heaven fi'om this high em- 
inence. 
Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space. 
Arch foe of man, possess the realms between. 

Wax. Most true, good brother; and men may 
be farther 
From the bright heaven they aim at, even because 
They deem themselves secure on't. 

NiN. {after a pause.) You do gaze — 

Str:mgers are wont to do so — on the prospect. 
Yon is the Tay roll'd down from Highland hills, 
That rests his waves, after so rude a race, 
In the fair plains of Gowrie — further westward, 
Proud Sthling rises — yonder to the east, 
Dundee, the gift of God, and fair Montrose, 
And still more northward lie the ancient towers — 

Wal. OfEdzell. 

NrN. How ? know you the towers of Edzell ? 

Wal. I've heard of them. 

NiN. Then have you heard a tale, 

Whidi when he tells, the peasant shakes his head, 
And shuns the mouldering and deserted walla. 

Wal. Why, and by whom, deserted ? 

Nts. Long the tale, — 
Enough to say that the last Lord of Edzell, 
(Sold Louis Lindesay, had a wife, and found 



Wal. Enough is said, indeed — since a weak 

woman. 
Ay, and a tempting fiend, lost Paradise, 
When man was uuiocent. 

NiN. They fell at strife. 

Men say, on slight occasion : that fierce lindesay 
Did bend his sword against Do Berkeley's breast 
And that the lady threw herself between • 
That then De Berkeley dealt the Baron's death 

wound. 
Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore 
A spear in foreign wars. But, it is said, 
He hath retm'u'd of late ; and, therefore, brother, 
The Prior hath ordain'd our vigU here. 
To watch the privilege of the sanctuai-y. 
And rights of Clan MacDufF. 

Wal. What rights are these 1 

Ni.v. Most true 1 you are but newly come fi'on: 

Rome, 
And do not know our ancient usages. 
Know then, when fell Macbeth beneath the are 
Of the predestined knight, uuborn of woman. 
Three boons the victor ask'd, and thrice did Ma. 

colm, 
Stoopmg the sceptre by the Thane restored. 
Assent to his request. And hence the rule, 
Tliat first when Scotland's King assumes the crowi^ 
MacDufF's descendant rings his brow with it: 
And hence, when Scotland's King calls forth hit 

host, 
MacDuflF's descendant leads the van in battles 
And last, in guerdon of the crown restored. 
Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant, 
The right was granted in succeeding time. 
Tliat if a kinsman of the Tliane of Fife 
Commit a slaughter on a sudden impulse. 
And fly for refuge to this Cross MacDuflf, 
For the Thane's sake he sliall find sanctuary ; 
For here must the avenger's step be staid. 
And here the panting homicide fiud safety. 

Wal. And here a brother of your order walche^ 
To see the custom of the place observed ? 

NiN. Even so ; — such is our convent's holy righ^ 
Since Saint Magridius — blessed be his memory I — 
Did by a vision warn the Abbot Eadmir. — 
And chief we watch, when there is bickering 
Among the neighboring nobles, now most likely 
From this return of Berkeley from abro.id. 
Having the Lindesay's blood upon his hand. 
Wal. The Lindesay, then, was loved among hii 

friends ? 
NiN. Honor'd and fear'd he was — ^but littla 

loved ; 
For even liis bounty bore a show of steraness ; 
And when his passions waked, he wac A Sathan 
Of wrath and injury. 

Wal. How now, Su: Priest ! {fiercely)— YoTgiyt 

me (recollecting himself)"-! was dreamiQg 



750 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Of an old baron, who did bear about him 
Some touch of your Lord Reynold. 

Ni.v. Liudcsay's name, my brother, 
Indeed was Reynold ; — and methinks, moreover, 
That, as you spoke even now, he would have 

spoken. 
I brought him a petition fi-om our convent : 
He granted straight, but in such tone and manner. 
By my good saint ! I thought myself scarce safe. 
Till Tay roll'd broad between us. I must now 
Unto the chapel — meanwhile the watch is thine ; 
And, at thy word, tl\e hurrying fugitive. 
Should such arrive, must here lind sanctuary ; 
And, at thy word, the fiery-paced avenger 
ijlust stop his bloody course — e'en as swoln Jordan 
ControU'd liis waves, soon as they touch'd the feet 
Jf those who bore the ark. 

Wal. Is this my charge ? 

NiN. Even so ; ana I am near, should chance re- 
quire me. 
At midnight I reUeve you on your watch, 
Wlien we may taste together some refreshment : 
1 have cored for it ; and for a flask of wine — 
There is no sin, so that we drink it not 
tijtil the midnight horn', when lauds have toll'd. 
Farewell a while, and peaceful watch be with you 1 
[^Jixit foicards the ChapeL 

Wal. It is not with me, and alas ! alas 1 
I know not where to seek it. This monk's mind 
le with liis cloister match'd, nor lacks more room. 
Its petty duties, formal ritual. 
Its humble pleasures and its paltry troubles. 
Fill up liis round of life ; even as some reptiles, 
I'hey say, are moulded to the very shape. 
And all the angles of the rocky crevice. 
In which they live and die. But for myself. 
Retired in passion to the narrow cell, 
Coucliing my tu'ed limbs in its recesses. 
So ill-adapted am I to its limits, 

That every attitude is agony. 

How now 1 what brings him back ! 

Re-enter Nikiajj. 
NiN. Look to your watch, my brother; horse- 
men come : 
I heard their tread wlien kneeling in the chapel. 
Wal. [looMng to a distance.) My thoughts have 
rapt me more than thy devotion, 
Else had I heard the tread of distant horses 
Farther than thou couldst hear the sacring bell ; 
But now in truth they come : — flight and pursuit ■ 
Ai e sights Tve been long strange to. 
NiN. See how they gallop down the opposing 
hiUl 
Yon gray steed boimding down the headlong path, 
. As on the level meadow ; while the black. 
Urged by the ridei with liis naked sword, 
Btoops on his prey as I have seen the falcon 



Dashing upon the heron. — Thou dost frown 
And clench thy hand, as if it grasp'd a weapoa } 
Wal. 'Tis but for shame to see a man fly thus 
While only one pursues him. Coward, turn I — 
Turn thee, 1 say ! thou art as stout as he. 
And well mayst match thy single sword with hi^— 
Shame, that a man should rein a steed like thee, 
Yet fear to turn his front against a foe I— 
I am ashamed to look on them. 

NrN. Yet look again ; they quit their horses now, 
Unfit for the rough path : the fugitive 
Keeps the advantage still. — They strain towardi 
us. 
Wal. I'll not believe that ever the bold Thane 
Rear'd up his Cross to be a sanctuary 
To the base coward, who shunn'd an equal com- 
bat- 
How's this ? — that look — that mien — mine eyes 
grow dizzy ! — 
NiN. He comes ! — thf art a novice on this 
watch, — 
Brother, I'U take the word and speak to him, 
Pluck down thy cowl ; know, that we spiritual 

champions 
Have honor to maintain, and must not seem 
To quail before the laity. 

[Waldhave lets down his cowl, atm 
steps back. 

Enter Maueice Bekkelet. 
NiN. Who art thou, stranger ? speak Ovj nama 

and purpose. 
Bee. I claim the privilege of Clan Mai'.Bi'fif. 
My name is Maurice Berkeley, and ray linc;v';E 
Allies me nearly with the Thane of Fife. 

NiN. Give us to know the cause of saiictua'y ? 
Ber. Let him show it, 

Against whoso violence I claim the privilege. 

Enter Lindesav, mth his sv^ord drawn. He rusht\ 
at Beekelet : Ninlan ijtterposes. 

Nra. Peace, in the name of Saint Magridius I 
Peace, in our Prior's name, ard in the nacie 
Of that dear symbol, whicu cUa puiTchase peace 
And good-wiU towards man I 1 do commsv'.it U.t« 
To sheath thy sword, and stir no contest IxiM. 

LiN. One charm I'U try first. 
To lure the craven from the enchanted cirisp 
Which he hath harbor'd m. — Hear you, D^i JTitHtf 

ley. 
This is my brother's sword — the hand it aiTn» 
Is weapou'ci to avenge a brother's death :— 
If thou hast heart to step a furlong off. 
And change three blows, — even for so short ji .n vm 
As these good men may say an ave-marie,— - 
So. Heaven b(! good to me ! I will forgive tli. m 
Thy deed and all its consequences. [thoiift^l 

Bee. Were not my right hand fetter'd b^ tto 



MACDDFF'S CROSS. 



75i 



That slaying thee were but a double guilt 
In wliich to steep ray soul, no briilegroom ever 
Stepp'd forth to trip a meajure with his bride, 
More joyfully than I, young man, would rush 
To meet ihy challcns^e. 

liiN. Ho quails, and shuns to look upon my 
weaiJou. 
Fet boasts liimself a Berkeley 1 

Beu. Lindesay, and if there were no deeper cause 
For sliiuming thee than terror of thy weapon. 
That rock-hewn Cross as soon should stai't and stir. 
Because a shepherd-boy blew horn beneath it. 
As I for brag of thine. 

Nix. I charge you both, and in the name of 
Heaven, 
Breathe no defiance on this sacred spot. 
Where Christian men must bear them peacefully, 
On pain of the Church thunders. Cahnly tell 
Your cause of ditference ; and, Lord Lindesay, thou 
Be first to speak them. 

Lin. Ask the blue welkin — ask the silver Tay, 
The northern Grampians — all thmgs know my 

wrongs ; 
But ask not me to tell them, wlule the vdlain, 
Who wrought them, stands and listen.s with a 
smile. 

NiN. It is said — 
eiince you refer us thus to general fame — 
That Berkeley slew thy brother, the Lord Louis, 
In his own halls at Edzell — - 

I.iN. Ay, in his halls — 
In his own halls, good father, that's the word. 
In lus own halls he slew him, while the wine 
Pass'd on the bo:u-d betweeu ! The gallant Thane, 
Who wreak'd Macbeth's inhospitable murder, 
Rear'd not yon Cross to sanction deeds hke these. 

Bek. Thou say'st I came a guest ! — I came a 
victim, 
A destined victim, traiu'd on to the doom 
His frantic jealousy prepared for me. 
He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought. 
Can I forget the form that came between us, 
And perish'd by his sword » 'Twas then I fought 
For vengeance, — mitil then I guarded Ufe, 
But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd. 

Lix. Wretch I thou didst first dishonor to thy 
victim, 
And then didst slay him ! 

Ber. There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart, 
Bui I will struggle with it ! — Youthful knight, 
liy heart is sick of war, my hand of slaughter ; 
I come not to my lordships, or my land. 
But just to seek a spot in some cold cloister, 
Wliich I may kneel on Uving, and, when dead. 
Which may suflice to cover me. 
Forgive me that I caused your brother's death ; 
And I forgive thee the injurious terms 
With which thou taxest me. 



Lin. Take worse and blacker. — Murderer, adult 
erer I — 
Ai t thou not moved yet ? 

Beb. Do not press me furthei 

Tlie hunted stag, even when he seeks the tliicket, 
Compell'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous ! 
Most true thy brother perish'd by my hand, 
And if you term it murder — I must bear it. 
Thus far my patience can ; but if thou brand 
The purity of yonder mai-tyr'd s:iint. 
Whom then my sword but poorly did avenge, 
With one iujm'ious word, come to the valley, 
And I will show thee how it shall be answer'dl 

NiN. This heat. Lord Berkeley, doth but ill ae 
cord 
With thy late pious patience. 

Ber. Father, forgive, and let me stand excused 
To Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no more. 
I loved this lady fondly — truly loved — 
Loved her, and was beloved, ere yet her father 
Conferr'd her on another. While she lived. 
Each thought of her was to my soul as hallow'd 
As those 1 send to Heaven ; and on her grave. 
Her bloody, early grave, wliile this poor hand 
Can hold a sword, shall no one cast a scorn. 

Lin. Follow me. Thou shalt he.ar me call th» 
adulteress 
By her right name, — I'm glad there's yet a spur 
Can rouse thy sluggard mettle. 

Ber. Make then obeisance to the blessed Croa.' 
For it shall be on e.arth thy last devotion. 

[Tliey are going off 

Wau (rushing forward.) Madmen, stand 1 — 
Stay but oue second — answer but one question.- 
There, Maurice Berkeley, canst thou look upon 
That blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken truth I 

Ber. I swear by Heaven. 
And by tlie memory of that murder'd innocent, 
Each seeming charge against her was as false 
As our bless'd Lady's spotless. Hear, each saint 1 
Hear me, thou holy rood ! hear me from heaven, 
Thou martyr'd excellence ! — Hear ine from penal 

fire 
(For sure not yet thy guilt is expi.ated) I 
Stern ghost of her destroyer ! 

Wal. (thrown bai:k his cowl.) He hears ! ht 
hears ! Thy spell hath raised the dead. 

Lin. My brother ! and alive ! — 

Wal. Alive, — but yet. my Richard, dead t« 
thee. 
No tie of kindred binds me to the world ; 
All were renounced, when, vith reviving Ufe, 
Came the desire to seek the sacred cloister. 
Alas, in vain ! for to that last retreat. 
Like to a pack of bloodhounds in full chase, 
My passion and my wrongs have foUow'd me. 
Wrath and remorse — and, to fill up the cry. 
Thou hast brought vengeance hither. 



7S9 



sco':Tr's poetical works. 



TjN. I but sought 

To do the act ar J duty f f a brother. 

Wji. I ceasdd to be so wnen I left the world' 
But if he can forgive as I lOrgi.Te, 
God sends me here a brother in mine enemy, 
To pray for me and with me. If thou canst, 
De Berkeley give thine band. — 

BoL {gives his hand.) It ia.the will 



Of Heaven, made manifest in thy preservation, 
To inliibit farther bloodshed ; for De Berkeley, 
The votary Maurice lays the title down. 
Go to his halls, Lord Richard, where a maiden. 
Kin to his blood, and daughter in affection, 
Heirs his broad lands ; — If thou canst loT.9 btp. 

liindesay, 
Woo her. and be succesafuL 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



768 



®l)c JDoom of ^CDorgoil. 



PREFACE 

The first of these dramatic pieces' was long 
imce written, for the purpose of obliging the lat" 
Mr. Terry, tlien Manager of the Adelphi Theatre, 
'oT -whom the Autlior had a particular regaid. The 
nanner in wliich the mimic goblins of Devorgoil 
ire intermixed with the eupernatural machinery, 
tvas found to be objectionable, and the production 
lad other faults, ■which i-endered it unfit for rep- 
■esentation.^ I have called the piece a Melo- 
Irama, for want of a better name ; but, as I learn 
xom the unquestionable autliority of Mr. Colman's 
Random Kecords, that one species of the drama is 
termed an extravagan::a, I am sorry I was not 
iooner aware of a more appropriate name than 
;hat which I had selected for Devorgoil. 

The Author's Publishers thought it desirable, 
",hat the scenes, long condemned to oblivion, 
(hould be united to similar attempts of the eame 
iind e.nd as he felt indifierent on the subject, 
they are printed in the same volume with Hali- 
4on Hill and MacDuff's Cross, and thrown off in 
\ separate form, for the convenience of those who 
possess former editions of the Author's Poetical 
Woi-ks. 

The general story of the Doom of Devorgoil is 
founded on an old Scottish tradition, the scene of 
which lies in Galloway. The crime supposet' to 
bave occasioned the misfortunes of this dercied 
house, is similar to that of a Lord Herries of 
Hoddam Castle, who is the principal personage 
of Mr. Charles Kirkpatriclj Sharpe's interesting 
ballad, in the Mmstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
vol. iv. p. 307. In remorse for his crime, he 
built the singular monument called the Tower 
of Repentance. In many cases the Scottish super- 
stitions allude to the fairies, or those who, for 



1 "The Doom of Devorgoil," and " Anchindrane," were 
published together in an octavo volume, in the spring of 1830, 
For the origin and progress of the liret, see Liife of Seott, vol. 
pp. .91-994, 285-6. 

Mr Dttaifl Terry, the comedian, distin^isfaed for a very 
9» 



sins of a milder description, are permitted to 
wander with the " rout that never rest," as thej 
were termed by Dr. Leyden. They imitate hu- 
man labor and human amusements, but their toU 
is useless, and without any advantageous result ; 
and their gayety is unsubstantial and hollow. Tha 
pliantom of Lord Erick is supposed to be a spectr** 
of tills character. 

The story of tlie Ghostly Barber is told in mam 
coimtries ; but the best narrative founded on the 
passage, is the tale called Stumme Liebe, among 
the legends of Musjeus. I tlunk it has been in- 
troduced upon the English stage in some panto 
mime, wliich was one objection t-o bringing it upon 
the scene a second time. 
Abdotsford, ^prii, 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 

Oswald of Devorgoil, a decayed Scottish Baron. 

Leonard, a Ranger. 

DuRWAED, a Palmer. 

Lancelot Blackthorn, a Companion of Leortard 

in love with Katlern. 
GULLCKAMMEE, o Conceited Student. 
Owlspikgle and ) Maskers, represented b;/ Blatk 
CocKLEDEMOY, ^ thom and Katleen. 

Si'iRiT OF Lord Ekick or Devorgoi;., 
Peasants, Shepherds, and Vassals of h i'crior ratUu 

Eleanor, Wife of Osviald, descended oj obscure 

Parentage. 
Flora, Daughter of Oswald. 
Katleen, Niece of Eleanor. 

pecnliar style of hamor on the stage, ani, moreover, b) 
personal accomplishments of various sorts net generally sharei! 
hy members of his profession, was, during r.iany vears. oi 
terms of intimacy with Sir Walter Scott. Ue died 23d Jbu» 
1S29. 



154 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



S[|)£ JHoom of JDfDorgoil. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 

T/if Scene represents a wild and hilly, but not a 
mountainous Country, in a frontier District of '• 
8. otland. The fat Scne exhibits the Castle of 
Devorgoil, decayed, and partly ruinous, situated 
*ipo7i a LaJie, and, ebnnected with the Land by a 

Jjrawbridge, which is lowered. Time — Sunset. \ 

i 

Flora enters from the Castle, looks timidly around, \ 
then comes forward and speaks. \ 

He is not here — those pleasures are not ours 
Which placid evening brings to all things else. 



The sun upon the lake is low. 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest glow, 

Yet Leonard tari'ies long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
]n the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame on turret high, 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow. 

The level ray to shade, 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apai-t. 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hai't. 
The woodlark at his partner's side, 

Twitters liis closing song — 
All meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries long. 

[Katleek has co^ie out of the Castle 
while Floea was singing, and speaks 
whtn the Song is ended. 

Jf AT Ah, my dear coz ! — if that your mother's 

niece 
May so presume to call your father's daughter — 
A.I1 these fond things have got some home of com- 

foH 



1 Tii« anthor thought of omitting this eong, which was, in 
fact, abndged into one in " duentin Dnrward," termed County 
Ony. [Se« ante, pate 709.] It Beemed, however, 



To tempt their rovers back — the lady's bower, 
The shepherdess's hut, the wild swan's coach 
Among the rushes, even the lark's low nest. 
Has that of promise which lures home a lover,— 
But we have naught of this. 

Flo. How call you, then, this castle of my sire^ 
The towers of Devorgoil ! 

Kat. Dungeons for men, and palaces for owU ; 
Yet no wise owl would change a farmer's bara 
For yonder hiuigyy hall — oiu- latest mouse, 
Our last of mice, I tell you, has been found 
Starved in the pantry ; and the reverend spider. 
Sole Uving tenant of the Baron's halls. 
Who, train'd to abstinence, Uved a whole summer 
Upon a single fly, he's famish'd too ; 
The cat is in the kitchen-chimney seated 
Upon our last of fagots, destined soon 
To dress our last of suppers, and, poor sonl. 
Is starved with cold, and mewling mad with hucgOT 

Flo. D'ye mock our misery, Katleen ! 

Kat. No, but I am hysteric on the subject, 
So I must laugh or cry, and laugliing's lightest 

Flo. Why stay you with us, then, my meinrj 
cousin ? 
From you my su-e can ask no filial duty. 

Kat. No, thanks to Heaven ! 
No noble in wide Scotland, rich or poor, 
Can claim an interest iu the vulgar blood 
That dances in my veins ; and I might wed 
A forester to-morrow, nothing fearing 
The wrath of high-born kindred, and far less 
That the dry bones of lead-lapp'd ancestors 
Would clatter in their cerements at the tidings. 

Flo. My mother, too,would gladly see you places 
Beyond the verge of our unhappiness,^ 
Which, like a witch's circle, bUghts and taints 
Whatever comes within it. ■ 

Kat. Ah ! my good aunt I 

She is a careful kinswoman and prudent, 
In all but marrying a ruin'd baron, 
When she could take her choi*»o of honest yeomen 
And now, to balance this ambitious error. 
She presses on her daughter's love the suit 
Of one, who hath no touch of nobleness. 
In manners, bu*th, or mind, to recomuiend him,—- 
Sage Master GuUcrammer, the new-dubb'd 
preacher. 

Flo. Do not name him, Katleen ! 

Kat. Ay, but I must, and with some gratitudei 
I said but now, I saw our last of fagots 
Destined to dress our la.st of meals, but said not 
That the repast consisted of choice dainties, 
Sent to our larder by that Uberal suitor. 
The kind Melcliisedek. 



eary to the eense, that the original stanzas should he retaiDW 
here. 
^ MS.- ' Beyond the circle of our wretcheiinett." 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



75i> 



Flo. Were famisliing the word, 

Td furnish eii: I tasted them' — the fop, 
The fool, the low-born, low-bred, pedant cox;combI 

Kat. There spoke the blood of long-descended 
eii'ca I 
My rottai^e wvdom ciight to echo bacV, — 

the 3nug parsonage ! the well-p^id ptipcnd ! 
The }> w-uedged garden ! beehives, pigs, and poul- 

try: 
But, to speiik honestly, the peasant Katlecn, 
Valuing these good things justly, still woidd scorn 
To wed, for such, the paltry GuUcrammer, 
As much ns Lady Flora. 

Flo. Mock me not with a title, gentle consin, 
Which poverty has made ridiculous. — 

[Trumpets far off. 
Hark ! they have broken up the weapon-shawing ; 
The vassals are dismiss'd, and marching homeward. 

Kat. Comes your sii'e back to-night ? 

Flo. He did pm-pose 

To tarry for the banquet. This day only, 
Summon'd as a king's tenant, he resumes 
The right of rank liis birth assigns to liim. 
And mingles with the proudest. 

Kat. To return 

To his domestic wretchedness to-moiTow — 

1 envy not the privilege. Let us go 

To yonder height, and see the marksmen practise : 
They shoot theii" match down in the dale beyond. 
Betwixt the Lowland and the Forest district, 
By ancient custom, for a tun of wine. ' 
Let us go see which wins. 

Flo. That were too forward. 

Kit. Wliy, you may drop the screen before 
your face, 
VVliich some chance breeze may haply blow aside 
Just when a youth of special note- takes aim. 
It chanceQ even so that memorable morning. 
When, nutting in the woods, we met young Leon- 
ard ; — 
And in good tune here comes his sturdy comrade, 
The rough Lance Blackthorn. 

Enter Lancelot Blackthorn, a Forester, lath the 
Carcass of a Deer on his back, and a Gun in his 
hand. 

Bla. Save you, damsels I 

Kat. Godden, good yeoman. — Come you from 

the Weaponshaw? 
BiA. Not I, indeed ; there lies the mark I shot at. 
[Lays down the Deer. 
rhe tune has been I had not miss'd the sport, 
^though Lord Nithsdale's self had wanted ven- 
ison ; 
But this same mate of mine, young Leonard Dacre, 
Makes me do what he lists ; — he'll win the prize, 

though : f 

The Forest dintrict will net lose ite honor. 



And that is all I care for — {some shouts are heard. 

Hark I they're at it. 
m go see the issue. 

Flo. Leave not here 

The produce of your hunting. 

Bla. But I imist, though 

This is his loir to-night, for Leonard Dacre 
Charged me to leave the stag at De v orgoil ; 
Then show me quickly where to stow the quari 
And let vJe to the sports— (wor*" shots.) Cs.' 
hasten, damsels ! 
Flo. It is impossible — we dare not take i( 
Bla. There let it lie, then, and I'll wind mj 
bugle. 
That all within these tottering walls may know 
That here lies venison, whoso lUies to Uft it. 

\A 'jout to blow 
Kat. {to Flo.) He will alarm yoiu- mother ; and 
besides. 
Our Forest proverb teaches, that no question 
Should ask where venison comes from. 
Tour careful mother, with her wonted prudence, 
Will hold its presence plead its own apology. — 
Come, Blackthorn, I will show you where to stow it 
[Exeunt Katleen and Blackthoen intt 
the Castle — more st^ooting — then a dis 
tant shout — Straf<glers, armed in differ- 
ent waiis, pass over the Stage, as if from 
the Weaponshaiu. 
Flo. The prize is won ; that geueral shout pro 
claim'd it. 
The mai-ksmen and the vassals are dispersing. 

' [She draws back- 
First Vassal {a pca:ant.) Ay, ay, — 'tis lost and 
won, — the Fcrest have it. ' 
'TLs they have all the luck on't. 

Second Vas. {a sh'jjierd.) Luck, sayst thou, 

man ? 'Tis practice, skill, and cunning. 
Third Vas. 'Tis no such thing. — I had hit the 
mark precisely, 
But for this cursed flint ; and, as I tired, 
A swallow cross'd mine eye too — Will you tell me 
Tliat that was but a chance, mine honest shepherd ! 
First Vas. Ay, and last year, when Lancelot 
Blackthorn won it. 
Because my powder happen'd to be damp. 
Was there no luck in that? — The worse luckmiro 
Second Vas. Still I say 'twas not chance ; ;l 

might be witchcraft. 
First Vas. Faith, not unlikely, neighbors; foi 
these foresters 
Do often haunt about this ruin'd C'>stle. [ere.— 
Fve seen myself this spark, — young Leonard Oa 
Come stealing like a ghost ere break of day, 
And after sunset, too, along this path , 
And well you know the haunted cowers of Shi 

vorf^oil 
Hav no gcxi repKiatior, m the J^d 



766 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Shef. That have tliey not. Pve heard my fa- 
ther say, — 
0ho8ts dance as lightly in its moonlight halls, 
As ever maiden did At Midsmnmer 
Upon tlie village-greea 
FiEbT Vas. Those that frequent such spirit- 
haunted ruins 
Must needs know more than simple Christians do. — 
P«e. Lance' this blessed moment leaves the castle, 
And comes to triumph over us. 

[Blackthorn enters from the Castle, and 
comes forward while they speak. 
Thisd Vas. A mighty triumph ! What is't, af- 
ter all. 
Except the driving of a piece of lead, — 
As learned Master Gullcrammer defined it, — 
Just through the middle of a painted board. 

Black. And if he so define it, by your leave, 
Your learned Master GuUcrammer's an ass. 
Third Vas. (angrili/.) He is a preacher, hunts- 
man, under favor. 
, Second Vas. No quarrelUng, neighbors — you 
may both be right. 

Enter a Fourth Vassal, with a gallon stoiip of wine. 
Fouhth Vas. Why stand you brawling here ? 
Toung Leonard Dacre 
Has set abroach the tun of wine he gain'd. 
That all may drink who list. Blackthorn, I sou^t 

you; 
Your comrade prays you will bestow this flagon 
Where you have left the deer you kill'd this morn- 
ing. 
Black. And that I wiU ; but first we will take 
toU 
To see if it's worth carriage. Shepherd, thy 

horn. 
There must be due allowance made for leakage, 
And that will come about a draught apiece. 
Skiiik it about, and, when our throats are liquor'd, 
We'll merrily trowl our song of weaponshaw. 

\Tliey drink about out o-f tlie Shepheed's 
horn, and then sing. 

SONG. 

We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's 

rattle, 
iTiey call us to sport, and they call us to battle ; 
And old Scotland shall laugh at the threats of a 

stranger, 
While our comrades in pastime are comrades in 

danger. 

If there's mirth in our house, 'tis our neighbor that 

shares it — 
[f peril approach, 'tis our neighbor that dares it ; 
And when we lead off to the pipe and the tabor, 
Vhe fair hand wj press is the h'Uid of a neighbor. 



Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands that 
combine them. 

Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, join'd to en- 
twine them ; 

And we 11, laugh at the threats of each iiisolent 
stranger. 

While our comrades in sport are our comrades ia 
danger. 

Black. Well, I must do mine errand. Mastel 
flagon 

[Shaking it 
Is too consumptive for another bleeding. 
Shep. I must to ray fold. 

Third Vas. I'll to the butt of wine, 

And see if that has given up the ghost yet. 
First Vas. Have with you, neighbor. 

[Blackthorn enters the Castle, the rest ex- 
eunt severalhj. Melchisedek Gullcram- 
mer watches theni off the stage, a7id then 
enters from a side-scene. His costume is 
a Geneva cloak and band, with a hiijh- 
crowned hat; the rest of his dress in the 
fashion of James the Firsts time. Jit 
looks to the windows of the Castle, then 
draws hack as if to escape observation, 
while he brushes /lis cloak, drives th* 
white threads from his waistcoat with Ms 
wetted thumb, and dusts his shoes, all 
with the air of one who would not will- 
irigly be observed engaged in these offices. 
He then adjusts his collar and hand, 
comes forward and speaks. 
Gull. Right comely is thy garb, Melchisedek ; 
As well besecmeth one, whom good Saint Mimgo, 
The patron of oiu- land and university. 
Hath graced with license both to teach and 

preach — ■ 
Who dare opine thou hither plod'st on foot ? 
Trim sits thy cloak, unruflled is thy band. 
And not a speck upon thine outward man, 
Bewrays the labors of t)iy weary sole. 

[Touches ?iis shoe, and smiles complacently. 
Quaint was that jest and pleasant I — Now wiU I 
Approach and hail the dwellers of tliis fort ; 
But specially sweet Flora Devorgoil, 
Ere her proud sire return. He loves me not, 
Mocketh my lineage, flouis at mine advance- 

ment — 
Sour as the fruit the crab-tree furnishes. 
And hard as is the cudgel it supplies ; 
But Flora — she's a lUy on the lake. 
And I must reach her, though I risk a ducking. 

[As GuLLCRAMMtR movcs toivards fh^ draw 

bridge, B.\uldie Durward enters, and in 

terposes himself betudxt him and the Caa 

tie. Gullcrammer stops and speaks. 

Whom have we hore ? — ^that ancient fortune-tellei 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



751 i 



Papist and sorcerer, and stcr dy beggar, 
Old Bauklie Durward I Would I were well past 
him !. 

[Durward adtmnccs, partly in the dress of a 
palmer, jiarfli/ in that of an old Scottish 
mejidicant, liatdntj coarse blue cloak and 
badge, white beard, dc. 
DuR. The blessing of the evening on your wor- 
ship, 
And on your taff' ty doublet. Much I marvel 
\our wisdom diooseth such trim garb,^ when tem- 
pests 
Are gathering to the bursting. 
GuLLC&AMMER (loo/cs to his drcss, and then to the 
sky, with some apprehension.) 
I Surely, Bauldie, 

Thou dost belie the evening — in the west 
The hght sinks down as lovely as this band 
Drops o'er this mantle — Tush, manl 'twill be 
fair. 
Duu. Ay, but the storm I bode is big with blows, 
Horsewliips for hailstones, clubs for thunderbolts ; 
And for the wailing of the midniglit wind. 
The unpiticd howling of a cudgell'd coxcomb. 
Oome, come, I know thou seek'st fair Flora Devor- 
goil. 
(!uL. And if I did, I do the damsel grace. 
del mother thinks so, and she has accepted 
'-t these poor hands gifts of some consequence, 
And curious dainties for the evening cheer. 
To which I am invited — She respects me. 

DuR. But not so doth her father, haughty Os- 
wald. 

He think thee, 'he's a baron 

GuL. And a bare one ; 

Construe me that, old man ! — The crofts of Muc- 

klewhame — 
Destined for mine so soon as heaven and earth 
Have shared my uncle's soul and bones between 

them — 
The crofts of Mucklewhame, old man. which nour- 
ish 
Three scores of sheep, three cows, with each her 

follower, 
A female palfrey eke — I will be candid. 
She is of that meek tribe whom, in derision, 
Our wealthy southern neighbors nickname don- 
keys 

Due. She hath her follower too, — when thou art 

there. 
GuL. I say to thee, these crofts of Mucklewhame, 
In the mere tything of their stock and produce, 
Outvie whatever patch of land remains 
To this old rugged castle and its owner. 
Well, therefore, may Melchisedek Gullcrammer, 
Younger of Mucklewhame, for such I write me, 

I 

> US. — '' That roQ shoald walk in such trim guise." 



Master of Arts, by grace of good Saint Andrew, 
Preacher, in brief expectance of a kirk, 
Endow'd with ten score Scotti.^h pounds per aU' 

num. 
Being eight pounds seventeen eight in'Sterlinjj 

coin — 
Well, tlien, I say, may this Melchisedek, 
Thus highly graced by fortune — and by nature 
E'en gifted as thou seest — aspire to woo 
The daughter of the beggar'd Devorgoil. 

DuR Credit an old man's word, kind Maste.' 

GuUcraramer, 
You will not find it so. — Come, su", I've known 
The hospitaUty of Mucldewhame ; 
It reach'd not to profuseness — yet, in gratitude 
For the pure water of its living well. 
And for the barley loaves of its fair fields. 
Wherein chopp'd straw contended with the grain 
Which best should satisfy the appetite, 
I would not see the hopeful heir of Mucldewliamf 
Thus fling iiimself on danger. 

GuL. Danger ! what danger '{ — Know'st thou not, 

old Oswald 
This day attends the muster of the shu-e. 
Where the crown-vassals meet to show their arms, 
And their best horse of service? — 'Twas good 

sport 
(And if a man had dared but laugh at it) 
To see old Oswald with his. rusty morion. 
And huge two-handed sword, that might have 

seen 
The field of Bannockbm'n or Cheyy-Chas«, 
Without a s(juire or vassal, page or groom, 
Or e'en a single pikeman at his heels. 
Mix with the proudest nobles of the county, 
And claim precedence for his tatter'd person 
O'er armors double gilt and ostrich plumage. 
DuR. Ay ! 'twas the jest at which fools laugh 

the loudest. 
The downfall of our old nobility — 
Wliich may forerun the ruin of a kingdom. 
I've seen an idiot clap liis hands, and shout 
To see a tower like yon {points to a part if tfu 

Castle) stoop to its base 
In headlong ruin ; wliile the wise look'd round. 
And fearful sought a distant stance to watch 
What fragment of the fabric next shouW follow ; 
For when the turrets fall, the walls are tottering 
GuL. (after pondering.) If that means aught, ii 

means thou saw'st old Oswald 
ExpeU'd from the assembly. 

DuR. Thy sharp wit 

Hath glanced unwittisgly right nigh the truth. 
ExpeU'd he was not, but, his claim denied 
At some contested point of ceremony. 
He left the weaponshaw in high displeasiu-«. 
And hither conies — his wonted bitter temper 
Soarce sweeten'd by the chances of the dar. 



758 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'TVere much like rashness should you wait his 
And thither tends my counsel. [coming, 

GuL. And 1 11 take it ; 
3ood Bauldie Durward, I wUl take thy counsel, 
Vnd will requite it ■with this minted farthing. 
That bears our sovereign's head in purest copper. 

DiiR. Thanks to thy bounty — Haste thee, good 
young master ; 
Os^irald, besides the old two-handed sword, 
Bears m his hand a staff of potency. 
To charm intruders from his castle purlieus, 

GvL. I do abhor all charms, nor will abide 
To hear or see, far less to feel then use. 
Behold, I have departed. 

\_Exit hastily. 
Manent Durwaed. 

Due. Thus do I play the idle part of one 
^Tio seeks to save the moth from scorching him 
In the bright taper's flame — And Flora's beauty' 
Must, not unlike that taper, waste away, 
Gilding the rugged walls that saw it kindled. 
This was a shard-born beetle, heavy, drossy,^ 
Though boasting his dull drone and gilded wing. 
Here comes a flutterer of another stamp, 
Whom the same ray is charming to his ruin. 

Enter Leonard, dressed as a huntsman ; he pauses 
before the Tower, and whistles a note or two at 
intervals — drawing back; as if fearful of obser- 
vation — yet waiting, as if expecting some reply. 
Durward, whom he had not observed, moves 
round, so as to front Leonard unexpectedly. 

Leox. I am too late — it was no easy task 
To rid myself from yonder noisy revellers. 
Flora ! — I fear she's angry — Flora — Flora !' 

SONG. 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with hand or eyes, 

Wlien heart and faith were true ? 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drown'd their cares, 

I thought but that thy heart was mine. 
My own leapt light as theirs. 

i tfl8. '* And Flora's years of beauty.'* 

• MS. — " This was an earth-bom beetle, dull, and drossy." 
" From the MS., the following song appears to have been a 
Tccni interpolation. 
< The MS. here adds : — 

*^ Leonard. But mine is not misplaced — If 1 sought 
beanty, 
Resides it no' witli Flora Devorgoil 1 
If piety, if sweetness, if discretion. 
Patience beneath ill-suited tasks of labor, 
And filial tenderness, that can beguile 
Her moo iy sire'* 4irk thoughts, as the sof\ moonshine 



My brief delay then do not blame, 

Nor deem yotu- sw,iin imtrue ; 
My form but linger'd at the game, 

My soul was still with you. 

She hears not ! 

DuR. But a friend hath heard — Leonard, I pity 
thee. I 

Leon, (starts, but recovers himself.') Pity, good 
father, is for those in waut. 
In age, in sorrow, in distress of mind, 
Oi agony of body. I'm m health — • 
Can match my limbs against the stag in chase, 
Have means enough to meet my simple wants, 
And am so free of soul that I can carol 
To woodland and to wild in notes as lively 
As are my jolly bugle's. 

DcK. Even therefore dost thou need nfy pity, 
Leonard, 
And therefore I bestow it, paying thee. 
Before thou feel'st the need, my mite of pity. 
Leonard, thou lovest ; and in that little word 
There lies enough to claim the sympathy 
Of men who wear such hoary locks as mine. 
And know what misplaced love is sure to end in.* 

Leon. Good father, thou art old, and even thy 
youth. 
As thou hast told me, spent in cloister'd ceUs, 
Fits thee but ill to judge the passions, 
Wliich are the joy and charm of social life. 
Press me no farther, then, nor waste those momenti 
Whose worth thou canst not estimate. 

[As turning from him. 

Dim. (detains him.) Stay, young man ! 
'Tis seldom that a beggar clamis a debt; 
Yet I bethink me of a gay young stripling. 
That owes to these white locks and hoary beard 
Something of reverence and of gratitude 
More than he wills to pay. 

Leon. Forgive me, father. Often hast ti.ou told 
me. 
That in the ruin of my father's house 
You saved the orphan Leonard in his cradle ; 
And well I know, that to thy care alone — 
Care seconded by menus beyond thy seeming-* 
I owe whate'er of nurture I can boast. 

Due. TJien for thy life preserved, 

ninmes the cloud of night— if I seek these, 
Are they not all with Flora ? Number rae 
The list of female virtues one by one, 
And I will answer all with Flora Devorgoil. 

'* Dur. This is the wonted pitch of youthful passion t 
. And every woman who hath iiad a lover, 
However now deem'd crabbed, cross, and canker'd. 
And crooked both in temper and in shape, 
Has in her day been thougiit the purest, wisest, 
Gentlest, and best condition'd — and o'er all 
Fairest and liveliest of Eve's numerous danghteia. 

" Leonard. Good father, thou art old," &o. 



AJd for tlif TOfins of Itnowledge I hare furnish'd 
(Which hfltvi^, man l<» levell'd with the bruten), 
Gr:int me 'liis boon ^— ' Avoid these fatal walla .' 
A cm*se i;" nu them, bitter, deep, and heavy. 
Of power to split the massiest tower they boost 
From pirnacle to dungeon vault. It rose 
Upon til-; p.ay horizon of proud Devorgoil, 
As uni ryp.i Jed as the fleecy cloud. 
The ti/3t forerunner of the hurrirane, 
Scarcc2 aeeu amid the welkin's shadelesa blue. 
Dark j^rew it, and more dark, and still the fortunes 
Of tl'iia doora'd family hai*e darken'd with it. 
It hid Oieir sovereign's favor, and obscured 
The lustre of theh service, gender'd hate 
Betwixt them and the mighty of the land ; 
Till by degrees the waxing tempest rose. 
And otripp'd the goodly tree of fruit and flowers, 
And buds, and boughs, and branches. There re- 
mains 
A rufged trunk, dismember'd and unsightly, 
Waitmg the bursting of the tinal bolt 
To sphnter it to shivers. Kow, go pluck 
Its single tendril to enwreath thy brow. 
And rest beneath its shade — to share the ruin ! 

Leon. Tliis anathema. 
Whence should it come ? — How merited ! — and 
when! 

Dub. 'Twas in the days 
Of Oswald's grandsire, — 'mid Galwegian chiefs 
The fellest foe, the fiercest champion. 
His blood-red pennons scared the Cumbrian coasts, 
And wasted towns and manors mai'k'd liis progress. 
His galleys stored with treasure, and their decks 
Crowded with Enghsli captives, who beheld. 
With weeping eyes, their native shores retire. 
He bore liim homeward ; but a tempest rose 

Leo.<. So fiir I've heard the tale. 
And spare thee the recital. — The grim chief, 
Markuig his vessels labor on the sea. 
And loth to lose his treasm'e, gave command 
To plunge his captives in the raging deep. 

DuR ^here sunk' the lineage of a noble name. 
And the wild waves boom'd over sire and son. 
Mother and nursUug, of the House of Aghonby,' 
Leaving but one frail tendril. — Hence the fate 
That hovers o'er these turrets, — hence the peasant, 
Belatid, hyil^ homewards, dreads to east 
A giance upon that portal, lest he see 
fhe UD shrouded opectres of the murder'd dead ;' 
Ur the avenging Angel, with his sword. 
Waving destnujtion ; or the grisly phantom 
Of that fell Chie^ the doer of the deed, 
Which still, they say, roams through his empty 

halls, 
f,nt\ mourns their wasteness and their lonelihood. 

1 MS. " House of Ehrenwald." 

« MS. — " Bpectres of tlie murder'd ca;t;vefl.'* 
M?, " their painted limbs." 



Leon. Such is the dotage 
Of superstition, father, ay, and the cant 
Of hoodwiuk'd prejudice.- — Not for atonement 
Of some foul deed done in the ancient warfare, 
When war was butchery, and men were wolves 
Doth Heaven consign the innocent to suiTtring 
I tell thee, Flora's virtues might atone 
For all the massacres her sires have done. 
Since first the Pictish race their stained liml>.<' 
AiTay'd in wolf's skin. 

DuR. Leonard, ere yet tliis beggar's scrip anc' 
cloak 
Supplied the place of mitre and of crosier,' 
Which in these alter'd lands must not bo worn, 
I was superior of a brotherhood 
Of holy men, — the Prior of Lanercost. 
Nobles then sought my footstool many a leiigue. 
There to unload their sins — questions of conscienr* 
Of deepest^mport were not deem'd too nice 
For my decision, youth. — But not even then. 
With mitre on my brow, and all the voice 
Which Rome gives to a father of her church 
Dared I pronounce so boldly on the ways 
Of liidden Providence, as thou, young man. 
Whose chiefest knowledge is to track a stag. 
Or wind a bugle, hast presumed to do, 

Leon. Nay, I pray forgive me. 
Father ; thou know'st I meant not to presume 

DuH. Can I refuse thee pardon ? — TIkpu art all 
That war and change have left to the poor DoT' 

waid. 
Thy father, too, who lost his life and fort me 
Defending Lanercost, when its fair aisles 
Were spoil'd by satrilege — I bless'd his banner. 
And yet it prosper'd not. But — all I could — ■ 
Thee from the wreck I saved, and for thy sake 
Have still dragg'd on my life of pilgrimage 
And penitence upon the hated shores 
I else had left for ever. Come with me. 
And I will teach thee there is healing in 
The wounds which friendship gives. [Exeunt 



SCENE IL 

Tlie Scene changes to the interior of the Castle 
apartment is discovered, in which there is muck 
appearance of present poverty, mixed with sonu 
relics of former grandeur. On the wall hanga, 
amongst other things, a suit of ancient armor ; 
by the table is a covered basket ; behind, and con- 
cealed by it, the carcass of a roedeer. There it 
a small latticed window, which, appearing to per- 
forate a wall of great thickness, is supposed to 

* MS.—" Supplied the i [of palmer's cowl and itaff " 



760 



SCOTT'S POETICAL "WORKS. 



look out towards the drawbridge. It i.i in the 
shape of a loop-hole for musketry ; and, as is not 
unusual in old buildings, is placed so high up in 
ike wall, that it is only approached hy five or six 
narrow stone steps. 
Eleanor, the wife of Oswald of Devorgoil, Flora 
a id Katleen, her Daughter and Niece, are dis- 
covered at work. The former sphis, the latter are 
embroidering Eleanor quits her own labor to 
examine tlie manner in which Flora is exe- 
cuting her task, and shakes her head as if dis- 
satisfied 

Ele. Fy on it, Flora ; this botch'd work of thine 
Shows that thy mind is distant from thy task. 
The finest tracery of om' old cathedral 
Had not a richer, freer, bolder pattern,' 
Thau Flora once could trace. Thy tioughts are 
wandering. 
Flo. They're with my father. Broad upon the 
lake 
The evening sun sunk down ; huge piles of clouds, 
Crimson and sable, rose upon liis disk. 
And quench'd him ere his setting, like some cham- 
pion 
In his last conflict, losing all his glory. 
Sure signals those of storm. And if my father 

Be on liis homeward road 

Ele. But that he will not. 
Baron of Devorgoil, this day at least 
He banquets with the nobles, who the next 
Would scarce vouchsafe an alms to save his house- 
hold 
From want or famine. Thanks to a kind friend, 
For one brief space we shall not need their aid. 

Flo. (joyfully.) Wbat ! knew you then liis gift ? 
How silly I that would, yet durst not tell it I 
I fear my father will condemn us both. 
That easily accepted such a present. , 

Kat. Now, hert's the game a bystander sees 
better 
Than those who play it. — My good aunt is pon- 

deruig 
On the good cheer which Gullcrammer has sent us. 
And Flora thinks upon the forest venison. [Aside. 
Ele. (to Flo.) Thy father need not know on't — 
'tis a boon 
Comes timely, when frugality, nay, abstinence. 
Might scarce avail us longer. I had hoped 
Ere now a visit from the youthful donor, 
That we might thank his bounty ; and perhaps 
My Flora thought the same, when Sunday's ker- 
chief 
And the best kirtle were sought out, and donn'd 
To grace a work-day evening. 

Flo. Nay, mother, that is judging all too close I 
My work-day gown was torn^my kerchief sullied ; 
And thus — ^But, think you, Tt ill the gallant come ? 



Ele. He wUl, for with these dainties came t 
message 
From gentle Master Gullcrammer, to mtimate— — 

Flo. (greatly disappointed.) Gullcrammer ? 

Kat. There burst the bubble — down fell bouse 
of cards. 
And cousin's like to cry for't I [Aside. 

Ele. Gullcrammer ? ay, Gullcrammer — thou 
scorn'st not at him ? 
'Twere something short of wisdom in a maiden, 
Wlio, like the poor bat in the Grecian fable, 
Hovers betwixt two classes in the world, 
And is disclaim'd by both the mouse and bird. 

Kat. I am the poor mouse. 

And may go creep into what hole I list, 
And no one heed me — Yet I'll waste a word 
Of counsel on my betters. — Kind my aunt. 
And you, my gentle cousin, were't not better 
We thought of dressing this same gear for supptr 
Tlian quarrelling about the wortliless donor ? 

Ele. Peace, minx ! 

Flo. Thou hast no feeling, cousin Katleea 

Kat. Sohl I have brought them both on my 
poor shoulders 
So meddling peace-makers are stiU rewarded : 
E'en let them to't again, and fight it out. 

Flo. Mother, were I disclaim'd of every class, 
I would not therefore so dischiim myself. 
As even a passing thought of scorn to waste 
On cloddish Gullcrammer. 

Ele. List to me, love, and let adversity 
Incline thine ear to wisdom. Look around thee — 
Of the gay youths who boast a noble name. 
Which will incline to wed a dowerless damseU 
And of the yeomanry, who think 'st thou. Flora, 
Would ask to share the labors of his farm 
A high-born beggar ? — This young man is mod' 
est 

Flo. Silly, good mother ; sheepish, if you will it 

Ele. E'en call it what you Ust — the softer ten* 
per. 
The fitter to endure the bitter salUes 
Of one whose wit is all too sharp for mine. 

Flo. Mother, you cannot mean it as you say ; 
You cannot bid me prize conceited folly ? 

Ele. Content thee, child — each lot has its ow« 
blessings. 
This youth, with his plain-dealing, honest suit, 
Profi'ers thee quiet, peace, and competence, 
Redemption from a home, o'er which fell Fate 
Stoops like a falcon. — O, if thou couldst choose 
(As no such choice is given) 'twixt such a mate 
And some proud noble ! — Who, in sober judgment^ 
Would hke to navigate the heady river, 
Dashhig in fmy from its parent mountain. 
More th.an the waters of the quiet lake ? 

Kat. Now can I hold no longer — Lake, gnod 
aunt? 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



78' 



Nay, in the name of truth, say mill-pond, horse- 

poQii ; 
Or if there be a pond more miry. 
More slufjij'isb, mean-derived, and base than either, 
Be such Gullcrammer'3 emblem»-and his portion I 

Flo. I wo'ild that he or I were iii our grave. 
Rather than thus his suit should goad me I — Mother, 
Flora of Uevorgoil, though low iu fortunes. 
Is still too Ligh in mind to join her name 
With such a base-bom churl as Gullcrammer. 

Ele. You are trim maidens both ! 
T' Flora.) Have you forgotten. 

Or did you mean to call to my remembrance 
Thy father chose a wife of peasant blood ? 

Flo. Will you speak thus to me, or think the 
stream 
Can mock the fountain it derives its source from ? 
My venerated mother, in that name 
Lies all on earth a child should chiefcst honor ; 
And with that name to mix reproach or taunt. 
Were only short of blasphemy to Heaven. 

Ele. Then listen. Flora, to that mother's counsel. 
Or rather profit by that mother's fate. 
Tom' father's fortunes were but bent, not broken, 
Until he listen'd to his rash affection. 
Means were afforded to redeem his house, 
Ample aud large — the h;md of a rich heiress 
Awaited, almost courted, his acceptance ; 
He saw my beauty — such it then was call'd, 
Or such at least he thought it — the wither'd bush, 
Wliate'er it now may seem, had blossoms then, — 
And he forsook the proud and wealthy heiress. 
To wed with me and ruin— — • 

Kat. (aside.) The more fool, 

day I, apart, the peasant maiden then, 
Who might have chose a mate from her own 
hamlet. 

Ele. Friends fell off. 
And to his own resomTes, his»own counsels, 
Abandon'd, as they said, the thoughtless prodigal, 
Who had exchanged rank, riches, pomp, and honor, 
For the mean beauties of a cottage maid. 

Flo. It was done like my father, 
'Who Bcorn'd to sell what wealth can never buy — 
Tr; e love and free aff'ections. And he loves you 1 
If you havo suffer'd in a weary world, 
Your S'jn 5W3 have been jointly borne, and love 
Has made the load sit Ughter. 

E -s. Ay, but a misplaced match hath that deep 
curst in't. 
That can embitter e'en the purest streams 
Of true affection. Thou hast seen me seek. 
With the strict caution early habits taught me, 
To matdi our wants and mejms — hast seen thy 

father, 
With aristocracy's high brow of scorn, 
Spurn at economy, the cottage virtue. 
As best befitting her whose ures were feasants : 



Nor can I, when I see my lineage scorn'd. 
Always conceal in what contempt I hold 
The fancied claims of rank he clings to fondly 
Flo. Why will you do so ? — well you know il 

chafes him. 
Ele. Flora, tliy mother is but mortal woman, 
Nor can at all times check an eager tongue. 
Kat. [aside.) That's no new tidings to her niec« 

and daughter. 
Ele. mayst thou never know the spited feel 
mgs 
That gender discord in adversity 
Betwixt the dearest friends an^ truest lovers . 
In the chill damping gale of poverty. 
If Love's lamp go not out, it gleams but palely, 
And twinldes in the socket. 

Flo. But tenderness can screen it with her veil. 
Till it revive again. By gentleness, good mother, 
How oft I've seen j'ou soothe my father's mood ! 
'Kat. Now there speak youthful hope aud f;m 
tasy ! [Aside. 

Ele. That is an easier task in youth than age ; 
Our temper hai'dens, and our charms decay. 
And both are needed in that art of soothing. 
Kat. And there speaks sad experience. [Aside, 
Ele. Besides, smce that our state was uttej 
desperate. 
Darker his brow, more dangerous grow his words 
Fain would I snatch thee from the woe and wrath 
Which darkeu'd long my life, aud soon must end it. 
[A knocking loithouC ; Eleanok shoivs alantK 
It was thy father's knock, haste to the gate. 

[Exeunt Flora and Katleen. 
What can have happ'd ? — he thought to stay the 

night. 
This gear must not be seen. 

[As she is about to remove the basket, she 
sees the body of the roe-deer. 
Wliat have we here ? a roe-deer ! — as I fear it, 
This was the gift of which poor Flora thought. 
The young and handsome hunter ; — but time 

presses. 
, [She removes the basket and the roe into 

a closet. As she has done — 

Enter Oswald of Devoegoil, Flora, and Katleicn. 
[He is dressed in a scarlet cloak, which should 
seem worn and old — a headjnece, and old- 
fashioned sword — tfie rest of '* 's dress thai 
of a peasant. His countenance and man' 
7ier should express ilte moodi/ and irritabli 
haughtiness of a proud man involved in ca- 
lamity, and wlio hai been exfcsed to recent 
insult. 
Osw. {addressing his wife.) flie sun hath set- 
why is the drawbridge lower'd \ 

1 MS. — " Ay, bpt the veil of tendetneucan screen ik' 



'62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ele. The counterpoise has feiVd, and Flora's 

strength, 
Katleen's, and mine united, could not raise it. 

Osw. Flora and thou ! A goodly garrison 
lo hold a castle, "which, if fame say true, 
Oi.ce foil'd the King of Norse and all Iiis rovers. 

Ele. It might be so in ancient times, but now — 

Osw. A herd of deer might storm proud De- 
vorgoil. 

Kat. [aside to Flo.) You, Flora, know full well 
one deer already 
Has enter'd at the breach ; and, what is worse. 
The escort is not ™t march'd off, for Blackthorn 
lo still within the castle. 

Flo. In Heaven's name, rid him out on't, ere 
my father 
Discovers he is here ! Why went he not 
Before ? 

Kat. Because I staid him on some httle business ; 
I had a plan to scare poor paltry GuUcrammer 
Out of his paltry wits. 

Flo. Well, haste ye now, 

And try to get him off. 

Kat. . I will not promise that. 

I would not turn an honest hunter's dog, 
So well I love the woodcraft, out of shelter 
In such a night as this — far less his master : 
But I'll do this, I'll try to hide him for you. 

Osw. (whom his wife has assisted to take off his 
cloak and feathered eap.) Ay, take them off, 
and bring my peasant's bonnet 
And peasant's plaid — I'll noble it no farther. 
Let them erase my name from honor's Usts, 
And drag my scutcheon at their horses' heels ; 
I have deserved it all, for I am poor, 
And poverty hath neither right of birth. 
Nor rank, relation, claim, nor privilege. 
To match a new-coin'd viscount, whose good grand- 
sire. 
The Lord be with him, was a careful skipper. 
And steer'd his paltry skiff 'twixt Leith and 

Campvere — 
Marry, sir, he could buy Geneva cheap, 
And knew the coast by moonlight. 

Flo. Mean you the Viscount Ellondale, my 
father i 
What, strife has been between you ? 

Osw. O, a trifle 1 

Not worth a wise man's thinking twice about — 
Precedence is a toy — a superstition 
About a taoie s er.d, joint -stool, and trencher. 
Sometmng was once thought due to long descent, 
Ana something to Galwegia's oldest baron, — 
But let that pass — a dream of the old time. 

Ele. It is indeed a dream. 



' MS.- 



' Yet, I know, for minds 



Of nobler stamp earth has no dearer motive.' 



Osw. (turning upon her rather guicklr/.) Hal 
said ye I let me heai' these words more plain. 
Ele. Alas ! they are but echoes of your own. 
Match'd with the real woes that hover o'er us, 
What are the idle visions of precedence. 
But, as you term them, dreams, and toys, and trifles, 
Not worth a wise man's thinkuig twice upon ? 
Osw. Ay, 'twas for you I fi'amed that consO' 
lation. 
The true philosophy of clouted shoe 
And linsey-woolsey kirtle. I know, that minds 
Of nobler stamp receive no dearer motive' 
Thau what is link'd with honor. Ribands, tassels, 
Which are but shreds of silk and spangled tinsel—' 
The right of place, which in itself is momentary — 
A word, wluch is but air — may in themselves. 
And to the nobler file, be steep'd so richly 
In that elixir, honor, that the lack 
Of things so very trivial in themselves 
Shall be misfortune. One shall seek for them* 
O'er the wild waves — one in the deadly breach 
And battle's headlong front — one in the paths 
Of midnight study ; and, in gaining these 
Emblems of honor, each will hold himself 
Repaid for all his labors, deeds, and dangers. 
What then should he think, knowing them his own 
Who sees what warriors and what sages toil for. 
The formal and establish'd mai-ks of honor, 
Usurp'd from him by upstart msolence ? 

Ele. {who has listened to the last epeech with so^ne 
impatience) This is but empty declamation, 
Oswald. 
The fragments left at yonder full-spread banquet, 
Nav, even the poorest crust swept from the table, 
Ought to be far more precious to a father, 
WTiose family lacks food, than the vain boast, 
He sate at the board-head. 

Osw. Thou'lt drive me frantic ! — I will tell tueo, 
woman — 
Tet why to thee ? Tliere is another ear 
Which that tale better suits, and he shall hear it. 
[Loohs at his 5?^ rd, which he has iinMickled 
and addresses the rest of the speech to it. 
Tes, trusty friend, my father knew tliy worth. 
And often proved it — ofteu told me of it — • 
Though thou and I be now held lightly of, 
And want the gilded hatchments of the time, 
I think we both may prove true metal .still. 
'Tis thou shalt tell this stoiy, right tliis wrong: 
Rest thou tin time is fitting. [Hangs up the sword. 
[The women, look at eat\ other with anxiety 
during this speech, whicii they partly over- 
hear. They both approach Oswald. 
Ele. Oswald — ^my dearest husband ! 
Flo. My dear father I 



"MS.- 



' tinsell'd apangle.*' 

' One shall seek these emblenu 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 768 


Osw. Peace, both 1 — we epeai no more of this. 


Bnter Katleen, introducing Blackthorn.' 


Igo 


Kat. This was the destined scene of actioi^ 


I'o heave the drawbridge up. [JExit. 


Blackthorn, 


Katleen mounts the steps towards tlie loop-hole^ 


And here our properties. But all in vain. 


looks out, and speaks. 


For of GuUcrammer We'll see naught to-night. 


The storm is gathering fast ; broad, heavy drops 


Except the dainties that I told you of 


Fall plashing on the bosom of the lalje, 


Bla. 0, if he's left that same hog's face and sav 


And dash its iuky surface into circles ; 


sages. 


The distar.t hills are hid in wreaths of darkness. 


He will try back upon them, never fear it. 


Twill be a fearful night. 


The cur will open on the trail of bacon. 




like my old brach-hound. 


Oswald re-enters, and throws himself into a seat. 


Kat. And should (hat hap, we'll pl.ay our com& 


Ele. More dark and dreadful 


dy,- 


rhau is our destiny, it cannot be. 


Shall we not. Blackthorn ? Thou shalt be Owls- 


Osw. (to Flo.) Such is Heaven's wUl — it is our 


piegle . 


part to bear it. 


Bla. And who may that hard-named persoD 


We're warrauted, my child, from ancient story 


be? 


And blessed wi'it, to say, that song assuages 


Kat. I've told you nine times over. 


The gloomy cares that prey upon our reason, 


Bla. Yes, pretty Katleen, but my eyes wero 


And wake a strife betwixt our better feelings 


busy 


And the fierce dictates of the headlong passions. 


In looking at you all the time you were talking , 


Sing, then, my love ; for if a voice have influence 


And so I lost the tale. 


To mediate peace betwixt me and my destiny, 


Kat. Tlien shut your eyes, and let your goodly 


Flora, it must be thine. 


ears 


FLa My best to please you 1 


Do their good office. 




Bla. That were too hard penanco 


SONG. 


Tell but thy tale once more, and I will hearken 


When the tempest's at the loudest, • 


As if I were thrown out, and listening for 


On its gale the eagle rides ; 


My bloodliound's distant bay. 


When the ocean roUs the proudest. 


Kat. a civil simile I 


Through the foam the sea-bird glides — 


Then, for the tenth time, and the last — be told, 


All the rage of wind and sea 


Owlspiegle was of old the wicked barber 


Is subdued by constancy. 


To Erick, wicked Lord of Devorgoil. 




Bla. The chief who di-own'd his captives in tlu 


Gnawing want and sickness pining. 


Solway — 


All the ills that men endure ; 


We all have heard of hmi. 


Each their various pangs combining. 


Kat. a hermit hoar, a venerable man — 


Constancy can find a cure— 


So goes the legend — came to wake repentance 


Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, 


In the fierce lord, and tax'd him with liis guilt; 


Are subdued by constancy. 


But he, heart-harden'd, turn'd mto derision 




The man of heaven, and, as his (hgnity 


Bar me from each wo'nted pleasure, 


Consisted much in a long reverend beard, 


Make me abject, mean, and poor ; 


Which reach'd his gu'dle, Erick caused his barber, 


Heap on insults without measure. 


This same Owlspiegle, violate its honors 


Cham me to a dungeon floor — 


Witli sacrilegious razor, and chp his hair 


rU be happy, rich, and free. 


After the fashion of a roguish fool. 


If endowed with constancy. 


Bla. This was reversing of our ancient proverb 




And shaving for the devil's, not ipr God's sake 




Kat. True, most grave Blackthorn ; and in puusb 
ment 






Of this foul act of scorn, the barber's ghost 


ACT II.— SCENE I. 


Is said to have no resting after death. 




But haunts these haUs, and chiefly this same chaiu 


i Chamber in a distant part of the Castle. A 


ber. 


large M^ndow in the flat scene, supposed to look 


Where the profanity was acted, trimming 


on the Lake, which is occasionalhj illuminated by 


And clippmg all such guests as sleep within it 


lightning. There is a Couch-bed in the Room, 




fui an antique Cabintt. • 


■ The M9 tlironshoal the Firat Act re»d« Ducktitr%. 



T64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Buch is at least the tale our elders tell. 
With many others, of this haunted castle. 
Bla. And you would have me take this shape 
of Owlspieg^e, 
ind trim the wise Melchisedek ! — I wonnot. 
Kat. You wiU not ! 

Bla. No — unless you bear a p:irt. 

Kat. What I can you not alone play such a 

farce ? 
Bi.A. Not I — rm dull Besides, we foresters 
•Hill hunt our game in couples. Look you, Kat- 

leen, 
W e danced at Shrovetid( — then you were my part- 
ner; 
We sung at Christmas — ^you kept time with me ; 
And if we go a mumming in this business, 
By heaven, you must bu a le, or Master Gullcram- 
mer 

Is like to rest unshaven 

Kat. Why, you fool, 

Vrhat end can this serve ? 

Bla. Nay, I know not, I. 

But if we keep this wont of being partners. 
Why, use makes perfect — who knows what may 
happen ! 
Kat. Thou art a foolish patch — But sing our 
carol. 
As I have alter'd it, with some few words 

To suit the characters, and I will bear 

[Gives a paper. 
Bla. Part in the gambol PU go study quickly. 
Is there no other ghost, then, haunts the castle, 
But this same barber shave-a-penny goblin J 
I thought they glanced in every beam of moon- 
shine, 
As frequent as the bat. 
Kat. I've heard my aunt's high husband tell of 
prophecies, 
And fates impending o'er the house of Devorgoil ; 
Legends first coin'd by ancient superstition, 
And render'd current by credulity 
And pride of lineage. Five years have I dwelt. 
And ne'er saw any thing more mischievous 
Than what I am myself. 

Bla. And that is quite enough I warrant you. 
But, stay, where shall I find a dress 
To play this — wliat d'ye call Iiim — Owlspiegle ? 
Kat. {takes dresses out of t)ie cabinet.) Why, 
there are his own clothes, 
Preserved with other trumpery of the sort, 
For we have kept naught but what is good for 
naught. 
^She drops a cap as she draws out the clothes. 
Blackthorn lifts it, and gives it to her. 
Nay, keep it for thy pains — it is a coxcomb ; 
Bo call'd in ancient times, in ours a fool's cap ; 
For you must know they kept a Fool at Devor- 
goil 



In former days ; but now are weU contented 
To play the fool themselves, to save expenses ; 
Yet give it me, I'll find a worthy use for't. 
I'll take this page's dress, to play the page 
Cockledemoy, who waits on ghostly Owlspiegle 
And yet 'tis needless, too, for Gullcrammer 
Will scarce be here to-night. 

Bla. I tell you that he will — I will uphold 
His plighted faith and true allegiance 
Unto a sous'd sow's face and sausages, 
And such the dainties that you say he sent you. 
Agaiust all other Ukiugs whatsoever, 
Except a certain sneakinjr of affection, 
Which makes some folks I know of play the fool, 
To please some other folks. 

Kat. WeU, I do hope he'll come — there's first 8 
chance 
He will be cudgell'd by my noble uncle — 
I cry Ms mercy — by my good aunt's husband, 
Wlio did vow vengeance, knowing naught of hJTn 
But by report, and by a limping sonnet 
"Wliich he had fashion'd to my cousin's glory, 
And forw.arded by blind Tom Long the carrier ; 
So there's the chance, first of a hearty beating, 
Which failing, we've this after-plot of vengeance. 

Bla. Kind damsel, how rinsiderate and merci- 
ful ! 
But how shall we get off, our parts being play'd ! 

Kat. For that we are well fitted ; here's a trap- 
door 
Sinks with a counterpoise- you shall go that 

way. 
I'll make my exit yonder — 'neath the window, 
A balcony communicates with the tower 
That overhangs the lake. 

Bla. 'Twere a rare place, this house of Devor- 
goil, 
To play at hide-and-seek in — shall we try, 
One day, my pretty Katleen? 

Kat. Hands off, rude ranger ! I'm no managed 
hawk 
To stoop to lure of yours. — But bear you gal 

lantly ; 
This Gullcrammer hath vex'd my cousin much, 
I fain would have some vengeance. 

Bla. PU bear my part with glee ; — he spoke 
irreverently 
Of practice at a mark ! 

Kat. That cries for vengeance. 

But I must go ; I hear my aunt's shrill voice I 
My cousin and her father will screiun next. 

Ele. (at a distance^ Kptleen ! Katleen ! 

Bla. Hark to old Sweetlips' 

Away with you before the full cry open — 
But stay, what have you there ? 

Kat. [with a bundle she has taken from the ward- 
robe.) My dress, my pa£:e'« dr&oe — ^t i' 
alone. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



761 



Bi.i Your tiring-TOom is not, I hope, far dis- 
tant ; 
Tau're inexperienced in these new habiliments — 
t am most ready to assist your toilet. 
KAr. Out, you great ass I was ever such a fool 1 

IJiuns off. 

Bla. {sings.) 
Robin Hood was a bowman good. 

Anil a bowman good was he, 
And he met with a maiden in merry Sherwood, 

All under the greenwood tree. 

Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, 

Now give me a kiss, said he, 
For there never came maid into merry Sher- 
wood, 

But she paid the forester's fee. 

I've coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, young 

Katleen, 
And she has dodged me, turn'd beneath my nose. 
And flung me out a scgre of yards at once ; 
If this same geRr fadge right, I'll cote and mouth 

her. 
And then 1 whoop 1 dead I dead I dead 1 — She is 

the metal 

To make a woodsman's wife of ! 

IPauses a moment. 
Well — I can find a hare upon her form 
With any man in Nithsdale — stalk a deer. 
Run Reynard to the earth for all his doubles. 
Reclaim a haggard hawk that's wild and wayward. 
Can bait a wild-cat, — sure the devil's in't 
But I can match a woman — I'U to study. 

\^Slis down on the coitch to examine the paper. 



SCENE II. 

•Jrenc changes to the inhabited apartment of the 
Castle^ as in the last Scene of the preceding Act. 
A fire is kindled, by which Oswald sits in an 
attitude of deep and inelanchohj thought, without 
paying attention to what passes around Itim. 
Eleanor is busy in covering a table ; Flora goes 
(nit and re-enters, as if busied in the kitchen. 
There should be some by-play — the women whis- 
pering together, and watching the state of Os- 
wald ; then separating, and seeking to avoid his 
observation, when he casitally raises his head, and 
drops it again. This must be left to taste and 
management. The iilomen, in the first part of 
the scene, talk apart, and as if fearful of being 
otterhrard; the by-play of stopping occasionally, 
and attending to Oswald's movements, will give 
liveliness to the Scene. 



Ele. Is all prepared ? 

Flo. Ay ; but I doubt the issui 

Will give my sire less pleasure than you hope for 

Ele. Tush, maid — I know thy father's humor 
better. 
He was high-bred in gentle luxm-ies ; 
And when our griefs began, I've wept apart, 
While lordly cheer and high-fill'd cujis of wine 
Were blinding Iiim against the woe to come. 
He has turn'd liis back upon a prthcely banquet : 
We will not spread his board — tlils night at least 
Since chance hath better furnish'd — with dry bread. 
And water from the well 

Enter Katleen, a7id hears the last speech. 
Kat. (aside.) Considerate aunt ! she deems that 
a good supper 
Were not a tiling indifferent even to him 
Who is to hang to-morrow. Since she thinks so, 
We must take care the venison has due honor — 
So much I owe the sturdy knave. Lance BlacV 
thorn. ■ 
Flo. Mother, alas I when Grief turns reveller, 
Despair is cup-bearer. What shall hap to-morrow* 
Ele. I have learn'd carelessness from fruitlesa 
care. 
Too long I've watch'd to-morrow ; let it come 
And cater for itself — Thou hear'st the thimder. 

[Lote and distant thunder 
This is a gloomy night — within, alas ! 

\^Looking at her husbana. 
Still gloomier and more threatqpiiig — Let us use 
Whatever means we have to drive it o'er. 
And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust ma 

Flora, 
'Tis the pliilosophy of desperate want 
To match itself but with the present evil. 
And face one grief at once. 
Away, I wish thine aid and not thy counsel. 

lAs Flora is about to go off, Gullorajc- 
MEr's voice is heard behind the fat scene, 
as if from the drawbridge. 
GcL. {behind.) Hillo — liillo — hilloa — hoa— hoa ! 
[Oswald raises himself and listens ; El- 
eanor goes up the steps, and opens ths 
window at the loop-hole ; Gulloham 
mer's voice is then heard more diflincU^ 
Gul. Kind Lady Devorgoil — sweet iiistresi 
Flora !— 
The night grows fearful, I have lost my W! y, 
And wander'd till the road turn'd round with ma. 
And brought me Kick — For Heaven's sake, giT* 
me shelter I 
Kat. {aside.) Now, as I live, the voice of GulV 
crammer ! 
Now shall our gambol be play'd off with spirit ; 
I'll swear I am the only one to whom 
That screech-owl whoop was e'er acceptablo 



ree 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Osw. Wliat bawling knave is this that takes our 
dwelling 
For some hedge-inn, the haunt of lated drunkards ? 

Ele. What shall I say ? — Go, Katleen, speak to 
him. 

Kat. (aside.) The game is in my hands — I will 
say 'something 
Will fret the Baron's pride — and then be enters. 
[She speaks/) om the windou'.) Good sir, be patient ! 
We are poor folks — it is but six Scotch miles 
To the next bo'-ough town, where your Reverence 
May be accommo'ated to your wants ; 
We are poor folks, an't please your Reverence, 
And keep a narrow bouselicjld — there's no track 
To lead your steps astray [lady, 

GuL. Nor none to lead them right. — You kill me, 
If you deny me harbor. To budge from lience. 
And in my weary phght, were sudden death. 
Interment, funeral-sermon, tombstone, epitaph. 

Osw. Who's he that is thus clamorous without ? 
{To Ele.) Tliou know'st him ? 

Ele. [confused.) I know him ? — -no — yes — 'tis a 
worthy clergyman, 
Benighted on his way ; — but think not of him. 

Kat. The morn wUl rise when that the tempest's 
past. 
And if he miss the marsh, and can avoid 
The crags upon the left, the road is plaia 

Osw. Then tliis is all your piety ! — to leave 
One wliom the holy duties of his office 
Have summon'd over moor and wilderness, 
To pray beside some dying wretch's bed. 
Who (erring mortal)'stUl would cleave to life, 
Or wake some stubborn simier to repentance, — 
To leave him, after offices Uke these, 
To choose his way in darkness 'twixt the marsh 
And dizzy precipice ?' 

Ele. What can I do ? 

Osw. Do what thou canst — the wealthiest do no 
more — 
And if so much, 'tis well. These crumbling walls, 
WliUc yet they bear a roof, shall now, as ever. 
Give shelter to the wanderer' — Have we food ? 
He shall partake it — Have we none ? the fast 
Shall be accoimted with the good man's merits 

And om' misfortunes 

[Z/e goes to the loop-hole while he speaks^ 
111 d places himself there in roojnof his 
Wife, who comes doimi with reluctance. 

GuL. (witltout.) ITiUo — hoa — hoa ! 
By my good faith, I camiot plod it farther ; 
the attempt were death. 

Osw. (speaks from the window.) Patience, my 
friend, I come to lower the drawbridge. 

■ \_Descends, and exit. 

} Ms. — " And headlong dizzy precipice.* 

• MS. *' shall give, as ever, 



Ele. 0, that the screaming bittern had his couch 
Where he deserves it,' in the deepest mar^h 1 

IvAT. I would not give tliis sport for all the rent 
Of DevorgoU, when Devorgoil was richest ! , 

(To Ele.) But now you ehided me, my dearest 

aunt, 
For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion ? 

Ele. Yes, saucy gii'l ; but, an it please you, then 
He was not fretting me ; if he had sense enough. 
And sldll to beai' him as some casual stranger, — 
But he is dull as earth, and every hint 
Is lost on him, as hail-shot on the cormorant. 
Whose hide is proof except to musket-bullets f 

Flo. (apart.) And yet to such a one would my 
kind mother. 
Whose chiefest fault is loving me too fondly. 
Wed her poor daughter ! 

JSnter -Gcllckammee, his dre^s damaged hy tht 
storm ; ELE.moR runs to meet him, in order to 
explain to him that she wished him to behave as 
a stranger. Gullcrammer, mistaking her ap- 
proach for an invitatio7i.,to familiarity, advances \ 
with the air of pedantic cdnceit*belonging to his ; 
character, lehen Oswald enters, — Eleanor recov- ; 
ers herself and assumes an air of distance — \ 
GtJLLCRAMMER is confoundcd, and does not know 
what to make of it. I 

Osw. Tlie counterpoise has clean given way ; the i 
bridge 
Must e'en remain unraised, and leave us open, [ 

For this night's course at least, to passing visit- 
ants. — 
What have we here ? — is this the reverend man 1 
[He takes up the candle, and surveys 
GuLLMtAMMER, wfw strivcs to Sustain 
the inspection with confidence, while fear 
obviously cotitends with conceit and de- 
sire to show 'himself to the best advan- 
tage. 
GuL. Kind sir — or, good my lord — my band is 
ruffled. 
But yet 'twas fresh this morning. This fell showei 
Hath somewhat smu'ch'd my cloak, but. you may 

note 
It rates five marks per yard ; my doublet 
Hath faij'ly 'scaped — 'tis three-piled taffeta. 

[Opens his cloak, and displays his doublet, 
Osw. A goodly inventory — Art thou a preacher ! 
GuL. Yea — I laud Heaven and good Saint Man 

go for it. 
Osw. 'Tis the time's plague, when those thit 
shoidd weed follies 
Out of the common field, have their own minds ■ 

Their shelter to the S """'^y „ ' 
' wanderer." » 

' MS.—" Where it is fittest," &o. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



767 



O'errun with foppery — Envoys 'twixt lieaven and 

emnh, 
Ezamj^li: slioukl with precept join, to show us 
How we may scorn the world witli :ill ita vanities. 
. GoL. Nay, the liigh heavens forefend that I were 

vain ! 
When ourlearn'd Principal snch souiidino; laud 
Gave tD urine Essay on the liidden quaUties 
Of the suljjhuric mineral, I disclaiiu'd 
All self-exaltmeut. And {tuminij to the waineii) 

when at the dance. 
The lovely Saocharissa Kirkencroft, 
Daughter to Kirkencroft trf ICirkencroft, 
Graced me with her soft hand, credit me, ladies, 
That still I felt myself a mortal man. 
Though beauty smiled on me. 

Osw, Come, sh-, enough of this. [heavens, 

That you're om' guest to-night, thank the rough 
And all our worser fortunes ; be conformable 
Unto my rules ; these are no Saccharissas 
To gild with compliments. There's in your pro- 
fession, 
As the best grain will have its piles of chaff, 
A certain whiffler who hath dared to bait 
A noble maiden with love tales and sonnets ; 
And if I meet him, his Geneva cap 
May scarce be proof to save his ass's ears. 

Kat. {(iitidf.) Umpli — I am strongly tempted ; 
And yet I think I will be generous. 
And give his brains a chimce to save his bones. 
Then there's more humor in our goblin plot, . 
Than in a simple drubbing. 

EtE. (apart to F1.0.) What shall we do I If he 
discover him. 
He'll fling him out at window. 

Flo. My father's liint to keep himself unknown 
Is all too broad, I tlijnk, to be neglected. 

Ele. But yet the fool, if we produce his bounty. 
May claim the merit of presenting it ; 
And then we're but lost Vomen for accepting 
A. gift our needs made timely. 

Kat. Do not produce them. 

E'en let tlie fop go supperless to bed, 
And keep his bones whole. 

Osw. (?o his Wife.) Hast thou aught 

To place before liim ere he .seek repose ? 

El>:. Alas ! too well you know our needful fare 
[s of the narrowest now, and Imows no surplus. 

Osw. Shame us not with thy niggard housekeep- 
ing; 
He is a stranger — were it our last crust, 
And he the veriest coxcomb ere wore taffeta, 
A pitch he's little short of — he must shai'e it. 
Though all should want to-morrow. 

GuL. {^partly overhearinrf what passes betteeen 
'hem.) Nay, I am no lover of your sauced 
aainties : 
Plain food and plenty is my motto stilL 



Your mountain air is bleak, and brings an appetite : 
A soused sow's face, now, to my modest thinkings 
Has ne'er a fellow. \V hat think these fair ladies 
Of a bow's face and sausages ! 

[Jfalces siffna to ELEANOtt 
Flo. Plague on the vulgar liind, and on liis cour 
tesies, 
The whole truth will come out ! 

Osw. 'What should they think, but th.at jvjr< 
hke to lack 
Tour favorite dishe.s, su', unless perchana 
You bring such dainties with you. 

GuL. No, not wiih me ; not, indeed. 
Directly witli me ; but — Aha ! f;i Ir ladies ! 

[Makes sir/ns agair^ 
Kat. He'll draw the beatmg down — 'Were thai 
the worst, 
Heaven's will be done ' [Aside 

Osw. (apart.) 'W^hal can he mean ? — this is the 
veriest dog-whelp — 
Still he's a strivnger, and the latest act 
Of hospitahty in this old mansion 
Shall not be sullied. 

GiiL. Troth, sir, I think, under the ladies' favor, 
'Without pretending skill in second sight, 

Tliose of my cloth being seldom conjurers 

O.sw. rU take my Bible-oath that thou art none. 

[Asidi 
GuL. I do opine, still with the ladies' favor, 
Tliat I could guess the nature of onr supper; 
I do not say in such and such preoediuice 
The dishes will be placed ; housewives, as you know. 
On such forms have their fancies ; but, I say still. 

That a sow's face imd sausages « 

Osw." Peace, sir ! 

O'er-driven jests (if this be one) are insolent. 
Fto. (apart, seeinrj her mother uneasy.) The old 
saw still holds true — a churl's benefits. 
Sauced with his lack of feeling, sense, and courtesy, 
Savor like mjuries. 

[A horn is iei?ided v}ithout ; then a loiui 
knocking at the gate. 
Leo. (without.) Ope, for the sake of love and 
charity ! 

[Oswald goes to the loop-hole. 
GuL. Heaven's mercy ! .should there come an- 
other str.anger, 
And he half starved with wandering on the wolda, 
The sow's face boasts no substance, nor the sausages 
To staud our reinforced attack 1 I judge, too, 
By tills starved Baron's language, there's no hope 
Of a reserve of victuals. 

Fi.o. Go to the easement, cousin. 
Kat. Go yourself. 

And bid the g.allant who that bugle winded 
Sleep in the storm-swept waste ; as meet for him 
As for Lance Blackthorn. — Come, I'll not distreai 
jou. 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rU get admittance for this second suitor, 

And we'll play out this gambol at cross purposes. 

But see, your father has prevented me. 

Osw. (seejns to have spoken with those without, 
mid answers.') "Well, I will ope the door ; 
one guest already. 
Driven by the storm, has claim'd my hospitality. 
And you, if you were fiends, were scarce less wel- 
come 
To this my mouldering roof, than empty ignorance 
And rank conceit — I hasten to admit you. \^Exit. 
Elf. (to Flo.) The tempest thickens. By that 
winded bugle, 

I guess the guest that next will honor us. 

Little deceiver, that didst mock my troubles, 
Tis now thy turn to fear ! 

Flo. Mother, if I knew less or more of this 
Unthought-of and most perilous visitation, 
I would yom" wishes were fulfilled on me. 
And I were wedded to a thing like yoD. 
GuL. [approachijig.) Come, ladies, now you see 
the jest is thi-eadbare, 
And you must own that same sow's face and sau- 
sages 

Re-enter Oswald tcith Leonaed, supporting Bacl- 
DiE DuitwARD. Oswald takes a view of them, as 

■ formerlt/ of Gullcr.oimek, then, speaks. 
Osw. [to Leo.) By thy green cassock, hunting- 
spear and bugle, 

I guess thou art a huntsman? 

Leo. (bowing jcith respect.) A ranger of the neigh- 
boring royal forest. 

Under the good Lord Nithsdale ; huntsman, there- 
fore, • 

In time of peace, and when the land has war. 

To my best powers a soldier. 

Osw. Welcome, as either. I have loved the 
chase. 

And was a soldier once. — This aged man. 

What may he be ? 

DuK (recovering his breath.) Is bat a beggar, sir, 
an humble mendicant, 

Wlio feels it passing strange, that from this roof, 

Above all otliers, he should now crave shelter. 
Osw. Wliy so ? You're welcome both — only the 
word 

WaiTants more courtesy than our present means 

Permit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier 

May be a prince's comrade, much more mine ; 

And for a beggar — fi'iend, there little lacks. 

Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted 
pouches. 

To make us comrades too ; then welcome both, 

And to a beggar's feast. I fear brown bread. 

And water from the spring, will be the best on't ; 

For we had cast to wend abroad this evening, 

^nd left our larder empty. 



GuL. Yet, if some kindly fairy, 

In our behalf, would search its hid recesses, — 
(Apart.) We'll not go supperless now — we're threi 

to one. — 
Still do I say, that a soused face and sausages— 
Osw. (looks sternly at him-, then ai his wifs.) 
There's something, under this, but that the 
present 
Is not a time to question. (To TSle.) Wife, my niood 
Is at such height of tide, that a turn'd featlier 
Would make me frantic now, with mirtli or fury 1 
Tempt me no more — but if thou hast the things 
This carrion crow so croaks for, bring them forth ; 
For, by my father's beard, if I stand caterer, 
'TwUl be a fearful banquet ! 

Ele. Your pleasure be obey'd — Come, aid me 
Flora. [J^xeuni 

(During the following speeches theWomen 
place dishes on tlie table.) 
Osw. (to DuR.) How did you lose your path ? 
Due. E'en when we thought to find it, a wild 
meteor 
Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray. — 
I give small credence to the tales of old, 
Of Frior's-lantern told, and Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else would I say, that Some maUcious demon 
Gui ied us in a round ; for to the moat, 
Which we had pass'd two hours since, were w» 

led. 
And there the gleam flicker'd and disapnear'd, 
Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn dowzi, 
So broke with laboring through marah and moor, 
That, wold I nold I, htre iiiy young conductor 
Would needs implore for en'.r&ce ; else, believe 

me, 
I had not troubled ynu 

Osw. And why not, father? — have you e'el 
he-ard aught. 
Or of my house or me, that wanderers. 
Whom or their loving tradL or sudden circumstanc* 
Oblige to setjk a shelter, should avoid 
The houst, of DevorgoU ? 

Dmi, Sir, I am English born — 

Native of Cumberland. Enough is said 
Why I should shun those bowers, whose lairds wera 

hostile 
To EngUsh blood, and unto Cimiberland 
Most hostile and most fatal. 

Osw. Ay, father. Once my grandsire plough'd, 
and harrow'd, 
And sow'd with salt the streets of your fair to-wns; 
But what of that ? — you have the 'vantage now. 

Due. True, Lord of Devorgoil, and well believe I, 
Tliat not in vain we sought these towers to-night, 
So strangely guided, to behold theu- state. 

Osw. Ay, thou wouldst say, 'twas fit a Cumbriai 
beggar 
Should sit an equal guest in his proud balls. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



7'.».i 



Whose fathers boggar'd Cumberland — Graybeard, 

let it be so, 
Fll not dispute it with thee. 

(7b Leo., who was speajcing to Flora, but 
on bchiff surprised, occupied himself 
with the suit of armor.) 
What niakest tb~> ♦here, young man? 
Leo I marvcird at tliis hii ^ss ; it is larger 
Than arras of modern days. How riclJy carved 
With gold inlaid on steel — how close the rivets — 
H6w justly fit the joints ! I think the gauntlet 
Would swallow twice my hand. 

[i/e is about to take doimi some part of the 
Armor; Oswald interferes. 
Osw. Do not displace it. 

My grandsire, Erick, doubled human strength. 
And almost human size — and human knowledge, 
And human vice, and human vu-tue also, 
As storm or sunshiue chanced to occupy 
His mental hemisphere. After a fatal deed. 
He hung his armor on the wall, forbiddhig 
It e'er should be ta'eu down. There is a prophecy, 
That of itself 'twill fall, upon the night 
When, in the fiftieth year from his decease, 
Devorgoil's feast is fuU. This is the era ; 
But, as too well you see, no meet occaaion 
Will do the downfall of the armor justice. 
Or grace it with a feast. There let it bide. 
Trying its strength with the old walls it hangs on, 
Which shall fall soonest. 
Due. (lookinci at the trophy with a mixture of 

feeling.) Then there stern Ei'ick's liarness 

hangs untouch'd, 
Since his last fatal raid on Cumberland ! 

Osw. Ay, waste and want, and recklessness — a 

comrade 
Still yoked with waste and want— have stripp'd 

these walls 
Of every other trophy. Antler'd skulls. 
Whose branches vouch'd the tales old vassals iold' 
Of desperate chases — jmrtisans and spears — 
Knights' barred helms and shields — the shafts and 

bows, 
Aies and breastplates of the hardy yeomanry — 
The banners of the vanquish' d — signs these arms 
Were not assumed in vain, have disappear'd. 
Yes, one by one they all have disappear'd ; 
And now Lord Brick's harness hangs alone, 
'Midst implements of vulgar husbandry 
And mean economy ; as some old warrior. 
Whom want hath made an inmate of an alms-house, 
Shows, raid the beggar'd spendthrifts, base me- 
chanics. 
And bankrupt pedlars, with whom fate has mix'd 

liira. [house, 

DuK. Or rather like a pirate, whom the prison- 



gled with peaceful men, broken in fortune* ' 
97 



Prime levoUer next the grave, hath for the first t'une 
Mingled with peaceful captives, low in fortuuea,' 
But fan in innocence. 

Osw. (looking at Due. witlt surprise.) FriencV. 

thou art bitter ! 
DuR. Plain truth, sir, like the vtdgar eopp" 
coinage, 
Despised amongst the gentry, still finds value 
And ciurrency with beggars 

Osw. Be it 90. 

I will not trench on the immunities 
I soon may claim to share. Thy features, too, 
Thimgh weather-beaten, and thy strain of language, 
Relish of better days." Come liither, friend, 

[They speak apart 
And let me a.sk thee of thine occupation. 

[LeoX;Vrd looks round, and, seeing Oswald 
engaged with Dl'rwaku, and Gullcram- 
MER with Eleanor, approaches toward* 
VtOKA, who must gii/e him ai opportunity 
of doing so, with obvious attention on her 
part to give it the air of chance. The by- 
play here will rest with the Lady, vihr 
mu.tt engage the attention of the andienc. 
by playing .off a little female hypocrisy 
and simple coquetry. 

Leo. Flora 

Flo. Ay, gallant huntsman, may she deign to 
question 
Why Leonard came not at the appointed hour ■ 
Or why he came at midnight ? 

Leo. Love has no certain loadstar, gentle Flora, 
And oft gives up tlie helm to wayward'pilotage. 
To say the sooth — A beggar forced me hence, 
And Will-o'-wisp did guide us back again. 

Flo. Ay, ay, your beggar was the faded sjjectre 
Of Poverty, that sits upon the threshold 
Of these our ruiu'd walls. I've been unvTJse, 
Leonard, to let you speak so oft with mo ; 
And you a fool to say what you have said. 
E'en let us here break short ; an 1, wise at length, 
Hold each our sepai'ate way tlirough life's wide 
ocean. 
Leo. Nay, let us rather join our course togetner 
And share the breeze or tempo- 1, doubling joys, 
ReUevmg sorrows, warding evil~ off 
With mutual effort, or endiu'ing them 
With mutual patience. 
Flo. Tliis is but flattering counsel — sweet and 
baneful ; 
But mine had wholesome bitter in't. 

Kat. Ay, ay ; but like the sly apothecary, 
You'll be the last to take the bitter drug 
That you prescribe to others. 

[They m/iisper. Eleaxoe advances to t» 
terrupt tliem, followed by Golloea joojfc 

MS. — *' Both amack of better (lavs " fe«j 



110 



SCOTT t. POETICAL WORKS. 



Ele. What, maid, no household cares ? Leave 
to your elders 
rhe task of fiUiug passing strangers' ears 
With the due notes of welcome. 

GuL. Be it thine, 

0, Mistress Flora, the more useful talent 
Of filling strangers' stomachs with substantial s ; 
That is to say — for learn'd commentators 
Do so fixpound substantials in some places, — 
Witn a sous'd bacon-face and sausages. 
Flo. [apart.) Would thou wert sous'd, intoler- 
able pedant, 
Base, greedy, perverse, interrupting coxcomb I 

Kat. Hush, coz, for we'U be well avenged on him. 
And ere tliis night goes o'er, else woman's wit 
Cannot o'ertAke her wishes. 

[She proceeds to arrange scats. Oswald and 
DuRWAitD come forward in conversation. 
Osw. I like thine humor well. — So all men 

beg 

Due. Yes — I can make it good by proof. Your 
soldier 
Begs for a leaf of laurel, and a line 
In the Gazette. He brandishes his sword 
To back his suit, and is a sturdy beggar — 
The courtier begs a ribimd or a star. 
And, like our gentler mumpers, is provided 
With false certificates of health and fortune 
Lost in the public service. For your lover 
Wlio begs a sigh, a smile, a lock of hair, 
A buskin-point, he maunds upon the pad, 
With the true cant of pure meudicity, 
" The smallest trifle to reheve a Christian, 

And if it hke your Ladysliip !" 

[/;i a begging tone. 
Kat. (apart.) This is a cunning knave, and feeds 
the humor 
Of my aunt's husband, for I must not say 
Mine hon'br'd uncle. I wiU try a question. — 
Yoxu' man of merit though, who serve j the com- 
monwealth, 
Nor asks for a requital ? 

[To DURWAED. 

Due. Is a dumb beggar, 

.\.nd lets his actions speak like signs for him, 
' 'liallenging double guerdon. — Now, I'll show 
|.i\v your true beggar has the fair advantage 
1 1 er aU the tribes of cloak'd mendicity 
1 Vnve told over to you. — The soldier's laia'cl, 
The statesman's riband, and the lady's favor. 
Once won and gain'd, are not held worth a farthing 
By such as longest, loudest, canted for them : 
Whereas your charitable halfpenny," 
Which is the scope of a true beggar's suit, 
iS worth tu'o farthings, and, in times of plenty. 
Win buy a crust of brep,d. 

*MS.— ' Whereas your ftTiaine copper halfpenny." 



Flo. (interrupting him, and addreising her fa- 
ther.) Su-, let me be a beggar with the tima 
And pray you come to supper. 

Ele. (to Oswald, apart.) Must he sit with us ? 
[Looking at DuEWiED 

Osw. Ay, ay, what else — smce we are beggar! 
all? 
When cloaks are ragged, sure their worth is equal 
Wliether at first they were of silk or woollen. 

Ele. Thou art scarce consistent. 
Tills day thou didst refuse a princely banquet, 
Because a new-made lord was placed above thee 
And now 

0.5W. Wife, I have seen, at public executions, 
A wretch, that could not brook the hand of violenct 
Should push him from the scaffold, pluck up cour 

age, 
And, with a desperate sort of cheerfulness, 
Take the fell plunge himself — 
Welcome then, beggars, to a beggar's feast I 

GuL. (who has in the mean while seated himself) 
But this is more. — A better countenance, — 
Fair fall the hands that sous'd it ! — than this hog's, 
Or prettier provender than these same sausages, 
(By what good friend sent hither, shall be name- 
less, [fuse,) 
Doubtless soine youth whom love hath made pro- 
[Smiling significanthi at Eleanor and Floea 
No princ; need wish to peck at. Long, I ween, 
Shice that the nostrils of tliis house (by metaphor 
I mean the chunneys) smell'd a steam so grateful — • 
By your good leave I cannot dally longer. 

[Helps himself 
Osw. (places Durwaed above Gullcrammee.! 
Meanwhile, sir, 
Please it your faithful learning to give place 
To gray hairs and to wisdom ; and, moreover, 

If you had tarried for the benediction 

GuL. (somewhat abashed.) I said grace to myself 
Osw. (not minding him.) — And waited for the 
company of others. 
It had been better fasliion. Time has been, 
I should have told a guest at Devorgoil, 
Bearing himself thus forward, he was saucy. 

[Me seats himself and helps the company 
and himself in dumb-show. There should 
be a contrast betwixt the precision of his 
aristocratic civiliii/, and the rude under- 
breeding of Gullceammee. 
Osw. (having tasted the dish next him.) Why 

this is venison, Eleanor ! 
GuL. Ehl What I Let's see— 

[Pushes across Oswald a7td helps himself. 
It may be venison-" 
Tm sure 'tis not beef, veal, mutton, lamb, or pork 
Eke am I sure, that be it what it will, 
It is not half so good as sausages. 
Or as a sow's face sous'd. 



Osw. Eleanor, whence all this ? 

Elk Wait till to-morrow, 

Yon shall know all. It was a happy chance. 

That furnish'd us to meet so many guests. 

[fills wine. 

Try if your cup be not as riclily garnish'd 

4s is y.mr trencher.' 
PCiT. (apart.) My aunt adheres to the good cau- 
tious maxim 

Of, — " Eat your pudding, firiend, and hold your 
tongue." 
Osw. (tasles the wine) It is the grape of Bor- 
deaux. 

6UM dainties, once familiar to my board, 

Uave boon estranged from't long. 

\_Ue arjain fills fiis fflass^ and continues to 
speak as he holds it up. 

<'ill round, my friends — here is a treacherous frieud 
now 

Smiles in your face, yet seeks to steal the jewel, 

W^hich is distinction between man and brute — 

I mean our reason — this he does, and smiles. 

Bu' are not all friends treacherous ? — one shall 
cross you 

Even in your dearest interests — one shall slander 
you— 

I'his steal your daughter, that defraud your 
purse ; 

But this gay flask of Bordeaux will but borrow 

Four sense of mortal sorrows for a season, 

And leave, instead, a gay delirium. 

Mcthinks my brain, unused to such gay visitants. 

The influence feels already ! — we wiU revel ! — 

Our banquet shall be loud ! — it is our last. 

Katleen, thy song. 
Kat. Not now, my lord — I mean to sing to- 
night 

For this same moderate, grave, and reverend cler- 
gyman ; 

ril keep my voice till then. 

Ele. Your round refusal shows but cottage 
breeding. 

1 Wooden trenchers should be used, and the quaigh, a i^cot- 
luh drinking-cup. 

a " Dnndee, enraged at his enemies, and still more at his 
Iner.ds, resolved to retire to the Highlands, and to make prepa- 
Ifftions for civil war, bat with secrecy : for he had been order- 
•d by James to make no public insurrection until assistance 
■faould be seat him from Ireland. 

"Whilst Dundee was in this temper, information was 
Drought him, whether true or false is uncertain, that some of 
the t.'ovenanters had associated themselves to assassinate him, 
in revenge for Iiis former severities against their party. He 
ilew to the Convention and demanded justice. The Duke of 
Hamilton, who wished to get rid of a troublesome adversary, 
treated his complamt with neglect ; and in order to sting him 
in the tenderest part, reflected upon that courage which could 
be alarmed by imaginary dangers, Dundee left the house in 
t rage, mounted his horse, and with a troop of fifty horsemen 
»ho had deserted to him from his regiment in England, ga!- 



Kat. Ay, my good aunt, for I was cottage not 

tured, 
And taught, I think, to prize my own wild will 
Above all sacrifice to compUment. 
Here is a huntsman — in liis eyes I read it, 
He sings the martial song my uncle loves, 
What time fierce Claver'se with his Cavaliers, 
Abjuriitg the new change of govermnent. 
Forcing lii.s fearless wtiy through timorous friendii 
And enemies as tiniuruus, left the capital 
To rouse in James's cause the distant Highlands, 
Have you ne'er heard the song, my noble uncle ? 
Osw. Have I not heard, wench i — It was I rodi 

next him, 
'Tis thirty summers since — rode by his rein ; 
We marched on through the alarm'd city. 
As sweeps the osprey through a flock of gulls. 
Who scream and flutter, but dare no resistance 
Against the bold sea-empress — They did murmn/, 
The crowds before us, in their sullen wrath. 
And those whom we had pass'd, gatlieriug frcsk 

courage. 
Cried havoc in the rear — we minded them 
E'en as the brave bark minds the bursting bil 

lows. 
Which, yielding to her bows, burst on her sides. 
And ripple in her wake. — Sing me that strain, 

[7'o Leonabd 
And thou sh.alt have a meed I seldom tender. 
Because they're all I have to give — my thauks. 
Leo. Nay, if you'll bear with what I cannol 

help, 
A voice that's rough with hollowing to the hoimds 
I'll sing the song even as old Rowland taught me. 

SONG.' 
Air — " Tfie Bonnets of Bonny Dundee.** 

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who 

spoke, 
" Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowni 

to be broke ; 

loped through the city. Being asked by one of his friends, wh« 
stopped him, ' Where he was going?' he waved his hat, and il 
reported to have answered, ' Wherever the spirit of Moncrosa 
shall direct me.' In passing under the walls of the Castle, ha 
stopped, scrambled up the precipice at a place ditlicult and dan- 
gerous, and held a conference witii the Duke of Gordon atB 
nostern-gate, the marks of which are still to be seen, thoogl 
the gate itself is built up. Hoping, in vain, to infuse the vigr 
of his own spirit into the Duke, he pressed him to retire win 
him into the Highlands, raise his vassals there, who were nu- 
merous, brave, and faithful, and leave the command of thp 
Castle to Winram, the lieutenant-governor, an oiliceron whom 
Dnndee could rely. The Duke concealed his timidity ur.dei 
the excuse of a soldier. ' A soldier,' said he, .' cannot in hon- 
or quit the j)Osi that is assigned him.' The novelty of the fighl 
drew numbers to the foot of the rock upon which the confer 
eDje was held. These numbers every minute increased, and, 
ir tile end, were mistaken for Dundee's adherents. The Coo 



7T2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



So let each Cavalier who love3 honor and me, 
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

* Ccme fiU up my cup, come 611 up my can, 
Ccjne saddle your horses, and call up your men ; 
yome open the West Port, and let me gang free, 
ind it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dun- 
dee I" 

Dundee he is moimted, he rides up the street, 

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are 
beat ; 

But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let 
him be, 

rhe Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dun- 
dee." 
Come fill up my cup, <tc. 

As he rode down the sanctified bends 'of the Bow, 
nk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they look'd coutliie 

and slee. 
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! 
Come fill up my cup, &c 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was 

cramni'd 
As if half the West had set tryst to be hang'd :' 
There was spite in each look, there was fear in 

each e'e. 
As they watcli'd for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears. 

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavahers ; 

But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway 

was free, 
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

He spurr'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock, 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 

vention v/ns then silting : news were carried tliiilier that Dun- 
dee was at the gates witli an army, and had prevailed npon 
tho governor of the Castle to fire upon the town. The Dulte 
jf Hamilton, whose intelligence was hetter, had the presence of 
mind, by ioipi-oving the moment of agitation, to overwhelm 
the one party and provoke the other, by their feare. He or- 
dered the doors of the house to be shut, and the keys to be 
laid on the table bet'ore him He cried out, ' That there was 
danger within as well as wiioout doors ; that traitors must be 
b^d -n confinement until the present danger was over; but 
ih&t the friends of liberty had nothing to fear, for that thou- 
■ands were ready to start up in their defence, at the stamp of 
bis foot.' He ordered the droms to be beat and the trumpets 
to soujid through the eity. In an instant vast swarms of those 

vho had been b'rooght into town by him and Sir John Dal- 
rymple from the western counties, and who had been hitherto 
*»id in garrets and cellars, showed themselves in the streets ; not, 

ndeed, in the proper habiliments of war, but in arms, and with 



"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak Cwt 

words or three. 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." 
Come fiU up my cup, iSrc. 

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes— 
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose I 
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings ol 

me, 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

' Tliere are hiUs beyond Pentland, and lands be- 
yond Forth, 

If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chie& in 
the North ; 

There are wild Duniewassals three thousand timet 
three, 

WUl cry hoiffh ! for the bormet of Bonny Dtmdee. 
Come fill up my cup, iSrc. 

"There's brass on the target of barken'd bull- 
hide; 

There's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 

The brass shall be bumish'd, the steel shall flash 
free. 

At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, ttc. 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of youi 

glee. 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 
me I" 
Come fill up my cup, Ac. 

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were 

blown, 
Tlie kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen rode 



looks fierce and snllen, as if they felt disdain at their former 
concealment. This unexpected sight increased the noise and 
tumult of the town, which grew loodest in the square adjoin- 
ing to the house where the members were confined, and ap- 
peared still louder to those who were within, because they 
were ignorant of the cause from which the tumult arose, and 
caught contagion from the anxious looks of each other. After 
some hours, the doors were thrown open, and the Whig mem- 
bers, as they went out, were received with acclamations, and 
those of the opposite party with the threats and curses of a 
prepared populace. Terrified by the prospect of future alarms, 
many of the adherents of James quitted the Convention, and 
retired to the country ; most of them changed sides ; only a 
very few of the most resolute continued their attendance.'* — 
Dalrtmple's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 305. 

1 Previous to 1784, the Grassmarket was the common p>aot 
of execution at Edinburgh. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



77> 



Ml OQ Ravelston's cliffs and on Clerniiston's lee, 
Died away the wild war -notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fdl up my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle the horses, and call up the men ; 
Come open your gates, and iet me gae free. 
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee I 

Ele. Katleen, do thou sing now. Thy uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We must not let his humor ebb again. 

Kat. But I'll do better, aunt, than if I sung. 
For Flora can sing blithe ; so can this huntsman, 
Aa he has shown e'en now ; let them duet it. 

Osw. Well, huntsman, we must give to freakish 
maiden 
rhe freedom of her fancy. — Raise the carol, 
And Flora, if she can, wUl jom the measure. 

SONG. 

Whert friends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near. 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day ai'e drown'd ; 
When puns are made, and bumpers quaff'd. 
And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft. 
And Mirth his jovial laugh ha.s laugh'd, 

Tlien is our banquet crown'd. 
Ah gay, 

Then is oiu- banquet crown'd. 

When glees are sung, and catches troll'd. 
And bashfuhiess grows bright and bold. 
And beauty is no longer cold. 

And age no longer dull ; 
When chimes are brief, and cocks do crow, 
To teU us it is time to go, 
Yet how to part we do not know, 

Then is our feast at full. 
Ah gay. 

Then is our feast at full. 

Osw. (rises mth the cup in his hand.) Devorgoil'a 
feast is full — 
Drink to the pledge ! 

[A tremendous burst of thunder follows 
tJtese words of flie Song ; and the Light- 
ning should seem to strike the suit of black 
Armor, which falls vnth a crash.^ All 
rise in surprise and fear except Gullcram- 
MER, who tumbles over backwards and lies 
still. [roof 

03W. That sounded like the judgment-peal — the 
Btill trembles with the volley. 



I I Bhould -jiink this may be contrived, by having a Uanspa- 
.■wct liiT-zag n the flat-.«cen3, immediately above the armor, 
B^^eil ' arc rerv strongly illuminated. 



DuR. Happy those 

Who are prepared to meet such fearful sun" 

mons. — 
Leonard, what dost thou there ? 

Leo. (supporting Flo.) The duty rf a man- 
Supporting innocence. Were it the final call, 
I were not raisemploy'd. 

Osw. The armor of my grandsire hath fall'j 
down. 
And old saws have spoke truth. — (Musing.) Tlie 

fiftieth year — 
Devorgoil's feast at fullest ! What to think of it — > 
LiCO. (lifting a scroll which hnd fal^e^t with tlii 
armor.) This maj liilorm us. 
[Attempts to read the manuscript, shakt^ 
his head, and gives it to Oswald. 
But not to eyes unlearn'd it tells its tidings. 
Osw. Hawks, hounds, and revelling consumed 
the hours 
I should have given to study. 

[Looks at the manuscript 
These characters I spell not more than thou. 
They are not of cm- day, and, as I think. 
Not of our language. — Where's our scholar now 
So forward at the banquet ? Is he laggard 
Upon a pouit of learning ? 

Leo. Here is the man of letter'd dignity, 
E'en in a piteous case. 

[Drags GnLLCRAMMER forward. 
Osw. Art wakingi craven I canst thou read thi( 
scroll? 
Or art thou only learn'd in sousing swine's flesh. 
And prompt in eating it I 

Gdl. Eh — ah ! — oh — ho I — Have you no better 
time 
To tax a man with riddles, than the moment 
When he scarce knows whether he's dead or liv- 
ing? 
Osw. Confound the pedant ! — Can you read th« 
scroll. 
Or can you not. sir ? If you ca7i, pronounce 
Its meaning speedily. 

Gul. Call I read it, quotha I 

When at oar learned University, 
I gain'd first premium for Hebrew learning, — 
Which was a potmd of high-dried Scottish snuf^ 
And !ialf a peck of onions, with a bushel 
Of curious oatmeal, — our learn'd Principal 
D''d say, " Melcliisedek, thou canst do any tiling |- 
?fow comes he with liis paltry scroll of parchmenti 
And, " Can you read it ?" — After such affront. 
The point is. If I will. 

Osw. A point soon solved. 

Unless you choose to sleep among the frogs ; 
For look you, sir, there is the chamber window, 
Beneath it lies the lake. 

Ele. Kind master Gullcrammer, beware v) 
husband. 



If 4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He lirooks no contradiction — 'tis liis fault, 
And in his wrath he's dangerous. 

GvL.{lool's ai the scroll, andniutters as if reading.) 
Bashgabotk hoich-potth — 
A simple matter this to make a rout of — 
Ten rashersen bactvi, jnisji-m.ash venison, 
Sausagian smiscd-face — 'Tis a simple catalogue 
Of our small supper — made by the grave sage 
Whose prescience knew this night that we should 

feast 
On venison, hash'd bow's face, and sausages. 
And hung his steel-coat for a supper-bell — 
E'en let us to our provender again, 
For it is wi'itten we shall finish it. 
And bless our stars the lightning left it us. 

Osw. This must be impudence or ignorance ! — 
The spirit of rough Erick stirs witliin me. 
And I will knock thy brains out if thou palterest ! 
Expound the scroll to me ! 

Gdl. You're over hasty ; 

And yet you may be right too — 'Tis Samaritan, 
Now I look closer on't, and I did take it 
For simple Hebrew. 

Dun. 'Tis Hebrew to a simpleton, 
rhat we see plainly, friend — Give me the scroll. 
GtiL. Alas, good friend ! what would you do 

with it ? 
DuR. {takes it from him.) Mj best to read it, sir 
— Tlie character is Saxon, 
Used at no distant date within tliis district ; 
And thus the tenor runs — nor in Samai'itan, 
Nor simple Hebrew, but in wholesome English : — 
Devorgoil, thy bright moon waneth, . 
And the rust thy harness staineth ; 
Servile guests the banquet soil 
Of the once preud Devorgoil 
But should Black Brick's armor fall, 
Look for guests shall scare you all I 
They shall come ere peep of day, — 
Wake and watch, and hope and pray. 
Kat. {to Flo.) Here is fine foolery — an old wall 
shakes 
At a loud thimder-clap — down comes a suit 
Of ancient armor, when its wasted brices 
Were all too rotten to sustain its weight — 
A beggar cries out. Miracle ! and your fa^.her. 
Weighing the importance of his name and lineage, 
Must needs behave the dotard !' 

'i'LO. Mock not, I pray you ; this may be too 

serious 
Kat. And if I live till morning, I will have 
rhe power to tell a better tale of wonder 
Wrought on wise Gullcrammer. I'll go prepare me. 

[Exit. 
Flo. I have not B atleen's spirit, yet I hate 

' MS.— *' A begging knave cries out, a Miracle I 

And your good sire, doting on thtj importance 



Tills Gullcrammer too heartily, to stop 
Any disgrace that's hasting towards him. 

Osw. (to whom t]i£ beggar has been again reaii 
ing the scroll.) 
'Tis a strange prophecy ! — The sili er moon, 
Now waning sorely, is our ancient bearings- 
Strange and unfitting guests — 

GuL, {interrupting him.) Ay, ay, the matter 
Is, as you say, all moonsliine in the water. 
Osw. How mean you, sir ? {threatening.) 
GtTL. To show that I can rhym* 

With yonder bluegown. Give me breath and tim^ 
I will m.iintain, in spite of his pretence, 
Mine exposition had the better sense — 
It spoke good victuals and increase of cheer ; 
And his, more guests to eat what we have here— • 
An increment right needless, 

Osw. Get thee gone ; 

To kennel, hound 1 

GuL. The hound will have his bone. 

[Takes up the platter of meat, and a flask, 
Osw. Flora, show him his chamber— take him 
hence. 
Or, by the name I bear, I'll see his brains. 

GoL. Ladies, good night !— I spare you, sir, the 
paius. 

[Sxit, lighted by Flora with a lamp. 
Osw. The owl is fled. — PU not to bed to-night ; 
There is some change unpending o'er this house, 
For good or ill. I would some holy man 
Were here, to coimsel us what we should do I 
Ton witless thin-faced gull is but a cassock 
Stuft''d out with chaff and straw. 

DuR. {assuming aji air of dignity.) I have been 
wont, 
In other days, to point to erring mortals 
The rock wliich they should anchor on. 

[He holds up a Cross — the rest take a pos- 
ture of devotion, and the Scer,e closes. 



ACT III.— scei;f r 

A ruinous Anteroom in th/" ^af lU Enter Kat 
LKE^, fantastically dressf,i lo pl'.y the Charaoler 
of Coekledemoy, with the n' >or ir, her hand. 

Kat. I've scarce had tV » to glance at my sweet 
person. 
Yet this much could I iee, with half a glance, 
My elfish dress becomes me — LU not mask me 
Till I have seen Lance Blackthorn. Lance 1 I say- - 

[Colli. 
Blackthorn, make haste 1 



Of his high birth and house, mast needs belieTo 
him." 



THE DOOM OF DEVOKGOIL. 



77e 



Enisr Blacethoen, half dressed as Owlspiegle. 

Biu4. Here am I — Blackthorn in the upper half, 
Much at your service ; but my nether parts 
Are goblinized and Owbpiegled. I had much ado 
To get these trankums on. I judge Lord Erick 
Kept no good house, and starred his quondam bar- 
ber, [coming ; 

Kat Peaci, ass, and hide you — Gullcrammer is 
He left the hall before, but then took fright. 
And e'en sueak'd back. The Lady Flora Ughts 

him — 
Trim occupation for her ladyship ! 
Had you seen Leonard, when .she left the hall 
Ob such fine errand ! 

Bla. This Gullcrammer shall have a bob extra- 
ordinary 
For my good comrade's sake. — But tell me, Kat- 

leen, 
What dress is this of yours! 

Kat. a page's, fool ! 

Bla. I'm accounted no great scholar, 

out 'tis a page that I would fain peruse 
A Uttle closer. [Approaches her. 

Kat. Put on your spectacles. 

And try if you can read it at this distance, 
For you sh-all come no nearer. 

Bla, But is there nothing, then, save rank im- 
posture, 
In all these tales of gobhnry at Devorgoil ? 

Kat. My aunt's gi'ave lord thinks otherwise, sup- 
posing 
rhat his great name so interests the Heavens, 
That miracles must needs bespeak its fall-r 
I would that I were in a lowly cottage 
Beneath the greenwood, on its walls no armor 
To comt the levin-bolt 

Bla. And a kind husband, Katleen, 

To ward such dangers as must needs come nigh. — 
My father's cottage stands so low and lone, 
That you would think it solitude itself ; 
The greenwood shields it from the northern blast. 
And, in the woodbine round its latticed casement. 
The Unnet's sure to build the earUest nest 
In all the forest. 

Kat. Peace, you fool, they come. 

I'l-OitA lii/hts GtJLLCEAMJTEE across tlw. Stage. 

KL\T. [when the?/ have passed.) Away with you! 
On with your cloak — be ready at the signal 

Bla. And shall we talk of that same cottage, 
Katleen, 
At better leisure ? I have much to say 
In favor of my cottage. 

Kat. If you will be talking, 

You know I can't prevent you. 

Bla. That's enough. 

I A side.) I shall have leave, I see, to speU the page 
\ littlfl closer, when the due time comes. 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes to Gut.lceammer's Sleeping Apart 
nicnt. lie enters, ushered in by Flora, voho siti 
oji the table a flask, with tfie lamp. 

Flo. A flask, in case your Reverence be athirsty 
A light, in case your Reverence bo afear'd ; — 
And so sweet slumber to your Reverence. 

GiiL. Kind Mistress Flora, will you! — ehl dil 
eh! 

Flo. Will I what ? 

GuL. Tarry a Uttle ! . 

Flo. {smiling.) Kind Master GulJcrammer, 
How can you ask me aught so unbecoming! 

GuL. Oh, fie, fie, fie ! — Believe me, Mistreai 
Flora, 
'Tis not for that — but being guided through 
Such dreary galleries, stairs, and suites of rooms. 
To this same cubicle, I'm somewhat loth 
To bid adieu to pleasant company. 

Flo. a flattering compliment ! — In plain truth, 
you are frighten'd. 

Gul. What! frighten'd? — I — I — am not tim- 
orous. 

Flo. Perhaps you've heard this is our baimted 
chamber ? 
But tlien it is our best — Tour Reverence knows, 
That in all tales which tiu-n upon a ghost, 
Toiu' traveller belated has the luck 
To enjoy the haunted room — it is a rule : — 
To some it were a hardship, but to you. 
Who are a scholar, and not timorous 

Gul. I did not say I was not timorous, 
I said I was not temerarious. — 
I'U to the hall again. 

Flo. Tou'U do your pleasure. 

But you have somehow moved my father's anga», 
And you had better meet our playful Owlspio 

gle— 
So is our goblin call'd — than face Lord Oswald. 

Gul. Owlspiegle ? — 
It is an uncouth and outlandish name. 
And in mine ear sounds fiendish. 

Flo. Hush, hush, hush ! 
Perhaps he hears us now — {in an under to7i€)^A 

merry spirit ; 
None of your elves that pi'ich folks black and blu^ 
For lack of cleanliness. 

Gul. As for that. Mistress Flora, 
My taS'eta doublet hath been duly brush'd. 
My shirt hebdomadal put on this morning. 

Flo. Why, you need fear no goblins. But thil 
Owlspiegle 
Is of another class ; — yet has his frolic^ ; 
Cuts hair, trims beards, and plays amid his antica 
The office of a sinful mortal barber 
Such is at least the rumor 



776 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



GnL. He will not cut my clothes, or scar my face, 
Or draw my blood ? 

Flo. Enormities like these 

Were never charged against him. 
GnL. And, Mistress Flora, would you smile on 
me, 
II, ^lictd by the fond hope of your approval, 
I should endure this venture ? 

Flo. I do hope 

I shall have cause to smile. 

GuL. Well ! in that hope 

I will embrace the achievement for thy sake. 

[She is going. 
Yet, stay, stay, stay 1 — on second thoughts I will 

not — 
Tve thought on it, and will the mortal cudgel 
Rather endure than face the ghostly razor I 
Your crab-tree's tough but blunt, — your razor's 

polish'd. 
But, as the proverb goes, 'tis cruel sharp, 
m to thy father, and unto his pleasure 
Submit these destined shoulders. 

Flo. But you shall not, 

BeUeve me, sir, you shall not ; he is desperate, 
And better far be trimm'd by ghost or goblin. 
Than by ray sire in anger ; there are stores 
Of liiJdec treasur- too, and Heaven knows what. 
Buried among these ruins — you shall stay. 
Apart.) And if indeed there be such sprite as 

Owlspiegle, 
And lacking him, that thy fear plague thee not 
Wor.?e than a goblin, I have miss'd my purpose, 
Wliich else stands good in either case. — Good- 
night, sir. [Exit, and double-locks tlie door. 
<^iiL, Nay, hold ye, hold ! — Nay, gentle Mistress 
Flora, 
Wherefore this ceremony ? — She has lock'd me in, 
And left me to the goblin 1 — (Listening.) — So, 

so, so 1 
I hear her light foot trip to such a distance. 
That I beheve the castle's breadth divides me 
From human company. I'm iD at ease — 
But if this citadel [laying his hand on his stomach) 

were better victual'd. 
It would be better mann'd. \Sits down and drinks. 
•^he h,i« a footstep light, and taper ankle. 

[Chuckles. 
Aha 1 that ankle ! yet, confound it too. 
Bat for those charms Melchisedek had been 
Snug in liis bed at Mucklewhame — I say, 
Confound her footstep, and her instep too. 
To use a cobbler's phrase. — There I was quaint. 
Now, what to do in this vUe circumstance. 
To watch or go to bed, I can't determuie ; 
Were I a-bed, the ghost might catch me napping. 
And if I watch, my terrors will increase 
As ghostly hours approach. I'll to my bed 
E'en in my taffeta doublet, shrink my head 



Beneath the clothes — Cleave the lamp burning theie^ 
[Sets il mi the table 
And trust to fate the iss'ue. 

[He lays aside his cloak, and brushes it, 
as from habit, starting at every moonent; 
ties a napkin over his head : then 
shrinks beneath the bed-cloihes. Ht 
starts once or twice, and at length seem* 
to go to sleep. A bell tolls onk. Si 
leaps up in his bed. 
GuL. I had just coax'd myself to sweet forget- 
fulness. 
And that confounded bell — I hate all bells, 
ISxcept a dinner bell — and yet I Me, too, — 
I love the bell that soon shall tell the parish 
Of Gabblegoose, Melchisedek's incumbent — 
And shall the future minister of Gabblegoose, 
Whom his parishioners will soon require 
To exorcise their ghosts, detect then- witches, 
Lie shivering in his bed for a pert gobhn, 
Whom, be he switch'd or cocktail'd, horn'd oi 

poU'd, 
A few tight Hebrew words will soon send packins 
Tush I I will rouse the parson up within me. 

And bid defiance (A distant noise.) In the 

name of Heaven, 
What sounds are these ! — Lord I this comes ol 
rashness 1 
[Draws his head dmvn under the bed-aiothXi* 

Duet witliout, between Owlspiegle and CX/i^tisnT- 



OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cocklederaoy 1 

My boy, my boy 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

Here, father, here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Now the pole-star's red and bm'ning, 
And the witch's spindle turning. 
Appear, appear I 

GuL. (who has again raised himself, and listened 
with great terror to the Duet.) I have heani 
of the devil's dam before. 
But never of his child. Now, Hea\ 2n deliver me 
The Papists have the better of us tbere, — 
They have their Latin prayers, cue and uricd, 
And pat for such occasion. I ca'j luk 
On naught but the vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 



Cocklederaoy 1 
My boy, my boy, 

We'll sport us here — 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. Ift 


COOKLKDEMOY. • 


BOTH. 


Our gambols play, 


About, about. 


Like elve and fay ; 


Like an elvish scout, 




The cuckoo's a gull, and we'll soon find liim out. 


OWLSPIEGLE. 




And domineer, 


[Tliey search the room with inops aw* 




mows. At length Cockledemoy Jimipi 


BOTH. 


on t/te bed. Gullcbammek raises him- 


t-piugh, frolic, and frisk, tiU the morning appear. 


self half up, supporting himself by nts 




hands. Cockledemoy does the same. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


grins at him, then skips from the lyd, 


Lift latch— open clasp — 


and runs to Owlspiegle. 


Shoot bolt — and burst hasp ! 




[The door opens mth violence. Enter 


cockledemoy. 


Bl-^ckthorn as Owlspiegle, fantasti- 


I've found the nest. 


cally dressed as a Spanish Barber, tall. 


And in it a guest, 


thin, emaciated, and ghostly ; Kati-een, 


With a sable cloak and a taffeta vest ; 


as CocKLEDEMOY, attends as his Page. 


He must be wash'd, and trimm'd, .-md dress'd, 


All their manners, tones, and motions. 


To please the eyes he loves the best. 


are fantastic, as those of Goblins. They 




make two or three times the circuit of 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


the Room, without seeming to see Gull- 


That's best, that's best. 


CKAMMER. They then resume their 




Chant, or Recitative. 


BOTH. 




He must be shaved, and trimm'd, and dress'd. 


OWXSPIEGLE. 


To please the eyes he loves the best. 


Cockledemoy 1 


{They arrange shaving things on t/ie ta 


My boy, ray boy, 


blc, and sing as tliey prepare them. 


What wUt thou do that will gire thee joy ! 




Wilt thou ride on the midnight owl? 


BOTH. 




Know that all of the humbug, the bite, and tb« 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


buz, 


No ; for the weather is stormy and fouL 


Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to uo 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


OwLSPiEGLE {^sharpening his razor.) 


Cockledemoy 1 


Tlie sword this is made of was lost in a fray 


My boy, my boy, 


By a fop, who first buUied and then ran away ; 


What wilt thou do that can give thee joy ? 


AJid the strap, from the hide of, a lame racer 


With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, 


sold ' 


Wilt thou tight a traverse with the castle cat ? 


By Lord Match, iio his friend, for some hundred* 




in gold. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 




)h, no 1 she has claws, and I like not that 


BOTH. 




For aU of the humbug, the bite, and the buz. 


GuL. I see the devil is a doting father, 


Of the make-beheve world, becomes forfeit to ua 


And spoils bis childi-en — 'tis the surest way 




To make cursed imps of them. They see me not — 


Cockledemoy (placing the napkin.) 


What win they think on next '( It must be own'd. 


^nd tliis cambric napkin, so white and so fair, 


rhey have a dainty choice of occupations. 


At an usurer's funeral I stole from the heir 




[Drops something from a vial, as goifi^ 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


to make suds. 


Cockledemoy ! 


This dew-drop I caught from one eye of his mother 


My boy, my boy. 


Which wept while she ogled the parson with 


What shall we do that can give thee joy ? 


t'other. 


Shall we go seek for a cuckoo's nest ? 


BOTH. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


For ail of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, 


That's bart, that's best 1 
OB 


Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to na 



T78 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


owisPiEGLE {arranging the lather and the basin.) 


COOKLEDEMOT {sings as before .) 


My eoap-ball is of the mild alkali made, 


Hair-breadth 'scapes, and hair-breadth snares, 


WMch the soft dedicator employs in liis trade ; 


Hau--brain'd follies, ventures, cares, 


And 't froths with the pith of a promise, that's 


Part when father clips your hairs. 


sworn 


If there is a hero frantic, 


By a lover at night, and forgot on the mora 


Or a lover too romantic ; — 




If threescore seeks second spouse, 


BOTH. 


Or fom-teen lists lover's vows, 


For all of the hmnbug, the l)ite, and the buz, 


Bring them here — for a Scotch boddle, 


Of the make-beUeve world, becomes forfeit to us. 


Owlspiegle shall trim their noddle. 


HaUoo, halloo. 


[They take the napkin from about GuL- 


The blackcock crew. 


lceammee's neck. He makes bows of 


riince shrielc'd hath the owl, thrice croak'd hath 


acknowledgment, which they return fan- 


the raven, 


tastically, and sing — 


Here, ho 1 Master GuUcrammer, rise and be shaven ! 


Thrice croVd hath the blackcock, thrice croak'i 




hath the raven, 


Da capo. 


And Master Melchisedek GuUcrammer's shaven 1 




GuL. My friends, you are too musical for me ; 


GiTL. (who has been observing them.) I'll pluck a 


But though I cannot cope with you in song, 


spirit up ; they're merry goblins. 


I would, in himible prose, inquire of you, 


And wUl deal mildly ; I will soothe their humor ; 


If that you will permit me to acquit 


Besides, my beard lacks trimming. " 


Even with the barber's pence the barber's ser- 


{He rises from his bed, and advances with 


vice ? 


great symptoms of 'trepidation, but af- 


{They shake their heads. 


fecting an air of composure. The Gob- 


Or if there is aught else that I can do fo» 


lins receive him with fantastic ceremony. 


you. 


Gentlemen, 'tis your will I should be trimm'd — 


Sweet Master Owlspiegle, or your loving child. 


E'en do yom- pleasme. 


The hopeful Cockle'moy ? 


{They point to a seat — he sits.) 




Think, howsoe'er. 


COCKXEDEMOT. 


Of me as one who hates to see his blood ; 


Su-, you have been trimm'd of late, 


Therefore I do beseecli you, signior, 


Smooth's your chin, and bald your pate ; 


Be gentle in your craft. I know those barbers. 


Lest cold rheums should work you harm, 


One would have harrows driven across his visnomy. 


Here's a cap to keep you warm. 


Rather than they should touch it with a razor. 






GuL. Welcome, as Fortunatus' -wishing cap, 


OwLSPiEGLE shaves Gdllceammer, while Cocklede- 


For't was a cap that I was wishing for. 


MOT sings. 


(There I was quaint in spite of mortal terror.) 


Father n^er started hair, 


[As he puts on the cap, a pair of ass*s ears 


Shaved too close, or left too bare — 


disengage themselves. 


Father's razor slips as glib 


Upon my faith, it is a dainty head-dress, 


As from courtly tongue a fib. 


And might become an alderman ! — Thanks, sweel 


Whiskers, mustache, he can trim in 


Monsieur, , * 


Fasliion meet to please the women ; 


Thou'rt a considerate youth. 


Sharp's his blade, perfumed his lather! 


[Both Goblins bow with m^remony to Gull 


Hapjiy those are trinmi'd by father ! 


CRAMMEE, who rctums their .'salutation 




Owlspiegle descends by the trap-door 


GcL. That's a good boy. I love to hear a child 


CocKLEDEMOY Springs out a' a window 


Stand for his father, if he were the devil 




[Jle motions to rise. 


song {without) 


Craving your pardon, sir — What ! sit again ? 


owlspiegle. 


My hah- lacks not your scissors. 


Cockledemoy, my hope, my care. 


[Owlspiegle insists on his sitting. 


Where art thou now, teU me where ? 


Nay, if you're peremptory, I'll ne'er dispute it. 




Nor eat the cow and choke upon the tail — 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


E'en trim me to your fashion. 


Up in the sky, , 


[Owlspiegle cuts his hair, and shaves his 


On the bonny dragonfly. 


head, ridiculously. 


Come, father, come you too — 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



119 



She has four wings and strength enow, 
And her long body has room for two. 

GuL. Cockledemoy now is a naughty brat — 
Would have the poor old stiff-runip'd devil, his 

father, 
Peril his fiendish neck. All boys are thoughtless. 

SONG. 
OWLSPrEGLE. 

Which way didst thou take ! 

COOKLEDEMOT. 

I have fall'n in the lake — 

Help, father, for Beelzebub's sake. 

Qui. The imp is drown'd — a strange death for 
a devil, — 
0, may all boys take warning, and be civil ; 
Respect their loving sires, endure a chiding. 
Nor roam by night on dragonflies a-riding I 

COCKLEDEMOY {singS.) 

Now merrily, merrily, row I to shore. 

My bark is a bean-shell, a straw for an oar. 

OWLSPIEGLE {sings.) 

My life, my joy. 
My Cockledemoy I 

GuL. I can bear this no longer — thus children 
are spoil'd. 

[Strikes into the tune. 
Master Owlspiegle, hoy I 

He deserves to be whipp'd little Cockledemoy 1 

[Their voices are heard, as if dying away. 

GuL. They're gone ! — Now, am I scared, or am 

I not? 

I think the very desperate ecstasy 

Of fear has given me courage.'' This is strange, 

now, 
When they were here, I was not hfflf so frighten'd 
As now they're gone — they were a sort of com- 
pany. 
What a strange thin'} is use 1 — A horn, a claw. 
The tij of a tieuV? !."iil, was wont to scare me. 
Now am I with the devil hand and glove ; 
His soap has lather'd, and his razor shaved me ; 
Tve joined him in a catch, kept time and tune. 
Could dine with him, nor ask for a long spoon ; 
And if I keep not better company. 
What will become of me when I shall die f 

[Exit. 

I "Cowards, npon necessity, assnme 

A fearful bravery ; thinking by this face 

To futea in men's minds that they have conra^e." 

SBUunABi. 



SCENE HL 

A Gothic Hall, vaste and ruinous. The moonlighi 
is at times seen through the shafted ipijido'os. 
Enter Katleen and Blackthorn — They havt 
throvm off the more ludicrous parts of their 
disguise. 

Kat. This way — this way ; was ever fool so 

guU'd ! 
Bla. I play'd the baiber better than I thought 
for. 
Well, I've an occupation in reserve. 
When the long-bow and merry musket fail me.— 
But, hark ye, pretty Katleen. 

Kat. Wh.at should I hearken to I 

Bla. Art thou not afraid. 
In these wild halls while playing feigned goblins, 
That we may meet with real ones ? 

Kat. Not a jot. 

My spirit is too light, my heart too bold, 
To fear a visit from the other world. 

Bla. But is not this the place, the very hall 
In wliich men say that Osw.ald's grandfather. 
The black Lord Erick, walks his penance round ? 
Credit me, Katleen, these half-moulder'd col 

umns 
Have in their ruin something very fiendish. 
And, if you'll take an honest friend's advice. 
The sooner that you change their shatter'd splen 

dor 
For the snug cottage that I told you of. 
Believe me, it will prove the bUther dwelling. 
Kat. If I e'er see that cottage, honest Black- 
thorn, 
Believe me, it shall be from other motive 
Than fear of Brick's spectre. 

[A rustling sound is heard. 
Bla. I heard a rustling sound— 

Upon my life, there's something in the hall, 
Katleen, besides us two ! 

Kat. a yeoman thou, 

A forester, and fi-ighten'd I I am sorry 
I gave the fool's-cap to poor Gullcrammer, 
And let thy bead go bare. 

[The same rushing sound is repeated, 
Bla. Why, are you mad, or hear you not the 

sound ! 
Kat. And if I do, I take small heed of ii. 
Will you allow a maiden to be bolder 
Than you, with beard on chin and sword at 
girdle? 
Bla. Nay, if I had my sword, I wotUd not 
care ; 

5 I have a notion that this can be managed so as to repn* . 
sent imperfect, or flitting moonlight, opon the plan of thf 
Eidophasikon. 



780 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though I ne'er heard of master of defence, 

So active at his weapon as to hrave 

The devil, or a ghost — See ! see ! see yonder 1 

[A Figure is imperfectly seen between two of 
the pillars. 
Kat. ^^ere's something moves, that's certain, 
and the maonlight, 
Glased by the flitting gale, is too imperfect 
To show its form ; but, in the name of God, 
I'll venture on it boldly. 

Bla. Wilt thou so ? 

Were I ah>ne, now, I were strongly tempted 
To trust my heels for safety ; but with thee. 
Be it fl«nd or fairy, I'll take risk to meet it. 
Kat It stands full in om: path, and we must 
pass it, 
Or tarry here all night. 

Bla. ' In its vile company ? 

\^As they advance towards the Figure^ it is 
more plainly distinguished, which mighty I 
think, be contrived by raising successive 
screens of crape. The Figure is wrapped 
in a long robe, like the mantle of a Her- 
mit, or Palmer. 
Pal. Ho 1 ye who thread by night these wilder- 
ing scenes, 
In garb of those who long have slept in death. 
Fear ye the company of those you imitate ? 
Bla. This is the devil, Katleen, let us fly 1 

\^Runs off. 
Kat. I will not fly — why shoidd I ? My nerves 
shake 
To look on this strange vision, but my heart 
Partakes not the alarm. — If thou dost come in 

Heaven's name. 
In Heaven's name art thou welcome 1 

Pal. I come, by Heaven permitted. Quit this 
castle : 
There is a fate on't — if for good or evil. 
Brief space shall soon determine. In that fate. 
If good, by hneage thou canst nothing cLoim ; 
If evil, much mayst suffer. — Leave these pre- 
cincts. 
Kat. Whate'er thou art, be answer'd — Know, 
I will not 
DesPTt the kiuswomim who train'd my youth ; 
Know, that I wUl not quit my friend, my Flora ; 
Know, that I will not leave the aged man 
Whose roof has shelter'd me. This is my re- 
solve — 
If evil come, I aid my friends to bear it ; 
If good, my part shall be to see them prosper, 
A portion in their happiness from which 
^o fiend can bar me. 

Pal. Maid, before thy courage. 

Firm buUt on innocence, even beings of natiu-e 
More powerful far than thme, give place and 
way ; 



Take then this key, and wait the event with couf 
iige. 
\_He drops the key. — He disappears qradiM 
ally — the moonlight failing at the sarm 
time. 
Kat. {after a pause.) Wliate'er it was, 'tis gone 
My head turns round — 
The blood that lately fortiSed my heart 
Now edcUes in fidl torrent to my brain. 
And makes wild work with reason. I will haste, 
If that my steps can bear me so far safe, 
To hving company. What if I meet it 
Again in the long aisle, or vaulted passage ? 
And if I do, the strong support that bore me 
Through this appalling interview, again 
Shall strengthen and uphold me. 

[As she steps forward she stumbles ovef 
the key. 
What's this ? The key ? — there may be mystery 

in't. 
rU to my kinswoman, when this dizzy fit 
Will give me leave to choose my way aright. 

[Sh^ sits down exhausted. 

He-enter Blaokthoen, with a drawn sword and torch. 
Bla. Katleen 1 What, Katleen ! — What a wretch 
was I 
To leave her ! — Katleen, — I am weapon'd now, 
And fear nor dog nor devil. She repUes not 1 
Beast that I was — nay, worse than beast ; the 

stag, 
As timorous as he is, fights for his hind. 
What's to be done ? — I'll search this cursed castle 
From dungeon to the battlements ; if I find her 
not, 

I'll fling me from the highest pinnacle 

Katleen {who has somcwJtat gathered her spirits, 
in consequence of his entrance, comes behind 
and touches him ; he starts.) Brave sir ! 
I'll spare you that rash leap — You're a bold woods- 
man ! 
Surely I hope that from this night henceforward 
You'll never kill a hare, since you're akin to 
them ; 

I could laugh — but that my head's so dizzy. 
Bla. Lean on me, Katleen — By my honest 

word, 

1 thought you close behind — I was surprised. 
Not a jot frighten'd. 

Kat. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy cottage. 
And then to show me at what shght expense 
Of manhood I might master thee and it. 

Bla. I'll take the risk of that — This goblin busi- 
ness 
Came rather unexpected ; the best horse 
Will start at sudden sights. Try me again. 
And if I prove not true to bonny Katleea 
Hang me in mine own bowstring. \£'es^nt 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



78i 



SCENE IV. 

The Scene returns to the Apartment at the beginning 
of Act Second. Oswald and Durward are dis- 
covered with Eleanor, Floea, and Leonard — 
DpRWARD shuts a Prayer-book, which he seems 
to have been reading. 

DuK. "Tis true — the diiference betwixt the 
churchea, 
Which zealots love to dwell on, to the wise 
Of either flock are of far less importance 
Than those great truths to which iill Christiai. men 
Subscribe with equal reverence. 

Osw. We thank thee, father, for the holy office, 
StiU best performed when the pastor's tongue 
Is echo to liis breast ; of jarring creeds 
It ill beseems a layman's tongue to speak. — 
Where have you stow'd yon prater ! \To Flosa. 

Flo. Safe in the goblin-chamber. 

Ele. The goblin-chamber 1 

Maiden, -wert thou frantic ? — if his Reverence 
Have suffered harm by waspish Owlspiegle, 
Be sure thou shalt abye it. 

Flo. Here he conies. 

Can answer for himself I 

Enter Gullcrammer, in the fashion in which Owls- 
PIEGLE had put liim : having the fool's-cap on his 
head, and towel about his neck, <tc. His manner 
through the scene is wild and extravagant, as if 
the fright had a little affected his brain. 

DtjR. A goodly spectacle ! — Is there such a gobUn, 
{To Osw.) Or has sheer terror made him such a 
figure ? 

Osw. There is a sort of wavering tradition 
Of a Malicious imp who teazed all strangers ; 
My father wont to call him Owlspiegle. 

GuL. Wlio talks of Owlspiegle ? 
He is an honest fellow for a devil, 
So is his son, the hopeful Cockle'moy. 

{Sings) 
" My hope, ray joy, 
My Cockledcmoy I" 

Ijeo. The fool's bewitch'd — the goblin hath fur- 
nish'd him 
A cap which well befits his reverend wisdom. 

Flo. If I could think he had lost his slender wits, 
I should be sorry for the trick they play'd him. 

Leo. fe.ar him not ; it were a foul reflection 
On any fiend of sense and reputation, 
Tc nlch such petty wares as his poor brains. 

DuK. Wliat saT at thou, sir ? What heard'st 
thou t 

GuL. What was't I saw and heard ? 
rhat which olcl gravbearda, 



Who conjure Hebrew into Anglo-Saxon, 

To cheat starved barons with, c^m little guess at, 

Flo. If ho begin so roundly with my father, 
His madness is not like to save his bones. 

GuL. Sirs, midnight came, and with it came th< 
goblin. 
I had reposed me after some brief study ; 
But as the soldier, sleeping in the trench, 
Keeps sword and musket by him, so I had 
My little Hebrew manual prompt for service. 

Flo. Sausagian sous'dface; that much of yoa' 
Hebrew 
Even I can bear in memory. 

GuL. We counter' d, 

The goblin and myself, even in mid-chamber. 
And each stepp'd back a pace, as 'twere to study 
The foe he had to deal with ! — I bethought me. 
Ghosts ne'er have the first word, and so I took it 
And fired a volley of round Greek at liim. 
He stood his ground, and answer'd in the Syriac ; 
I flank'd my Greek with Hebrew, and compeU'i 

him 

[A noise heara 

Osw. Peace, idle prater ! — Hark — what' soundi 
• are these f 
Amid the growling of the storm without, 
I hear strange notes of music, and the clash 
Of coursers' trampling feet. 

Voices {icithout.) 
We come, dark riders of the night. 
And flit before the dawning hght -• 
HUl and valley, far aloof, 
Shake to hear our chargers' hoof; 
But not a foot-stamp on the green 
At morn shall show where we have been. 

Osw. These must be revellers belated — 
Let them pass on ; the ruin'd halls of Devongoil 
Open to no such guests. — 

[Flourish of trumpets at a distance, then nearer 
They sound a smnmous ; 
What can they lack at this dead hour of night ? 
Look out, and see their number, and their bearing 

Leo. (goes up to the tvindow.) 'Tis strange — one 
single shadowy form alone 
Is hovering on the drawbridge — far apart 
Flit thi-ough the tempest banners, horse, and rid^r*. 
In darkness lost, or dimly seen by lightning. — 
Hither the figure moves — the bolts revolve — 
The gate uncloses to him. 

Ele. Heaven protect us ! 

The Palmer enters — Gullcrammee runs off. 

Osw. Wlience and what art thou ( for what eno 

come hither ? 
Pal. I come from a lar land, where the etom. 

howls not. 



And the sun sets not, to proDounce to tliee, 
Oswald of Devorgoil, thy house's fate. 

Due. I charge thee, in the name we late have 

kneel'd to 

Pal. Abbot of Lanorcost, I bid thee peace I 
Uninterrupted let me do mine errand : 
BaroD of Devorgoil. son of the bold, the proud, 
The warliko acJ the mighty, wherefore wear'st 

thou 
The nabit of a peasant ? Tell me, wherefore 
Are thy fau- halls thus waste — thy chambers bare — 
Where are the tapestries, where the conquer'd 

banners. 
Trophies, and gilded arms, that deck'd the walls 
Of once proud Devorgoil ? 

\_IIe advances, and places himself where the 
Armor hung, so as to be nearly in the 
centre of the Scene. 
DuK. Whoe'er thou art — if thou dost know so 
much, 

Needs must thou know 

Osw. Peace I I will answer here ; to me he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious stranger, briefly I reply ; 
A peasant's dress befits a peasant's fortune ; 
And 'twere vain mockery to array these walls 
In trophies, of whose memory naught remains, 
Save that the cruelty outvied the valor 
Of those who wore them. 

Pal. Degenerate as thou ai't, 

Knowst thou to whom thou say'st this ? 

[He drops his mantle, and is discovered 

armed as nearly as may be to tlie suit 

which hung on tlie wall; all express 

terror, 

Osw. It is himself — the spirit of mine ancestor 1 

Ebl Tremble not, son, but hear me I 

\_Ile strikes the wall; it opens, and dis- 
covers the TVeasure-Chambcr. 

There hes piled 
The wealth I brought from wasted Cumberland, 
Enough to reinstate thy ruin'd fortunes. — 
Oast from thine high-born bi'ows that peasant bon- 
net. 
Throw from thy noble gi'asp the peasant's staff, 
tJ'er all, withdj'aw tliine hand from that mean mate, 
'^^lom in an hour of reckless desperation 
Thy fortunes cast thee on. This do, 
Aiid be as gi-eat as ere was Devorgoil, 
AVhen Devorgoil was richest !' 

Due. Lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a lieml, 
W ho doth assail thee on thy weakest side, — 
Thy pride of Uneage, and thy love of grandeur. 
Stand fast — resist — contemn his fatal offers 1 
Ele. Urge him not, father ; if the sacrifice 

• MS. — ' And be as rich as ere was Devorgoil, 
When Devorgoil was prOQdeBt." 



Of such a wasted, woe-worn wretch ac I am, 
Can save him from the abyss of misery. 
Upon whose verge he's tottering, let me wandei 
An unacknowledged outcast from his castle, 
Even to the humble cottage I was born in. 

Osw. No, Ellen, no — it is not thus they part, 
Wbose hearts and souls, disasters borne in common 
Have knit together, close as summer saplings 
Are twined in union by the eddymg tempest. — 
Spirit of Erick, while thou bear'st his shape, 
I'll answer with no ruder conjuration 
Thy impious counsel, other than with these words, 
Depart, and tempt me not I 

Eel Tlien fate will have her comse. —Fall, mas- 
sive gi'ate, [sures, 
Yield them the tempting view of the«e rich trea 
But bai' them from possession ! 

[A portcullis falls before the dcor of tkt 
Treasure- Chmn oer. 

Mortals, hear ! 
No hand may ope that grate, except the Heir 
Of plunder'd Aglionby, whose miglity wealthy 
Ravish'd in evil hour, hes yonder piled ; 
And not his hand prevails without the key 
Of Black Lord Erick ; brief space is given 
To save proud Devorgoil. — So wijls high Heaven. 
[Thunder ; he disappears. 

Due. Gaze not so wildly ; you have stood the 
trial 
That his commission bore, and Heaven designs, 
If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil 
Even by the Heir of Aglionby — Behold liim 
In that young forester, unto whose hand 
Those bars shall yield the treasures of his house. 
Destined to ransom yours. — Advance, young Leon 

ard. 
And prove the adventure. 

Leo. {advances and attempts the grate.) It is fast 
As is the tower, rock-seated. 

Osw. We will fetch other means, ami prove itf 
strength, 
Nor starve in poverty with wealth before us. 

Due. Think what the vision spoke ; 
The key — the fated key 

Enter Gullcrammee. 
GuL. A key ? — I say a quay is what we want, 
Thus by the learn'd orthograpliized — Q, u, a, y. 
The lake is overflow'd ! — a quay, a boat, 
Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to me ! — 
We shall be drown'd, good people ! ! 1 

Enter Katleen and Blackthoen. 
Kat. Deliw us 

Haste, save yourselves — the lake is rising ia>4.* 

3 If it could be managed to render the rising of the la. » lia 
ible, it would answer well for a coup-de-thidtTC. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



781 



Bla. 'T has risen my boVs height in the last five 
minutes. 
And still IS swelling strangely. 

Gui.. {whr> fias stood astonished upon seeing them.) 
We snail be tirown'd without your liind assistance. 
3weet Master Owlspiegle, youi' dragonfly — 
'S our straw, your bean-stalk, gentle Cockle'raoy ! 
Leo. {Jool-ing from the shoi-holc.) 'Tis true, by 
all that's fearful ! The proud lake 
Peers, like ambitious tyrant, cVer his bounds, 
And sfin will whelm the castle — even the draw- 
bridge 
IS under water now. 

Kat. Let us escape I Why stand you gazing 

there ? 
Due. Upon the opening ol that fatal grate 
Depends the fearful spell that now entraps us, 
rhe key of Black Lord Erick -ere we find it, 
rhe castle will be whelm'd beneath the waves, 
4nd we shall perish in it I 

Kat. {givinc/ the kei/.) Here, prove tliis; 
A cbance most strange and fearful gave it me. 

[Oswald p«/s it into the lock, and attanpts 
to turn it — a load clap of thunder. 
Flo. The lake still rises faster. — Leonaid, Leon- 
ard, 
Canst thou not save us ? 

[Leosakd tries the lock — it opens with a 
violent noise, and the Portcullii rises. 
A loud strain of wild tnusic. — There 
may be a ehwus here. 
[Oswald enters the apartment, and brings 
out a scroll. 
I^o. The lake is ebbing with as wondrous haste 
ks late it rose— the drawbridge is left dry I 
Osw. This may explain the cause. — 

' Ms. — ''The storms of angrv Fate are past — 
Constancy aomes their Ijlast. 
01' Devorgoit the 'laughter Tur 



(GuLLCKAMMEK ofcrs to take it.) But soft yoi^ air, 
We'll not disturb your learning for tlie matter ; 
Yet, since you've borne a part in this strange 

drama, 
You shiUl not go ungU3rdon'd. Wise or learn'd, 
Modest or gentle, Heaven alone can make thee. 
Being so much otherwise ; but from this abund.^nce 
Thou shalt have that shall gild thine ignorance, 
Exalt thy base descent, make thy presumption 
Seem modest confidence, and find thee hundreds 
Ready to swear that same fool's-cap of thine 
Is reverend as a mitre. 

GuL. Thanks, mighty baron, now no more a baio 
one ! — 
I will be quaint with him, for all his quips. \^Aside 

Osw. Nor shall kind Katleen lack 
Her portion in our happiness. 

Kat. Tlianks, my good lord, but Katleen's fate 
is fix'd — 
There is a certain valiant forester, 
Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights 
In Ills lone cottage, without one to guard liim — 

Leo. If I forget my comrade's faithful friendship 
May I be lost to fortime, hope, and love ! 

DuK. Peace, all ! and he;ir the blessing wliick 
this scroll 
Speaks imto faith, and constancy, and virtue 

No more this castle's troubled gue.st, 
Dark Erick's spirit hath foimd rest 
The storms of angry Fate are past— 
For Constajicy defies their blast. 
Of Devorgoll the daughter free 
Shall wed the Heir of Aglionby ; 
Nor ever more dishonor soil 
The rescued house of Devorgoil !' 

Shall wed with Dacre's injured bel' 
Tke lilver moon of DevorgcA * 



784 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ui:l)inbrane; 



<n, 



THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDl 



Cur oliqnid villi ? cur noxia lumina feci 
Car imprudenti cognita culpa mibi est ? 

OriDlI Tristium, Liber Secundum, 



PREFACE 

TuEttE is not, perhaps, upon record, a tale of 
horror wliich gives us a more perfect picture than 
is afforded by the present, of the violence of our 
ancestors, or the compUcated crimes into wliich 
they Tvere hiu'ried, by what their wise, but Hi- 
enforced, laws termed the heathenish and accursed 
practice of Deadly Feud. The author has tried 
to extract some dramatic scenes out of it ; but he 
is conscious no exertions of his can increase the 
horror of that which is in itself so iniquitous. Yet, 
if we look at modern events, we must not too has- 
tily venture to conclude that our own times have 
BO much the superiority over former days as we 
inight at first be tempted to infer. One great ob- 
ject has indeed been obtained. The power of the 
laws extends over the country universally, and if 
criminals at present sometimes escape punishment, 
this can only be by eluding justice, — not, as of old, 
by defying it. 

But the motives which influence modern ruffians 
Jo commit actions at which we pause with wonder 
ind horror, arise, in a great measure, from the 
thirst of gain. For the hope ol lucre, we have 
seen a wretch seduced to his fate, under the pre- 
text that he was to share in amusement and con- 
viviality ; and, for gold, we have seen the meanest 
of wretches deprived of life, and their miserable 
remains cheated of the grave. 

The loftier, if equally cruel, feelings of pride, 
ambition, and love of vengeance, were the idols of 
our forefathers, whUe the caitiffs of our day bend 
to Mammon, the meanest of the spirits who fell." 
The criminals, therefore, of former times, drew 
their heUish inspiration from a loftier source than 
la known to modern villains. The fever of ungated 



— Mammon led them on : 
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
From I/ea-'sn ■ — Milton. 



ambition, the phrensy of ungratified revenge, tha 
perfervidum inyenmm Scotormn, stigmatized by 
our jurists and otu- legislators, held Ufe but as 
passing breath ; and such enormities as now sound 
Uke the acts of a madman, were then the familial 
deeds of every offended noble. With these ob 
servations we proceed to our story. 

John Muir, or Mure, of Auchindrane, the con- 
triver and executor of the following cruelties, was a 
gentleman of an ancient family and good estate in 
the west of Scotland ; bold, ambitious, treacherous 
to the last degree, and utterly unconscientious, — a 
Richard the Tliird in private Mfe, inaccessible alike 
to pity and to remorse. His view was to raisa 
the power, and extend the grandeiu-, of his own 
family. This gentleman had married the daugh- 
ter of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Bargaiiie, who was, 
excepting the Earl of Cassilis, the most important 
person in all Carrick, the district of Ayrshire 
which he inhabited, and where the name of Ken- 
nedy held so great a sway as to give rise to tha 
popular rhyme, — 

*' 'Twixt Wigton and the town of Air, 
Portpatrick and the Cruivesof Cree, 
No man need tliinic for to bide there, 
Unless he court Saint Kennedie." 

Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who hau promise, 
himself high advancement by means of his father- 
in-law Barganie, saw, with envy and resentment, 
that his influence remained second and inferior to 
the House of Cassihs, chief of all tlie Kermedya 
The Earl was indeed a minor, but his authority 
was maintained, and his affahs well managed, by 
his uncle. Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, the 
brother of the deceased Earl, and tutor and guard- 
ian to the present. This worthy gentleman sup- 
ported his nephew's dignity and the credit of the 
house so effectually, that Barganie's consequence 
was much thrown mto the shade, and the ambi- 
tious Audundrane. his son-in law. saw no better 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



786 



remedy than to remove so formidable a rival as 
fullaync by violent means. 

For this purpose, in the year of God 1597, he 
came ■witli a party of followers to the town of M.ay- 
bole (where Sir Thomas Kennedy of CuUayne then 
.esided), and lay in ambush in an orchard, through 
vrhicii he knew liis destined victuu was to pass, in 
•eturning homewards from a house where lie was 
■igaged to sup. Sir Tliomas Kennedy came alone, 
and unattended, when he wa.s suddenly fired upon 
by Auchinilrane and his accomplices, who, having 
missed thoir aim, drew tLeir swords, and ru.?hed 
upon him to .slay liim. But the party thus as- 
eailed at disadvantage, liad the good fortune to 
hide himself for that time in a ruinous house, 
where he lay concealed till the inhabitants of the 
place came to his assistance. 

Sir Thomas Kennedy prosecuted Mure for tliis 
assault, who, finding himself in danger from the 
law, made a sort of apology and agreement with 
the Lord of CuUayne, to whose daughter he united 
his eldest son, in testimony of the closest friendship 
in future. This agi'eement was sincere on the part 
of Kennedy, who, after it had been entered into, 
showed Iiirasclf Auchindrane's friend and assistant 
on all occasions. But it was most false and treach- 
erous on that of Mure, who continued to nourish 
the purpose of murdering his new friend and ally 
on the first opportunity. 

Auchindrane's first attempt to effect tliis was by 
means of tlie young Gilbert Kennedy of Barganie 
(for old Barganie, Auchindrane's father-in-law, was 
dead), whom he persuaded to brave the Earl of 
Cassilis, as one who usurped an undue influence 
over the rest of the name. Accordingly, this hot- 
headed youth, at the instigation of Auchindrane, 
rode past the gate of the Earl of Cassilis, without 
waiting on his chief, or sending him any message 
of civility. This led to mutual defiance, being 
regarded by the EaH, according to the ideas of the 
time, as a personal insult. Both parties took the 
field with their followers, at the head of about 250 
men on each side. The action which ensued was 
shorter and less bloody than might have been 
expected. Young Barganie, with the rashness of 
headlong courage, and Auchindrane, fired by dead- 
ly ^enmity to the House of Cassihs, made a precipi- 
tate attack on the Earl, whose men were strongly 
posted and under cover. They were received by 
a heavy fire. Barganie was slain. Mure of Au- 
chindrane, severely wounded in the thigh, became 
unable to sit his horse, and. the leaders thus slain 
or disabled, their party drew oflf without continu- 
,ng the actioa It must be particularly observed, 
that Sir Thomas Kennedy remained neuter in this 

» " No papera winch have hitherto been discovered appear 
la afford sj striking a picture of the aava^e state of barbarism 



quarrel, considering his connection with Auchin- 
drane as too intimate to be broken even by his 
desire to assist his nephew. 

For this temperate and honorable conduct he 
met a vile reward ; for Auchindrane, in resentment 
of the loss of his relative Barganie, and the down- 
fall of his ambitious hopes, continued his practices 
against the life of Sir Thomas of CuUayne, though 
totally innocent of contributing to either. Chance 
favored his wicked purpose. 

The Knight of CuUayne, finding himself obliged 
to go to Edinburgh on a particular day, sent a 
message by a servant to Mure, in which he toM 
him, in the most un.^uspecting confidence, the pur- 
pose of Ilia journey, *nd named the road wliich he 
proposed to take, inviting Mure to meet him at 
Duppill. to the west of the town of Ayr, a place 
appouited, for the purpose of giving him any com- 
missions which he might have for Edinburgh, and 
assuring his treacherous ally he would attend to 
anv business which he might have in the Sct)ttish 
metropolis as anxiously as to his own. Sir Thom;is 
Kennedy's message was carried to the totvn of 
Maybole, where his messenger, for some trivial 
reason, had the import committed to writing by 
a schoolmaster in that town, and dispatched it to 
its destination by means of a poor student, named 
Dalrymple, instead of carrying it to the house oi 
Auchindrane in person. 

This suggested to Mtu'e a diabolical plot. Hav- 
ing thus received tidings of Sir Thomas Kennedy's 
motion.s, he conceived the infernal pur]iosc of hay- 
ing the confiding friend who sent the information, 
waylaid and murdered at the place appointed to 
meet with him, not only in friendship, but for the 
purpose of rendering him service. He dismissed 
the messenger Dalrymple, cautioning the lad to 
ctirry back the letter to M.aybole, and to say that 
he had not found him, Auchindrane, in his ),ouse. 
Having taken this precaution, he proceeded to 
instigate the brother of the slain Gilbert of Barga- 
nie, Thomas Kennedy of Drimiurgliie by name, and 
Walter Mure of Cloncaird, a kinsman of his own, 
to take this opportunity of revenging Bargauie's 
death. The fiery young men were easily induce I 
to undertake the crime. They waylaid the tmsus- 
pecting Sir Thomas of CuUayne at the place ap- 
pointed to meet the traitor Auchindrane, and the 
murderers having in company five or ei,\ servants, 
well mounted and armed, assaulted and crueUy 
murdered him with many wounds, They then 
plundered the dead corpse of his puise, containing 
a thousand merks in gold, cut off the gold buttons 
which he wore on his coat, and despoUed tb« body 
of some valuable rings and jewels." 

into which that country must have sunk, as the followinx 
Bond by the Earl of Cassilis, to his brothel and heir-appaieol) 



The revenge due for his uncle's murder "vras 
keenly pursued by the Earl of Cassilis. As the 
murderers fled from trial, they were declared 
outlaws ; which doom, being pronounced by three 
blasts of a horn, was called " being put to tlie horn, 
and declared the king's rebel." Mure of Auchin- 
drane was strongly suspected of having been the 
instigator of the crime. But he conceived there 
wuld be no evidence to prove his guilt if he could 
keep the boy Dalrymple out of the way, who de- 
Uvered the letter which made him acquainted with 
Cullayue's journey, and the place at which he 
meant to halt. On the contrary, he saw, that if 
the lad could be produced at -the trial, it would 
afford ground of fatal presiunption, since it could 
then be proved that persons so nearly connected 
with liim -as Kennedy and Cloucaird had left his 
house, and committed the murder at the very spot 
wliich Cullayne had fixed for their meeting. 

To .avoid this imminent danger, Mure brought 
Dalrymple to his house, and detained liim there 
for several weeks. But the youth tiring of this 
confinement. Mure sent him to reside with a friend, 
Montgomery of Skellmorly, who maintained him 
under a borrowed name, amid the desert regions 
0^ the then almost savage island of Arran. Being 
confident in the absence of this material witness, 
Auchiudrane, instead of flying, like Iiis agents 
Drumurgliie and Cloncaii"d, presented himself 
boldly at the bar, demanded a fair trial, and 
offered his person in combat to the death against 
any of Lord CassiUs's friends who might impugn 
his innocence. This audacity was successful, and 
he was dismissed without trial. 

Still, however, Mure did not consider liimself 

Hew, Master of Cassilis. The uncle of these young men, Sir 
Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, tutor of Cassilis, as liie reader 
will recollect, was murdered, May lllh, 1G02, by Auchia- 
ilrane's accomplices. 

"The Master of Cassilis, for many years previous to Uiat 
event, was in open hostility to his brother. During all that 
period, howevv. the Master maintained Iiabits of the closest 
intimacy with Aucliindrane and his dissolute associates, and 
actually joined him in various hostile enterprises against his 
brother tlie Earl. The occurrence of the Laird of Culzeaii's 
munler was embraced by tlieir raatual friends, as a fitting 
opportunity to effl-ct a permanent reconciliation between the 
■)ntliers; ' bot' (as 'the Historie of the Kennedies,' p. o9, 
rnaintly informs us), 'the cuntry thocht that he wald not be 
citiicst in that cause, for the auld luiff beluix him and Auchin- 
Ii:iyne.' The unprincipled Earl (whose sobriquet, and that 
-f a^mo of his ancestors, was Kivg of Carrick, to denote the 
tinnnJless sway wiiich he exercised over his own vassals and 
the inhabitants of that district), relying on his brother's necea- 
gities, held out the infamous bribe contained in the following 
bond, to induce his brother, t^e Master of CassiUs, to murder 
lis former friend, the old Laird of Auchindrane, Though 
[here be honor among thieva^, it would seem that there is none 
among assassins ; for the younger brother insisted upon having 
tlie price of blood assured to him by a written dociment, 
•Uawn up in the form of a regular bond ! 

" Ju-lging by the Earl's former !i'd subsequent history, he 



safe, so loD(5 as Dalrymple was within the realis 
of Scotland ; and the danger grew more pressing 
when he learned that the lad had become impa- 
tient of tlie restraint which he sustained in the 
island ui AiTan, and returned to some of his fiiends 
in Ay I shire. Mure no sooner heard of this tlian 
he again obtained possession of the boy's person. 
and a second time concealed hir.; at Auchindrai*e, 
until be found an opportunity to transport him to 
the Low Countries, where he contrived to have 
him enUsted in Buccleuch's regiment ; trusting, 
doubtless, that some one of the numerous chances 
of war might destroy the jjoor young man whose 
Ufe was> so dangerous to liim. 

But after five or six years' uncertain safety, 
bought at -tlie expense of so much violence and 
ciuming, Auchindrane's fcars were exasperated 
into phrensy, when he found this dangerous wit- 
ness, having escaped from all thr perils of climate 
and battle, had left, or been discharged from, the 
Legion of Borderers, and had again accomplished 
his return to Ayrshire. There is ground to suspect 
that Dalrymple knew the nature of the hold which 
he possessed over Auchindrane, and was desirous 
of extorting from his fears some better provision 
than he had found either in Arran or the Nether 
lands. But if so, it was a fatal experiment to tam 
per with the fears of such a man as Auchindrane. 
who determined to rid himself effectually of this 
unhappy young man. 

Mure now lodged him in a house of his own, 
called Chapeldonan, tenanted by a vassal and con- 
nection of his called James Bannatyne. This man 
he commissioned to meet liim at ten o'clock at 
night on the sea-sands near Girvan, and bring with 

probably thought that, in either event, his purposes would be 
attained, by ' killing two birds with one stone,' On the othcT 
hand, however, it is but doing justice to the Master's acute- 
ness, and the experience acquired undar his qnondam precep- 
tor, Auchindrane, that we should likewise conjecture that, on 
his part, he would hold firm possession of the bond, to be useti 
as a i!he<;k'mate against his brother, should he think fit after 
wards to turn his heel upon bim, or attempt to betray him iotit 
the hands of justice. 

' ' Tlie following is a correct copy of the bond granted by the 
Earl : — * We, Johue, Earle of Cassillis, Lord Kennedy, etc , 
bindis and oblissis ws, that howsovne our broder. Hew Ken- 
nedy of Brounstonn, with his complices, taikis t!ie Laird ob 
Auchindraneis tyf, that we sail mak guid and thankfull pay- 
ment to him and thame. of the sowme of tueltf hundreth 
merkis, yeirlie, togidderwith corne to se.\ horsis, ay and quhilP 
we ressaw^ thame in houshald with our self: Beginning the 
fir^t payment immeiliatlie after tliair committing of the said 
deid, Altour,3 howsovne we ressaw tliame in houshald, we 
sail pay to the twa serwing g^ntillmen the feis. yeirlie, as oai 
awin houshald serwandis. And heirto we obliss ws, vpoun 
our honour. Subscryvit with our hand, at Mavhole,"ihe feri 
day of September, 1602. 

' JOHNE ErLE off C*JSILU3.' 

PiTCAiRN*8 Criminal Trials of Scotland, vol. iii. p. OSBi 



1 Aye and imtil. 



3 Moreovw 



AUCHiJSfDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



1%^ 



him the unfortunate Dalrymple, the object of his 
6,ar and dread. The yictim seems to have come 

jrith Bannatjne without the least suspicion, though 
»uch might liave been raised by the time and place 
appointed for the meeting. When Banuutyne and 
Dah'yraple came to the appointed spot, Auchin- 
(Irmie met them, accompanied by his eldest son, 
James. Old Auchindrauc, having taken Bannatyne 
aside, imparted his bloody purpose of ridding liim- 
eelf of Dalrymple for ever, by mm-dering him on 
the spot. His own hfe and honor were, he said, 
endangered by the manner in which this inconve- 
nient witness repeatedly thiust himself back into 
Ayrshu'e. and nothing could secure his safety but 
taking the lad's hfe, in which action he requested 
Jami's Baunatyne's assistance. Bannatyne felt 
some compunction, and remonsti-ated agiiinst the 
cruel expedient, saying, it would be better to 
transport Dalrymple to Ii-eland, and take precau- 
tions against Ills return. While old Auchindraije 
eecmed disposed to hsten to this proposal, his sbn 
concluded that the time was come for accomphsh- 
ing the. pur|jose of their meeting, and, without 
waiting the termination of his father's conference 
with Bannatyne, he rushed suddenly on Dalrym- 
ple, beat liim to the groimd, and, kneehng down 
on him, with his father's assistance accompUshed 
'.he crime, by strangling the mihappj- object of 
their fear and jealousy. Bannatyne, the witness, 
and partly the accomphce, of the mm'der, assisted 
them in their attempt to make a hole in the sand, [ 
with a spade which tliey had brought on piuposp, 
ui order to conceal the dead body. But as the 
tide was coming in, the holes which they made 
filled with water before they could get the body 
bmied, and the ground seemed, to then' terrified 
consciences, to refuse to be accessory to conceiding 
their crime. Despaiiing of hiding the corpse in 
the manner they proposed, the murderers carried 
it out into the sea as deep as they dared wade, 
and there abandoned it to the billows, trusting 
tliat a wind, wliich was blowing off the shore, 
would drive these remaiils of their crime out to 
sea, wherfi they would never more be heard of. 
But the sea., as well as the land, seemed unwilling 
to conceal their cruelty. After floating for some 
hem's, or days, the dead body was, by the wind 
and tide, again driven on shore, near the very spot 
where the mm'der had been committed. 

This attracted general attention, and when the 
fwrpse was known to be that of the same William 
Dalrymple whom Auchindrane had so often spir- 
ited .out of the country, or conceidcd when he was 
in it, a strong and geuer.al suspicion arose, that tliis 
young person had met with foul play from the 
bold bad man who had shown Imnself so much in- 
terested in his absence. It was always said or 

apposed, Ihat the dead "body had bled at the ap- 



proach of a grandchild of Mure of Auchindrane, a 
gu'I who, from curiosity, had come to look at a 
sight which otliers crowded to see. The bleeding 
of a murdered corpse at the touch of the murdcrei, 
was a thing at that time so much believed, that it 
was admitted as a proof of guilt ; but I know no 
case, save that of Auchindrane, in which the phe- 
nomenon was supposed to be extended to the ap' 
proach of the innocent kindred ; ntir do I think that 
the fact itself, though mentioned by ancient law- 
yers, was ever admitted to proof in the proceeding! 
against Auchindrane. 

It is certiun, however, that Auchindrane foimi 
himself so much the object of suspicion from th:3 
new crime, that he resolved to fly from justice, ard 
suffer himself to be declared a rebel and outlaw 
rather than face a trial. But his conduct in pre 
paring to cover his flight with another motive than 
the real one, is a curious picture of the men and 
mmmers of the times. He knew well that if he 
were to shun his trial for the murder of Dalryr^^j'le, 
the whole country would consider him a- a man 
guilty of a mean and disgraceful crim'; in putting 
to death an obscure lad, against -^ 'jom he had no 
personal quarrel. He knew, besides, that iii^ pow- 
erful friends, who wo'-'J have interceded for him 
had liis offence beer merely burning a house, or 
killing a neiu-bbor, would not plead for or stand by 
h>ni in so pi*-.'ul a concern as the slaughter of this 
wetched wanderer. 

Accordingly, Mure sought to provide himself 
with some ostensible cause for avoiding law, with 
which the feelings of his kindred and friends might 
sympathize ; and none occurred to him so natiu'al 
as an assault upon some friend and adherent of 
the Earl of Cassilis. Should lie kill such a one, it 
would be indeed an unlawful action, but so far 
from being infamous, would be accounted the nat- 
ural consequence of the avowed quarrel between 
the families. With this purpose, Mure, with the 
assistance of a relative, of whom he seems always 
to have had some ready to execute his worst pur- 
poses, beset Hugh Kennedy of Garriehorne, a fol 
lower of the Earl's, against whom they had especial 
ill-will, fired their pistols at him, and used other 
means to put liim to death. But Garriehorne, a 
stout-hearted man, and well armed, defended him 
self in a very ihlferent manner from the unforti. 
nate Knight of CuUayne, and beat off the assailant* 
womiding young Aucliindrane in (iie right hand. 
so that he weUiiigh lost the use of it. 

But though Auchindrane's purpose did not en 
tu'ely succeed, he availevl liimself of it to circulate 
a report, that if he could obtain a pardon for firing 
upon his feudal enemy with pistols, weapons de 
clared unlawful by act of Paihjunent, he wouU 
willingly stand his trial for the death of Dahymplo 
respecting which he protested his total innocence 



788 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The King, however, was decidedly of opinion that 
the Mures, both father and son, were alike guilty 
of both crimes, and used intercession with the Earl 
of Abercoru, as a person of power in those western 
counties, as well as in Ireland, to arrest and trans- 
mit them prisoners to Edinburgh. In consequence 
of the Earl's exertions, old Auchindrane was made 
pijsoner. and lodged in the tolbooth of Edinburgh. 

Ti oung Auchindrane no sooner heard that his fa- 
ther was in custody, than he became as apprehen- 
Bive of Bannatyne, the accomplice in Dalrymple's 
murder, telling tales, as ever his father had been 
of Dalrymple. He, therefore, hastened to him, 
and prevailed on him to pass over for^ while to 
the neighboring coast of Ireland, finding mm money 
and means to accompUsh the voyage, and engaging 
in the mean time to take care of his affairs in Scot- 
land. Secure, as they thought, in tliis precaution, 
old Auchindrane persisted in liis innocence, and his 
Bon found security to stand his trial. Both ap- 
peared with the same confidence at the day ap- 
•pointed, and braved the pubUc justice, hoping to 
be put to a formal trial, in which Auchindnme 
reckoned upon an acquittal for want of the evi- 
dence wliich he had removed. Tlie trial was, 
however, postponed, and Mure the elder was dis- 
missed, under high security to return when called 
for. 

But King James, being convinced of the guilt of 
'.he accused, ordered young Auchinchane, instead 
jf being sent to trial, to be examined under the 
force of torture, in order to compel him to tell 
whatever he knew of the things charged against 
liim. He was accordingly severely tortured ; but 
the result only served to show that such examina- 
tions are as useless as they are cruel. A man of 
weak resolution, or of a nervous habit, would prob- 
ably have assented to any confession, however 
false, rather than have endured the extremity of 
fear and pain to which Mure was subjected. But 
young Aucliindrane, a strong and determined ruf- 
fian, endured the torture with the utmost firmness, 
and by the constant audacity with which, in spite 
of the intolerable pain, he continued to assert his 
innocence, he spread so favorable an opmion of his 
case, that the detaining him in prison, instead of 
bringing him to open trial, was censured as severe 
and oppressive. James, however, remained firmly 
persuaded ef his guilt, and by an exertion of au- 
thority quite inconsistent with our present laws, 
commanded young Auchindrane to be stUl de- 
tained in close custody tUl further Ught could be 
thi'own on these dark proceedings. He was de- 
tained accordingly by the King's express personal 
command, and against the opinion even of his privy 
sounsellors. This exertion of authority was much 
murmured against. 

In the moan while, old Auchindrane, being, aa 



we have seen, at hberty on pledges, skulked about 
in the west, feeling how little security he hsji\ 
gained by Dalrjmple's murder, and that hu, had 
placed liimself by that crime in the power of Ban* 
natyne, whose evidence concerning the death of 
Dalrymple could not be less fatal th;m what Dal 
rymple might have told concerning Aucliindrane'e 
accession to the conspiracy against Sir Thomae 
Kennedy of Cullayne. But though the event had 
shown the error of his wicked pohcy, Auchindrane 
could think of no better mode in tlus case than 
that wliich had faded in relation to Dalrymple. 
"When any man's life became inconsistent with hia 
own safety, no idea seems to have occurred to this 
inveterate ruffian, save to murder the person by 
whom he might himself be in any way endangered. 
He therefore attempted the hfe of James Banna- 
tyne by more agents than one. Nay, he had nearly 
ripened a plan, by wliich one Pennycuke was to be 
employed to slay Bannatyne, while, after the deed 
was done, it was devised that Mure of AuchnuU, f. 
cod^jection of Bamiatyne, should be instigated tc 
slay Pennycuke ; and thus close up tliis train of 
murders by one which, flowing in the ordinary 
course of deadly feud, should have nothing in it so 
particular as to attract much attention. 

But the justice of Heaven would bear tliis com- 
plicated train of iniquity no longer. Banuatyne, 
knowuig with what sort of men he had to deal, 
kept on his guard, and, by his caution, disconcerted 
more than one attempt to take his life, while an- 
other miscarried by the remorse of Pennycuke, the 
agent whom Mure employed. At length Banna- 
tyne, tiring of this state of insecurity, and in de- 
spair of escaping such repeated plots, and also 
feeling remorse for the crime to whicli he liad been 
accessory, rejulved rather to submit liimself to the 
severity of t\e law, than remain the object of the 
principal criminal's practices. He surrendered 
himself to the Earl of 'Abercorn, and was trans- 
ported to Edinburgh, where he confessed befort. 
the King and council all the particulars of the mur- 
der of Dalrymple, and the attempt to hide his 
body by committing it to .the sea. 

When Bannatyne was confrouted with tlie two 
Mures before the Privy Council, they denied with 
vehemence every part of the evidence he had 
given, and affirmed that the witness had been 
bribed to destroy them by a false tale. Banna- 
tyue's behavior seemed sincere and simple, that 
of Auchuidrane more resolute and crafty. The 
wretched accomphce fell upon his knees, invoking 
God to witness that all the land in Scotland could 
not have bribed him to bring a false accusation 
against a master whom he had served, loved, and 
followed in so many dangers, an 1 calhng upon Au- 
chindrane to honor God by confessing the crima 
he had committed. Mure the elder, on ths othei 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



789 



ftanJ. boldly replied, that he hoped God would not 
10 fiir forsake him as to permit him to coiifesa a 
trirne of wluch he was innocent, and exliorted 
Bannatyne in his turn to confess the practices by 
ffhich" he had been induced to devise such false- 
Qoods against him. 

The two Mures, father and son, were tlierefore 
p^it upon then- soleuiu trial, along with Bannatyne, 
in 1611, and, after a great deal of evidence had 
been brought in support of Bannatyne's confession, 
all three were found guilty.' The elder Auchin- 
drane was copvicted of counselling and directing 
the mm'der of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, 
and also of the actual murder of the lad Dalrymple. 
Oannatyne and the younger Mure were found 
guilty of the latter crime, and all three were sen- 
tenced to be beheaded. Bannatyne, however, the 
accomplice, received the King's pardon, in conse- 
quence of his voluntary surrender and confession. 
The two Mures were both executed. The younger 
was afifected by the remonstrances of the clergy 
who attended liim, and he confessed the guilt of 
which he was accused. The father, also, was at 
length brought to avow the fact, but in other re- 
spects died as impenitent as he had Uved ; — and 
60 ended tliis dark and extraordinary tragedy. 

The Lord Advocate of the day, Sir Thomas 
Hamilton, afterwards successively Earl of Melrose 
and of Haddington, seems to have busied himself 
much in drawing up a statement of this foul trans- 
action, for the purpose of vindicating to the people 
of Scotland the severe course of justice observed 
by King James VI. He assumes the task in a 
high tone of prerogative la-jv, and, on the whole, 
Beems at a loss whether to attribute to Providence, 
or to liis most sacred Majesty, the greatest share 
In bringing to Ught these mysterious villanies, but 
rather inclines to the latter opinion. There is, I 



» " Efter prononceing and declairing of the quhilk determi- 
nation and delj'uerance ol' the saidis persones of Assyse, ' The 
Tostice, in respect ihairof, be the mouth of Alexander Ken- 
lydie, dempster of Court, decernit and adiudget the saidis 
lohnne Mure of Aacliindrane elder, James Mure of Auchin- 
Irane younger, his eldest sone and appeirand cir, and James 
Bannatyne, called of Cliapel-Donane, and ilk ane of thame, 
to be tane to the mercat croce of the burcht of Edinburgh, 
tnd thair, upon ane ^cafibld, their lieidis to be strukJn frome 
thair bodeyis : And all thair landis, heritages, takis, steidingis, 
rowmes, pos&essiones, teyndis, coirnes, cattell, insicht plenis- 
•ing, guidis, geir, tyliUis, proffeitis, commodileis, and richtis 
quhatsumeuir, directlie or indirectlie pertening to thame, or 
ony of thame, at the committing of llie saidis treseonabill Mur- 
iDoaris, or sen;yne ; or to the quilkis thay, or ony of thame, 
bad richt, claim, or actioun, to be furfalt, escheit, and inbrocht 
to our souerane lordis vse ; as culpable and convict of the saidis 
tressonabill crymes.* 

*' ftahilk was pronancet for Dome." 

Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. iii. p. 156. 

> See an article in the Quarterly Review, February, 1831, 
"D Mr. Pitcairn's valuable collection, where Sir Walter Scott 
'lartio itarly dwells on the original documents connected with 



believe, no printed copy of tlie intended tract, 
which seems never to liave been publishetl , bul 
the curious will be enabled 1o jndge of it, as It ap- 
pears in the iMixifascu'ulus of Mr. Robert Pitcairn'? 
very interesting publications fn»m the Scottiab 
Criminal llecord.'^ 

Tlie family of Aucliindrane did not become ex- 
tinct on tlie death of tlie two homicideis. The 
last descendant existed in the eighteenth iientuyr 
a poor and distressed man. The fnUowing :u/ (. 
dote shows that he had a stronr feeling of his pit''- 
nation. I 

There was in front of the old castle a huge as! 
tree, called the Dule-tree {mourning-tree) of Aucl 
indrane, probably because it was the piace where 
the Baron executed the criminals who fell -under 
his jurisdiction. It is described as having been 
the finest troe of the neighborhood. This last rep- 
resentative of the family of Aucliindrane had the 
misfortune to be arrested for payment of a smal] 
debt; ami, unable to discharge it, was prepared to 
accompany the messenger (baiUff) to the JKil of 
Ayr. The servant of the law had compassion for 
his prisoner, arid offered to accept of tliis remark- 
able tree as of value adequate to the discharge ot 
the debt. "What!" said the debtor, "sell the 
Dule-tree of Auchindrane ! I will sooner die in 
the worst dungeon of yom- prison." In this luck 
less character the line of Auchljidrane ended. The 
family, blackened with the crimes of its predeces- 
sors, became extinct, and the estate passed ipt^» 
other hands. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

John Mure of Auchindrane, an Ayrshire Baron. 
He has been a follower of the Regent, Earl oj 



the storj* of Aucliindrane ; and where Mr. Pitcairn's important 
services to the history of his profession, and of Scotland, are 
justly characterized. (1833.) 

" Sir Walter's reviewal of the early parts of Mr. Pitcairn's 
Ancient Criminal Trials had, of course, much gratified the 
editor, who sent him, on his arrival in Edinburgii, the proof- 
eheets of the N'lmli^r then in hand, and directed his attention 
particntarly to its details on the extraordinary case of Mure ol 
Aucliindrane, a. d. If 11. Scott was so much interested will 
these documents, that lie resolved to fooii:! a dramatic sfcetcb 
on their terrible story . and the result was a oomposition f« 
superior to any of his previous atlemjtt.s of that nature. Id 
deed, there are several passages in his ' Ayrshire Tragedy' — 
especially that where the murdered corpse floats uprignt in th« 
wake of the assassin's bark — (an incident suggested by a la 
mentable chapter in Lord Nelson's history) — which msv beat 
comparison with any thing but Shakspeare. Yet I oabl 
whether the prose narrative of Ibe preface be not, on tbi 
whole, more dramatic tiian the \-eisified scenes. It cODtaiD* 
by the way, gome very striking allusions to the recent atl» 
cities of Gill's Hill and Uie West Port."— I.ocKHAUr v» 
ix. D. 334 




Morton, during the Civil Wars, and hides an 
oppressive, ferocious, and unscrupulous disposi- 
tion, wider some pretences to strictness of life and 
doctrine, which, howei'er, never influence his con- 
duct. He is in danger from the law, owing to 
his having been formerly active in the assassina- 
tion of the Earl of Cassilis. 

Philip Ml'ee, his Son, a wild, debauched Profligate, 
professing and practising a contempt for his 
Father^ s hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licen- 
tious as Auchindrane himself 

VjlFFOED, their Relation, a Courtier. 

QuEWriN Blane, a Youth, educated for a Clergy- 
man, but sent by Auchindrane to serve in a 
Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Nether- 
lands, and lately employed as Clerk or Comptrol- 
ler to the Regiment — Disbanded, however, and oil 
his return to his native Country. He is of a 
mild, gentle, and rather fetrble character, liable to 
be influenced by any person of stronger mind who 
will take the trouble to direct him. He is some- 
what of a nervous temperament, varying from 
sadness to gayety, according to4he impulse of the 
moment ; an amiable hypochondriac. 

HiLDEBRAND, ff stout old Englishman, who, by feats 
of courage, has raised himself to the rank of Ser- 
geant-Major {then of greater consequence than at 
present). He, too, has been disbanded, but can- 
not bring himself to believe that lie has lost his 
command over his Regiment. 

Privates dismissed from the same 
Regiment in which Quentin and 
HiLDEBRAUD had served. Tliese are 
mutinous, and are much disposed 
to remember former quarrels with 
their late Officers. 

NiEL MacLellan, Keeper of Auchindrane Forest 
and Game. 

Eakl of Dunbar, commanding an Army as Lieu- 
tenant of .fames I. for execution of Justice on 
Offenders. 

G-uards, Attendants, &c. die 

Marion, Wife of Niel MacLellan. 

Isabel, their Daughter, a Girl of six years old. 

Other Children and Peasant Women. 



Abraham, 
Williams, 
Jenkin, 
And Others, 



■3lacl)tniirane ; 

OR, 

THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



ACT I.— SCENE L 
S roeky Bay on the Coast of Carrick, in Ayrshire, 
not tar from the Point of Turnberry. The Sea 



comes in upon a bold rocky Shcre. The remaint 
of a small half -ruined Tower a^e seen on t/ie right 
hand, overhanging the Sea. There is a vessel at 
a distance in the offing. A Boat at the bottom of 
the Stage lands eight or ten Persons, dressed likt 
disbanded, and in one or two casr^ like disabled 
Soldiers. They cwne straggling forward with 
their knapsacks and bundles. Pildebuand, tha 
Sergeant, belonging to the Party a stout elderly 
man, stands by the boat, as if superintending the 
disembarcation. Quentin remain' apart. 

Abraham. Farewell, the flats ol Holland, and 

right ■welcome 
The cliffs of Scotland! Fare the^ well, black 

beer 
And Schiedam gm ! and welcome twopenny. 
Oatcakes, and usquebaugh I 

Williams (who wants an arm.) F-jewell, the 

gallant field, and " Forward, pi!iemen !" 
For the bridge-end. the suburb, and the lane; 
And, " Bless your honor, noble gentleman, 
Remember a poor soldier !" 

Abr. My tongue shall never need to smootll 

itself 
To such poor sounds, while it can boldly say, 
" Stand and deliver !" 

WiL. Hush, the sergeant hears you I 
Abr. And let Mm hear ; he makes a bustle yon- 
der. 
And dreams of his authority, forgetting 
We are disbanded men, o'er whom his halberd 
Ha.s not such influence as the beadle's batoa 
We are no soldiers' now, but every one 
The lord of his own person. 

WrL. A wretched lordship — and our freedt n 

such 
As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner 
Turns him upon the common. I for one 
Will still continue to respect the sergeant. 
And the comptroller, too, — ^while the cash lasts. 
Abr. I scorn them both. I am too stout a Scota 

man 
To bear a Soutlu-on's rule an instant longer 
Than disciphne obliges ; and for Quentin, 
Quentin the quillman, Quentin the comptroller, 
We have no regiment now ; or, if we had, 
Quentin's no longer clerk to it. 

WiL. For shame 1 for shame I What, sh»ll oW 

comrades jar thus. 
And on the verge of parting, and lor ever! - 
Nay, keep thy temper, Abraham, though \ bad 

one. — 
Good Master Quentin, let thy song last night 
Give us once more our welcome to old ScotlanA 
Abr. Ay, they sing light whose task ifl tell, ay 

money, 
■When dollars clink for chorus. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



Qde. Fve done with counting silver," honest 
Abraham, 
A.8 thou, I fear, with pouching thy small share on't. 
But lend your voices, lads, Rud I '"ill smg 
As biitliely yet as if a town were '"on ; 
As if upon a field of battle gaia'd, 
Oui" banners waved victorious. 

[_IIe sings and the rest bear ch_-irus, 

SONO 

Hither we come. 

Once slaves to tnp "Irum, 
But no longer we Kst to its rattle ■ 

Adieu to the wars. 

With their slashes and scars, 
The march, and the storm, and the battle. 

There are some of us maim'd, 

And some that are lamed. 
And some of old aches are complaimng ; 

But we'll take up the tools. 

Which we flung by like fools, 
Gxinst Don Spaniard to go a-campaigning. 

Dick Hathorn doth vow 

To return to the plough, 
Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer ; 

The weaver shall find room 

At the wight-wapping loom, 
And yoiu' clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 

4.BE. And this is .ill that thou canst do, gay 
Quentin i • 

tu STvagger o'er a herd of parish brats, 
Cut chee'-e or dibble onions with tliy poniard, . 
And tT'jn the slieath into a ferula ? 

Q-^E. I am the prodigal in holy writ ; 
1 rannot work, — to beg I am ashamed. 
Heiiides, good m<ites, I care not who may know it, 
I'm e'en .is faii-ly tired of this same figliting, 
&s the poor cm' that's worried in the shambles 
By all the m.istiff dogs of all the butchers ; 
Wherefore, farewell sword, poniard, petronel, 
And welcome poverty and peaceful labor. 

Abe. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired, 
Bv my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied, 
I'or thou'st seen but little on't. 

WiL. Thou dost behe him — I have seen him 
fight 
Bravely enough for one in his condition. 

Abe. What, he ? that counter-casting, sma;k- 
faced boy } 
What was he but the colonel's scribbling drudge, 
With men of straw to stuff the regiment roll ; 
With ciplerings unjust to cheat his comrade.?, 
^nd cloak false musters for our noble captain } 

HS. — " I've done with counting dollan." &c. 



ffe bid farewell to sword i.nd petronel 1 

lie should have said, farewell my pen and sian 

di,*h. 
Tliese, with the rosin u.sed to hide erasures, 
Were tlie best friends he left in camp beliind kink 
Que. The sword you scoff at is not far, but scoiii) 
Tlic tlireats of an unmanner'd mutineer. 

See. (ititerposcs.) We'll have no brawUug— • 

Shall it e'er be said, 
Tliat being comrades six long years together. 
While gulping down the frowsy fogs of Holhind, 
We tilted at each other's throats so soon 
As the fii'st draught of native air refresh'd them ! 
No ! by Saint Duustan, I forbid the combat. 
Tou all, methinks, do know this trusty h.ilberd ; 
For I opine, that every back amongst you 
Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen staff. 
Endlong or overthwart. Who is it Vifishes 
A remembrancer now ? 

\_Rataes his halbera, 
Abe. Comrades, have you ears 

To hear the old in.in bully ? Eyes to see 
His staii" reac'd aer your heads, as o'er the houndi 
Tlie liuntsraau cracks his whip ? 

WiL. Well said — stout Abridiam lias tlie right 

on't. — 
I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee. 
And pardon the rash humors thou hast caught, 
Like wiser men, from tliy authority. 
'Tis ended, howsoe'er, ana we'll not suffer 
A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff. 
Nor the most petty threat of discipline. 
If thou wilt lay aside thy pride of office. 
And drop thy wont of swaggering and commanding, 
Tliou art our comrade stiU for good or evil. 
Else take thy course apart, or with the clerk 

there — 
A serge.int thou, and he being all thy regiment. 
See. Is't come to this, false knaves i And think 

you not, 
That if you bear a name o'er otii.r soldiers. 
It was because you foUow'd to t!ie charge 
One that had zeal and skill eno;..;h to lead you 
Where fame was won by danger i 

WiL. We grant thy skill in leading, noble sei 

geant ; 
Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst u^ 
Which else had still been tenanted with hiubs 
In the full quantity ; and for the arguments 
With wliich you used to back our resolution. 
Our shoulders do record them. At a word. 
Will you conform, or must we part oiu- company f 
See. Conform to you ! Base dogs I I would nnl 

lead you 
A bolt-flight farther to be made a general 
Mean mutineers I when you swill'd off the dregi 
Of my poor sea-stores, it was, "Noble Sergeants 
Heaven bless old Hildebrand — we'll follow iiim. 



792 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



At least, until we safel) see him lodged 
WittuQ the merry bounds of his own England !" 
Wu.. Ay, truly, sir ; but, mark, the ale was 
mighty, 
And the Geneva potent. Such stout hquor 
Makes violent protestations. Skink it round. 
If you have any left, to the same tune. 
And we may find a chorus for it still. 

Abk. We lose our time. — Tell us at once, old 

man, 

If thou wilt march with us, or stay with Quentin ? 

See. Out, mutineers 1 Dishonor dog your heels ! 

Abe. Wilful will have his way. Adieu, stout 

Hildebrand ! 

[The Soldiers go off laughing, and taking 

leave, with mockery, of the Seegeant 

and Quentin, who remain on the Stage. 

See. {after a pause.) Fly you not with the rest ? 

— fail you to follow ^ 

Yon goodly fellowship and fair example ? 

Come, take your wild-goose flight. I know you 

Scots, 
Like your own sea-fowl, seek ' your course to- 
gether. 
Que. Faith, a poor heron I, who wing my flight 
In loneliness, or with a single partner ; 
And right it is that I should seek for soUtude, 
Sruiging but evil luck on them I herd with. 
See. Thou'rt thankless. Had we landed on the 
coast, 
Where our course bore us, thou wert far from 

home ; • 
But the fierce wind that drove us round the isl- 
and. 
Barring each port and inlet that we aim'd at. 
Hath wafted thee to harbor ; for I judge 
This is thy native land we disembark on. 

Que. True, worthy friend. Each rock, each 
stream I li»ik on, 
Each bosky wood, and every frowning tower. 
Awakens some yo ing dream of infancy. 
Yet such is my liard hap, I might more safely 
Have look'd on Indian cliffs, or Afric's desert. 
Than on my native shores. I'm like a babe, 
Doom'd to draw poison from my nurse's bosom. 
See. Thou dream'st, young man. Unreal terrors 
haunt. 
As I have noted, giddy brains like tliine — 
Flighty, poetic, and imaginative — 
To whom a minstrel whim gives idle rapture. 
Ana, wlien it fades, fantastic misery. 

Que. But mine is not fantastic. I can tell tliee. 
Since I have known thee still my faithful friend. 
In part it least the dangerous plight I stand in. 

^ MS. — ' Quentin. My short tale 

Grows mystic now. Among the deadly feads 
Which cBrse onr country, something once it 
chanced 



See. And I will hear thee willingly, the rathei 
That I would let these vagabonds march on, 
Nor join their troop again. Besides, good sooth, 
I'm wearied with the toil of yesterday, 
And revel of last night. — And I may aid thee 
Yes, I may aid thee, comrade, and perchance 
Thou may'st advantage me. 

Que. May it prove well for both !- -But note, mj 
friend, 
I can but intimate my mystic story. 
Some of it lies so secret, — even the winds 
That whistle round us must not know the whole — 
An oath ! — an oath ! 

See. That must be kept, of course 

I ask but that which thou may'st freely tell. 

Que. I was an orphan boy, and first saw light 
Not far from where we stand — my lineage low, 
But honest in its poverty. A lord, 
The master of the soil for many a mile. 
Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge 
For mf advance in letters, and the qualities 
Of the poor orphan lad drew some applause. 
Tlie kniglit was proud of me, and, in his haUa, 
I had such kij^d of welcome as the great 
Give to the humble, whom they love to point to 
As objects not imworthy then* protection. 
Whose progress is some honor to their patron— 
A cure was spoken of, which I might serve. 
My manners, doctrine, and acquirements fitting. 

See. Hitherto tliy luck 
Was of tlie best, good friend. Few lords had careti 
If thou couldst read thy grammar or thy psalter. 
Thou h'adst been valued couldst thou scour a hai 

ness. 
And dress a steed distinctly. 

Que. My old master 

Held diflferent doctrine, at least it seem'd so — 
But he was mix'd in many a deadly feud — 
And here my tale grows mystic. I became, 
Unwitting and unwUhng, the depositary 
Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on't 
Has wreck'd my peace for ever. It became 
My patron's will, that I, as one who knew 
More than I should, must leave the realm of Scot- 
land, 
And Uve or die witliin a distant land.' 

See. Ah ! thou hast done a fivult in some wild 
raid. 
As you wild Scotsmen call them. 

Que. Comrade, nay; 

Mhie was a peaceful part, and happ'd by chance 
I must not teU you more. Enough, my presence 
Brought danger to my benefactor's house. 
Tower after tower conceal'd me, willing stiU 

That I nnwilling and unwitting, witness'd; ' 

Aiid it became my benefactor's will, 

That 1 should breathe the air of otiier chmcs. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



798 



To hide my ill-omen'd face with owls and ravens,' 

And let my patron's safety be the purchase 

Of my severe and desolate captivity. 

Bo thought I, when dark Arran, with its walls 

Of native rock, enclosed me. There I lurk'd, 

A peaceful stranger amid armed clans, 

Without a fi-iencrto love or to defend me, 

VThere all beside were link'd by close alliances. 

At length I made my option to take service 

La that same legion of auxiUai'ies 

[n which we lately served the Belgian. 

Our lea<ler, stout Montgomery, hath been kind 

Through full six years of warfare, and assigu'd me 

More peaceful tasks than the rough front of war, 

For which my education Uttle suited me. 

Ser. Ay, therein was Montgomery kind indeed ; 
Nay, kinder than you tliink, my simple Quentin. 
Tlie letters which you brought to the Montgomery, 
Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate service, 
Wliich should most likely end thee. 

Que. Bore I such letters ? — Surely, comrade, no. 
Full deeply was the writer bound to aid me. 
Perchance he only meant to prove my mettle ; 
And it was but a trick of my bad fortune 
That gave his letters ill interpretation. 

Ser. Ay, but thy better angled wrought for good, 
Whatever ill thy evil fate designed thee. 
Montgomery pitied thee, and changed thy service 
In the rough field for labor in the tent. 
More fit for thy green years and peaceful habits. 

Que. Even there his well-meant kindness injured 
me. 
My comrades hated, undervalued me. 
And whatsoe'er of service I could do them, 
They guerdon'd with ingratitude and envy — 
Such my strange doom, that if I serve a man 
At deepest risk, he is my foe for ever ! 

Ser. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were 

BO? 

Worse even than me, thy friend, thine officer. 
Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pitch'd ashore. 
As wild waves heap the sea-weed on the beach. 
And left him here, as if he had the pest 
Or leprosy, and death were in his company ? 

Que, They think at least you have the worst of 
plagues, 
Th . worst of leprosies, — they think you poor. 

Sfr. They think hke lying villains then, I'm rich. 
And they too might have felt it. I've a thought — 
But stay- -what plans your wisdom for yourself } 

QcK. My thoughts are wellnigh desperate. But 
I purpose 
Return to my stem patron — there to tell him 



» The MS. here adda ; 

And then wild Arran, with its darkeome 

Of naked rock received me ; till at last 
100 



\ ijgalU 



That wars, and winds, and waves, have cross'd hii 

pleasure. 
And cast me on the shore from whence he banishM 

me. 
Tlien let him do his will, and destine for me 
A dungeon or a grave. 

See. Now, by the rood, thou art a simple fool 
I can do better for thee. Mark me, Quentia 
I took my Ucense from the noble regiment. 
Partly that I was worn with age and warfare, 
Partly that an estate of yeomanry. 
Of no great purchase, but enough to live on. 
Has call'd me owner since a kinsman's death. 
It lies in merry Yorkshire, where the wealth 
Of fold and furrow, proper to Old England, 
Stretches by streams which walk no sluggish paco, 
But dance as Ught as yours. Now, good friend 

Quentin, 
This copyhold can keep two quiet inmates, 
And I am cliildless. Wilt thou be my son ! 

Que. Nay, you can only jest, my worthy friend I 
Wliat claim have I to be a burden to you ? 

Ser. Tlie claim of liim that wants, and is in dan- 
ger, 
On him that has, and can afford protection : 
Tliou would'st not fear a foeman in my cottage. 
Where a stout mastiff slumber'd on the hearth. 
And this good halberd hung above the chimney I 
But come — I have it — thou shalt earn thy bread 
Duly, and honorably, and usefully. 
Our village schoolmaster liath left the parish. 
Forsook the ancient schoolhouse with its yew-treei^ 
That lurk'd beside a church two centuries olde' 
So long devotion took the lead of knowledge 
And since his little flock are shepherdless, 
'Tis thou shalt be promoted in his room ; 
And rather than thou wantest scholars, mau. 
Myself will enter pupil. Better late. 
Our proverb says, than never to do welh 
And look you, on the holydays I'd tell 
To all the wondermg boors and gaping chililren. 
Strange tales of what the regiment did in Flanders 
And thou shouldst say Amen, and be my warrant 
That I speak truth to them. 

Que. Would I might take thy offer ! But,'alaa 
Thou art the hermit who compell'd a pilgrim. 
In name of Heaven and heaveiiTy charity. 
To share his roof and meal, but found too late 
That he had drawn a curse on him and liis. 
By sheltering a wretch foredoom'd of heaven 1 

Ser. Thou talk'st in riddles to me. 

Que. If I Ho. 

'Tia that I am a riddle to myael£ 



I yielded to take service in the legion 
Which lately has discharged us. Stout Mot's, ^ifirj 
Oar colonel, hath been kind through five yaMB* WIT- 
faie." 



794 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



flou lnoVst I am by nature born a friend 
- To glee and merriment ; can make wild Terses; 
The jest or laugh lias never atopp'd with me. 
When once 'twas set a-rolling. 

Ser. I have known thee 

A blithe companion still, and wonder now 
Tliou shouldst become thus crest-fallen. 

Que. Does the lark sing her descant when the 
falcon 
ficale.i the blue vault with bolder wing than hers. 
And meditates a stoop ? The mirth thou'st noted 
Was all deception, fraud — Hated enough 
For other causes, I did veil my feeUngs 
Beneath the mask of mirth, — laugh'd, sung, and 

caroU'd, ' 

To gain some interest in my comrades' bosoms, 
Although mine own was bursting. 

See. Thou'rt a hypocrite 

Of a new order. 

Que. But harmless as the innoxious snake, 
Which bears the adder's form, lurks in his haunts, 
Yet neither hath liis fang-teeth nor his poison. 
Look you, kind Hildebrand, I would seem merry, 
Lest other men should, tiring of my sadness, 
Expel me from them, as the hunted wether 
Is driven from the flock. 

See, Faith, thou hast borne it bravely out. 
Had I been ask'd to name the merriest fellow 
Of all our muster-roU — that man wert tho^f. 

Que. See'st thou, my friend, yon brook dance 
down the valley, 
And sing bUthe carols over broken rock 
And tiny waterfall, kissing each shrub 
And each gay flower it nurses in its passage, — 
Where, think'st thou, is its source, the bonny 

brook ? — 
It flows from forth a cavern, black and gloomy, 
Sullen and sunless, like this heart of mine. 
Which others see in a false glare of gayety. 
Which I have laid before you in its sadness. 

See. If such wild fancies dog thee, wherefore 
leave 
The trade where thou wert safe 'midst others' 

dangers. 
And venture to thy native land, where fate 
Lies on the watch for thee ? Had old Montgomery 
Been with the regiment, thou hadst had no cong6. 

Que. No, 'tis most likely — But I had a hope, 
A poor vain hope, that I might Uve obscurely 
In some far corner of my n.ative Scotland, 
Which, of all others, splinter'd into districts. 
Differing in manners, families, even language, 
Beem'd a safe refuge for the humble wietch. 
Whose highest hope was to remain unlieard of. 
But fate has bafiled me — the winds and waves, 
IVith force resistless, have impell'd me hither — 
Have driven me to the clime moat dang'rous to me ; 
And I obey the call, like the hurt deer. 



Which seeks ir.stini^i'-el'' hi'. na*'.ve lair. 
Though his heart ielis airj it ia but to die ihe^e. 

See. 'Tis fike, bj Xiet./ea, young wmi lYili 
same dej:p?*ir. 
Though oh'j'^iag resi'jnation in its banner. 
Is but a krad of covert cowardice. 
Wise men have said, th.<it tL,;ugh our stars incline, 
They cannot force us — Wisdom is th; piiot, 
And if he cannot cross, he may e^ ade them. 
You lend an ear to idle auguries. 
The fi'uits of our last revels — still most sad 
Under the gloom that follows boisterous mirth, 
As earth looks blackest after brilliant sunshine. 

Que. No, by my honest word. I join'd the reve^ 
And aided it with laugh, and song, and shout. 
But my heart levell'd not ; and, when the mirth 
Was at the loudest, on yon galliot's prow 
I stood I'nmaik'd, and gazed upon the land. 
My native land — each cape and cUff I knew. 
"Beho'.d nr.e now," I said, "your destined victim 1" 
So greets the sentenced criminal the headsman. 
Who slrt 77 approaches with his lifted axe. 
" Hither I come," I said, " ye kindred hills, 
Whosy darksome outUne in a distant land 
Haunted my slumbers ; here I stand, thou ocean. 
Whose hoarse voice, murmuring in my dreams, re 

quu'ed me ; 
S(!e me now here, ye winds, whose plaintive wail, 
On yonder distant shores, appear'd to call me — 
Summon'd, behold me." And the winds and wave^ 
And the deep echoes of the distant mountain, 
Made answer, — " Come, and die 1" 

See. Fantastic all I Poor boy, thou art distracted 
With the vain terrors of some feudal tyrant, 
Whose frown hath been from infancy thy bugbear 
Why seek his presence ? 

Que. ' Wherefore does the moth 

Fly to the scorching taper i Why the bird, 
Dazzled by lights at midnight, seek the net ? 
Why does the prey, which feels the fascination 
Of the snake's glaring eye, drop in his j.aws ? 

See. Such wild examples but refute themsfJve*. 
Let bird, let moth, let the coil'd adder's ]irey. 
Resist the fascination and be safe 
Thou goest not near this Baron — if thou j.'oest, 
I will go with thee. Known in many a lield, 
Wliich he in a whole Ufe of petty feud 
Has never dream' d of, I will teach the knight 
To rule him in tliis matter — be thy warrant, 
That far from him, and from his petty lo:J=hip, 
You shall henceforth tread English land, and never 
Thy presence shaU alarm liis conscience more. 

Que. 'Twere desperate risk for both. I will far 
rather 
Hastily guide thee through this dangerous pro nuee 
And seek thy school, thy yew-trees, and ihy chui'cu 

yard ;— 
The last, perchance, wiU be the first I fin L 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR. THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



191 



See. I would rather face him. 
Like a bold Englishman that knows his right, 
And will stand by his friend. And yet 'tis folly — 
Fancies like these are not to be resisted ; 
Tia better to escape them. Many a presage, 
Too rashly braved, becomes its own accomplish 

ment. 
Tlien let us go — but whither ! My old head 
A.S little knows where it shall lie to-night. 
As j'onder mutineers th.it left their officer, 
As reckless of liis qu.-irters as these billows, 
That leave the withered sea-weed on the beach. 
And care not where they pile it. 

Que. Think not for that, good friend. We are 
in Scotland, 
And if it is not varied from its wont. 
Each cot, that sends a curl of smoke to heaven, 
Will yield a stranger qu-arters fcr the uight, 
Simply because he needs them. 

See. But are there none within an easy walk 
Give lodgings here for hire ? for I have left 
Some of the Don's piastres (though I kept 
The secret from j'on gulls), and I had r.ather 
Pay the fair reckoning I can well afford. 
And my host takes with pleasm'e, than I'd cum- 
ber 
Some poor man's roof with me and all my wants, 
And tax liis charity beyond discretion. 

QtJE. Some six miles hence there is a town and 
hostelry — 
But you are wayworn, and it is most likely 
Our comrades must have fUl'd it. 

See. Out upon them ! — 

Were there a friendly mastiff who would lend me 
Half of his supper, half of his poor kennel, 
I would help Honesty to pick his bones, 
And share liis straw, far rather than I'd sup 
On jolly fare with these base varlets 1 

Que. We'll manage better ; for our Scottish 
dogs, 
Though stout and trusty, are but ill-instructed' 
In hospitable rights. — Here is a maiden, 
A little maid, will tell us of the coimtry, ■ 
And sorely is it changed since I have left it, 
if we should fail to find a harborage. 

Enter Isabel MacLellan, a girl of about six years 
old, bearing a milk-pail on her head ; she stops 
on seeing the Seegeant and Qiientin. 
Qde. There's something in her look that doth 
remind me — 

But 'tis not wonder I find recollections ■ 

In all that here I look on. — Pretty maid 

Seb. You're slow, and hesitate. I will be 
spokesman. — 

fk>bd even, my pretty maiden — cjinst thou tell us, 

t U^ '*Callant and grim, may be bat ill-uutracted " 



Is there a Christian house would render strangers 
For love or guerdon, a night's meal and lodging ( 

IsA. Full surely, sir ; we dwell in yon old house 
Upon the cliff — they call it Chapeldonan. 

\_Points to the building 
Our house is large enough, and if our supper 
Chance to be scant, you shall have half of mine, 
For, as I think, sir, you have been a soldier. 
Up yonder lies ><ur house ; TU trip before. 
And tell my mother she has guests a-comii>g ; 
The path is something steep, but you shall see 
I'll be tliere first. I must chain up the dogs, too 
Nimrod and Bloodylass are cross to strangers, 
But gentle when you know them, 

l^Exit, and is seen partially ascending tt 
the Castle. 

See. You have spoke 

Your country folk aright, both for the dogs 
And for the people. — We had luck to light 
On one too young for cunning and for selfish 

ness. — 
He's in a revery — a deep one sure. 
Since the gibe on his country wakes him not. — 
Bestir thee, Quentiu ! 

Que. 'Twas a wondrous likene9% 

See. Likeness ! of whom 3 I'll warrant thee ol 
one 
Whom thou hast loved and lost. Such fantasies 
Live long in brains like thine, which fashion 

visions 
Of woe and death when they are cross'd in love, 
As most men are or have been. 

Que. Thy guess hath touch'd me, though it is but 
sliglitly, 
'Mongst other woes : I knew, in former days, 
A maid that view'd me with some glance of favor 
But my fate carried me to other shores, 
And she has since been wedded. I did think on'l 
But as a bubble burst, a rainbow vanish'd ; 
It adds no deeper shade to the dark gloom 
Which chills the springs of hope and life within me 
Our guide hath got a trick of voice and feature 
Like to the maid I spoke of — that is all. 

See. She bounds before us Kke a gamesome lo^ 
Or rather as the rock-bred eaglet soars 
Up to her nest, as if she rose by wiU 
Without an effort. Now a Netherlander, 
One of our Frogland friends, viewing the scene, 
Would take his oath that tower, and rock, anc 

maiden. 
Were forms too light and lofty to be real. 
And only some delusion of the fancy. 
Such as men dream at sunset. I myself 
Have kept the level ground so many years, 
I have wellnigh forgot the art to climb, 
Unless assisted by thy younger arm. 

[Tlicy go off as if to asc(nd to the Tbimt 
tlie Seegeant leaning upon Qusitqi 



.'96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



SCENE II. 

Bcfne changes to the Front of the Old Tower. Isa- 
bel comei forward with tier Mother, — Makion 
speaking as they advance. 

Mae. I blame thee not, my child, for bidding 
wanderers 
Oorae ahare our' food and shelter, if thy father 
Were here to welcome them ; but, Is.abel, 
H( waits upon his lord at Auchindrane, 
And comes not home to-night. 

IsA. What then, my mother ! 

The travellers do not ask to see my father ; 
Food, shelter, rest, is all the poor men want, 
And we can give them these without my father. 

Mae. Thou canst not understand, nor 1 explain. 
Why a lone female asks not visitants 
What time her husband's absent. — {Apart.) My 

poor child. 
And if thou'rt wedded to a jealous husb.and, 
Thou'lt know too soon the cause. 

IsA. {partly overhearing what her mother says.) 
Ay, but I know already — Jealousy 
Is, when my father chiiles, and you sit weeping. 

Mae. Out, Uttle spy ! thy father never chides ; 
Oi, if he does, 'tis when his wife deserve.i it.— 
But to our straugers ; they are old men, Isabel, 
That seek this shelter ? are they not ? 

Isa. One is old — 

Old as this tower of ours, and worn like that, 
Bearing deep marks of baitles long since fought. 
Mae. Some renuiant of the wars ; he's welcome, 
surely, 
Bringmg no quality along with him 
Which can alarm suspicion. — Well, the other ? 
IsA. A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle- 
eyed, [frown'd on ; 
Who looks and speaks like one the world has 
But smiles when you smile, seeming that he feels 
Joy in your joy, though he Iiimself is sad. 
Brown hau", and downcast looks. 

Mae. {alarmed.) 'Tis but an idle thought — it can- 
not be ! [Listens. 
I hear his accents — It is all too true — 
My terrors were prophetic ! 

m compose myself, 
And then accost him firmly. Thus it must be. 

[She retires hastily i?ito the Toieer. 
[77i« voices of the Sergeant and Quentin 
are heard ascending behind the Scenes. 
Que. One effort more — we stand upon the level. 
I've seen thee work thee up glacis and cavalier 
Steeper than this ascent, when cannon, culverine. 
Musket, and hackbut, shower'd their shot upon thee, 
And form'd, with ceaseless blaze, a fiery garland 
Round the defences of the post you storm'd. 

[They come on the Stage, and at the same 
time Maeion re-enters from the Tower. 



Ser. Truly thou speak'st. I am the tardier 
That I, in cUmbing liither, miss the fire, [ing.— 
Wliich wont to tell me there was death in loiter 
Here st.inds, metliinks, our hostess. 

[He goes forward to address Maeion. Qdes- 
TIN, struck on seeing her, keeps hack. 

See. Kind dame, yon little lass hath briughl 
you strangers, 
WUling to be a trouble, not a charge to you. 
We are disbanded soldiers, but have means 
Ample enough to pay our journey homeward. ' 

Mae. We keep no house of general entertain 
ment, 
But know our duty, sir, to locks like yours, 
Wliiten'd and thinn'd by many a long campaign. 
Ill chances that my husband should be absent — 
{Apart.) — Courage alone can make me struggla' 

tlu-ough it — 
For in your comrade, though he hath forgot me, 
I spy a friend whom I have known in school-days. 
And whom I think MacLellan well remembers. 

[She goes up to Quentin. 
You see a woman's memory 
Is faithfuUer than yours ; for Quentin Blane 
Hath not a greeting left for Marion Harkness. 

Que. {with effort.) I seek, indeed, my native 
land, good Marion, , 

But seek it like a stranger. — All is changed. 
And thou thyself 

Mar. You left a giddy maiden, 

And find on your return, a wife and mother. 
Tliine old acquaintance, Quentin, is my mate — 
Stout Niel MacLellan, ranger to our lord, 
Tlie Knight of Audiindrane. He's absent now, 
But will rejoice to see his former comrade, 
If, as I trust, you tarry his ret>irn. 
{Apart.) Heaven grant he understand my wordi 

by contraries ! 
He must remember Niel and hi were rivals ; 
He must remember Niel and he were foes ; 
He must remember Niel is warn cf temper. 
And think, instead of welcome, I would bhthely 
Bid him, God speed you. But he is as simple 
And void of guile as ever. 

Que. Marion, I gladly rest within your cottage, 
And gladly wait return of Niel MacLellan, 
To clasp liis hand, and wish him happiness. 
Some rising feelings might perhaps prevent this— 
But 'tis a peevish part to grudge our friends 
Their shaie of fortune because we have miss'd it 
I can wisTi others joy and happiness. 
Though I must ne'er partake them. 

Mae. But if it grieve you [of hope 

Que. No ! do not fear. The brightest gleaini 
Tliat shine on me are such as are reflected 
F:jm those which shine on others. 

[The Seegeant and Quentin enter tht 
Tower with tlu little Girl. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



7!)7 



Mar. (^comes forward, and speaks in agitation.) 
Even so ! the simple youth hiis miss'd my meaning. 
I eliame to mal:e it plainer, or to say, 
In one brief word, Pass on — Heaven guide the bark, 
For we are on the breakers I [£xit into the Tower. 



ACT IL— SCENE I. 

A mthdrawing Apartment in the Castle, of Auth- 
indrane. Servants place a Table, with a flask of 
Wine and Drinking-cups. 

Enter Mure of Acuhindrjine, with Albert Gif- 
FORD, his Relation and Visitor. Tliey place 
thanselvea by the Table after some compliment- 
ary ceremony. At some distance it heard the 
twise of revelling. 

AccH. We're better placed for confidential talk. 
Than in the hall fiU'd with disbanded soldiers. 
And fools and fiddlers gather'd on the highway, — 
The worthy guests whom Philip crowda my hall 

with, 
And with them spends his evening. 

GiF. But think you not, my friend, that your son 
Philip 
Should be participant of these our councils. 
Being so deeply mingled in the danger — 
Your house's only heir — your only son ? 

AncH. Kind cousin Gilford, if thou lack'st good 
counsel 
At race, at cockpit, or at gambling-table. 
Or any freak by which men cheat themselves 
As well of Ufe, as of the means to hve. 
Call for assistance upon PhiUp Mure ; 
But in all serious parley spare mvokiug him. 

GiF. You speak too lightly of my cousin Philip; 
All name liim brave in arms. 

AucH. A second Bevis ; 

But I, my youth bred up in graver fashions. 
Mourn o'er the mode of life in which he spends. 
Or rather dissipates, his time and substance. 
No vagabond escapes his search — The soldier 
Spurn'd from the service, henceforth to be ruffian 
Upon his own account, is Philip's comrade ; 
Tlie fiddler, whose crack'd crowd has still three 

strings on't ; 
The balladeer, whose voice has still two notes left ; 
Whate'er is roguish and whate'er is vile. 
Are welcome to the board of Auchindrane, 
^d Philip will return them shout for shout. 
And pledge for jovial pledge, and song for song, 
Until the shamefaced sun peep i>t oui windows, 
•uid aik, " What have we here ? 



GiF. You take such revel deeply — we are Scots 
men. 

Far known for rustic hospitality 
That mind not birth or titles in our guests ; 
The harper has his seat beside our hearth, 
The wanderer must find comfort at our board, 
His name unask'd, his pedigree unknown ; 
So did our ancestors, and so must we. 

AucH. All this is freely granted, worthy kin.' 

man; 
And prithee do not think me churl enough 
To count how many sit beneath my salt. 
I've wealth enough to fill my fiither's hall 
Each day at noon, and feed the guests who crowd it 
I am near mate with those whom men call Lord, 
Though a rude western knight. But mark me 

cousin. 
Although 1 feed wayfaring vagabonds, 
I make them not my comrades. Such as I, 
Wlio have advanced the fortunes of my hue. 
And swell'd a baron's turret to a palace. 
Have oft the curse awaiting on our thrift. 
To see, while yet we -Uve, things which must be 
At our decease — the downfall of our family. 
The loss of land .ind lordship, name and knigh* 

hood. 
The wreck of the fair fabric we have built, 
By a degenerate heir. Philip has that 
Of inborn meanness in liimj that he loves not 
The company of betters, nor of equals ; 
Never at ease, unless he bears the bell. 
And crows the loudest in the company. 
He's mesh'd, too, in the snares of every femnk 
Wlio deigns to cast a passing glance on him — 
Licentious, disrespectful, rash, and profligate. 
GiF. Come, my good coz, think we too have beeii 

young. 
And I will swear that in your father's lifetime 
Tou have yourself been trapp'd by toys like these. 
AucH. A fool I miiy have been — but not a mad 

man; 
I never play'd the rake among my followers, 
Pursuing this man's sister, that man's wife ; 
And therefore never saw I man of mine, 
When summon'd to obey my best, grow restive. 
Talk of his honor, of his peace dest: Jy'd. 
And, while obeying, mutter threats of venge.atic* 
But now the humor of an idle youth. 
Disgusting trusted followers, sworn dependf.nts, 
Plays football with his honor and my safety. 

GiF. I'm sorry to find discord in your house. 
For I had hoped, while bringing you cold news, 
To find you arm'd in union 'gainst the danger. 
AucH. What can man speak that I would shrink 

to liear, 
And where the danger I would deign to shun ! 

\ He risei 
What should appal a man inured to perils. 



798 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Liki the bold climber on the crags of Ailsa? 
Wii-ds whistle po,st him, billows rage below, 
The sea-fowl sweep ai'ound, with sliriek and clang. 
One single slip, one unadvised pace, 
One qualm of giddiness — and peace be with him ! 
But he whose grasp is sure, whose step is firm, 
Wltsj crait 'i constant — he makes one proud rock 
The ra«<ans to scale another, tiU he stand 
*'numphant cii the peak. 

GiF. And so I trust i 

Thou wilt surmpunt the danger now approaching. 
Which scarcely can I frame my tongue to tell you. 
Though I rode here on purpose. 

AucH. Cousin, I think thy heart was never coward. 
And strange it seems thy tongue should take such 

semblance. 
I've heard of many a loud-mouth'd, noisy braggart, 
Wliose hand gave feeble sanction to his tongue ; 
But thou art one whose heart can thinlc bold things. 
Whose hand can act them — but who shrinks to 

speak them ! 
GiF. And if I speak them not, 'tis that I shame 
To tell thee of the calumnies that load thee. 
Tilings loudly spoken at the city Cross — 
Things closely whisper'd in om' Sovereign's ear — 
Things which the plumed lord and flat-capp'd cit- 
izen 
Do circulate amid their different ranks — 
Things false, no doubt ; but, falsehoods while I 

deem them. 
Still honoring thee, I shun the odious topic. 

AucB. Shun it not, cousin; 'tis a friend's best 

office 
To bring the news we hear unwillingly. 
The sentinel, who tells the foe's approach, 
And wakes the sleeping camp, does but Iris duty : 
Be thou as bold in telling me of danger. 
As I shall bo in facing danger told of. 

GiF. I need not bid thee recollect the death-feud 
That raged so long betwixt thy house and Cassilia ; 
I need not bid thee recollect the league. 
When royal James himself stood mediator 
Between thee and Earl Gilbert. 

A"CH. Call you these news ? — -You might as well 

ha-" 3 told me 
Tna t old Kuig Coil is dead, and graved at Kylesfeld. 
m help thee out— King James comra.anded us 
Henceforth to live in peace, made us clasp hands too. 
0, s. •, when such an union hath been made, 
In heart and hf>nd conjoining mortal foes, 
Under a mo^irch's royal mediation. 
The league is not forgotten. And with this 
Wliat is there to be told ? The king commanded — 
' Be friends." No doubt we were so — Who dares 

doubt it ? 
Qir. You .speak but half the tale. 
Aduh. By good Saint Trimou, but I'll tell the 

whole ! 



There is no terror in the tale for me — ' 

Go speak of ghosts to children ! — This Earl Gilbert 

(God sain him) loved Heaven's peace as well as ] 

did. 
And we were wondrous friends whene'er we meJ 
At church or market, or in burrows town. 
Midst this, our good Lord Gilbert, Earl of Cassilia 
Takes pm-pose he would joiu-ney forth to Edin 

burgh. 
The King was doling gifts of abbey-lands, 
Good things that thiifty house was wont to fish for 
Cm' niiglitj Earl forsakes his sea-wash'd castle, 
Passes our borders some four' miles from hence ; 
And, holding it unwholesome to be fasters 
Long after sum-ise, lo 1 The Earl and train 
Dismount, to rest their nags ;uid eat their breakfas'. 
The morning rose, the small birds caroll'd sweetly 
The corks were drawn, the pasty brooks incision— 
His lordship jests, his train are choked with laugl 

ter; 
Whe , — wondrous change of cheer, and most UD 

look'd for. 
Strange epilogue to bottle and to baked meat !— 
Flash'd from the gi'eenwood half a score of carB 

bines. 
And the good Earl of Cassilis, in his breaifast, 
Had nooning, dinner, supper, all at once. 
Even in the morning that he closed his journey ; 
And the grim sexton, for his chamberlain. 
Made him the bed which rests the head for ever. 
GiF. Told with much spirit, cou.sin — some there 

are 
Would add, and in a tone resembling triumph. 
And would tiiat with these long-establish'd facts ■ 
My tale began and ended ! I must teU you, 
That evil-deeming censures of the events, 
Both at the time and now, throw blame on thee— 
Time, place, and cu'cumstance, they say, proclaim , 

thee. 
Alike, the author of that morning's ambush. i 

AucH. Ay, 'tis an old belief in Carrick here, ' 

Where natives do not always die in bed. 
That if a Kennedy shall not attain 
Methuselah's last sp.an, a Mure has slain him. 
Such is the general creed of all theu clan. 
Thank Heaven, that they're boimd to prove the | 

charge 
Tliey are so prompt in making. They have clamor'd i 
Enough of this before, to show their malice. 
But what said these coward pickfhanks when 1 , 

came ' 

Before the King, before the Justicers, | 

Rebutting all their calumnies, and daring them | 
To show that I knew aught of Cassilis' journey — 
Which way he meant to travel — where to halt— • 

' " There is nc terror Cassius in yo'ir threats." 

SuAESrEAKB. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



^b\^ 



Without which knowledge I possess'd no means 
To dress an ambush fur luin ! Did I not 
Defy the assembled clan of Kennedys 
To show, by proof direct or inferential, 
Wherefore they slander'd me wi'Ji tliis foul 

cliarije > 
My gaantU:-. rung before them in the coiart. 
And I did dare the best of them to lift it. 
And )irove svcli charge a true one— Did I not ? 
a-' I saw your gauntlet he before the Ken- 
nedys, 
WMio look'd on it as men do on an adder. 
Longing to crash, and yet afraid to grasp it. 
Not an eye sparkled — not a foot advanced — 
No arm was stretch'd to lift the I'atal symbol. 
Aucn. Then, wherefore do the hildings murmur 
now! 
Wish they to see again, how one bold Mure 
Can baffle and defy theii' assembled vtlor '! 
GiF. No ; but they speak of evidence suppress'd. 
Adch. Suppress'd ! — what evidence ? — by whom 
suppress'd ? 
Wliat Will-o'-Wisj^ — what idiot of a witneoa, 
Is he to whrim they trace an empty voice. 
Bilt cannot show his person ? 

GiK. They pretend, 

With the King's leave, to bring it to a trial . 
Averring that a lad, named Quentin Blane, 
Brought thee a letter from the murder'd Eaii, 
"With friendly greetings, telling of his journey, 
Tlie hour which he set forth, the place he lialtec fti 
Affording thee the means to furiu the ambush, 
Of whi'h your hatred made the application. 
AccH. A prudent Earl, mdeed, if such his prac- 
tice. 
When dealing with a recent enemy ! 
And what should he propose by such strange con- 
fidence 
In one^ho sought it not ? 

GiF. His purposes were kindly, say the Ken- 
nedys — 
Desiring you would meet liim where he halted, 
OfFerJig to undertake whate'er commissions 
You listed trust him with, for court or city: 
And, thus apprised of CassiUs' purposed journey, 
And of his halting-place, you placed the ambush, 

rre}:)ared the homicides 

Alch. They 1 3 free to eay their pleasure. They 
are men 
Of the new court — and I am but a fragment 
Of stout old Morton's faction. It is reason 
That such as I be rooted from the earth. 
That they may have full room to spread their 

branches. 
No doubt, 'tis easy to find strolling vagrants 
To prove whate'er they prompt. Tliis Quentin 

Blane — 
Did you not call him so ? — fl hy comes he now ? 



And wherefore not before ! This must be answer'd 

— {abruptly) — 
WTierc is he now 8 

Ouf. Abroad — they say — kidnapp'd, 

By you kidnapp'd, that he might die in i'landers. 
But orders have been sent for his discharge, 
,4^d his transmission hither. 

.aucH. [iisnuminff an air of ca/iijioatirc.) When 
they prc-luce such witness, cousin GifforQ, 
We'll be prepared to meet it. L~. the ni'^au ivJvilt 
Tlie King doth ill to throw iiis royal sceptre 
In the accuser's scale, ere he can know 
How justice shall inch'ne it. 

GiF. Our sage prmce 

Resents, it may be, less the death of Cassilis, 
Tlian he is angry tluit the feud should burn. 
After his royal voice had said, " Be quench'd :" 
Thus urging prosecution less for slaughter, 
Than that, being done against the King's com 

mand. 
Treason is mix'd with homicide. 

AucH. Ha I ha ! most true, my cousin 

Why, well consider'd, 'tis a crime .so great 
To slay one's enemy, the King forbiildmg it. 
Like parricide, it should be held impossible. 
"Tis just as if a wretch retaiu'd the e I'il, 
WTien the King's touch liad bid the sores be heal'd 
And such a crime raerit.s the stake at leas*. 
What ! can there be within a Scottish bosom 
A feud so deadly, that it kept jts ground 
When tlie. King said. Be friends ! It is not credible 
Were I King -lames, I never wouhl believe it : 
I'd rather think the story all a dream. 
And tliat there was no fi'iendship, feud, nor journey 
No halt, no ambush, and no Earl of Cassilis, 
Than dream anointed Majesty has wrong ! — 

GfF. Speak within door, coz. 

AncH. 0, true — (aside) — I shall betray myseW 
Even to this half-bred fool. — I must have room, 
Room for an instant, or I suft'ocate. — 
Cousin, I prithee call our PhiUp hither — 
Forgive me ; 'twere more meet I sunmion'd him 
Myself ; but then the sight of yonder revel 
Would clmfe my blood, and I have need of cnol 
ness. 

GiF. I understand thee — I will bring liiiu 
straiirht. 

Aucn. And if thou dost, he's lost his ancient 
trick 
To fathom, as he wont, his five-pint flagons. — 
This space is mine — -0 for the power to fill it, 
Instead of senseless rage and empty curses, 
With the dark spell which witches learn from 

. fiends. 
That smites the object of their hate afar. 
Nor leaves a token of its mystic action, 
Stealing the soul from out the unscathed body. 



800 



tSCOrX'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As lightning melts the blade, nor harms the scab- 
bard 1 
' — 'Tis vain to wish for it — Each curse of mine 
Falls to the gromid as harmless as the arrows • 
Which children shoot at stars 1 The time for 

thought, 
[f thought could aught avail me, melts away, 
Like to a snowball in a schoolboy's hand, 
rhat melts the faster the more close he grasps 

.t!— 
If I had time, fliis Scottish Solomon, 
Wliom some ciill son of David the Musician,' 
Might find it perilous work to march to Carrick. 
There's many a feud still slumbering in its ashes. 
Whose embers are yet red. Nobles we have. 
Stout as old Graysteel, and as hot as Bothwell ; 
Here too are castles look fi'cm crags as high 
On seas as wide as Logan's. So the King — 
Pshaw 1 He is here again — 

Enter Gifford. 
GiF. I heard you name 

The King, my kinsman ; know, he comes not hither. 
AucH. (affecting indiffcrence.)'Say,Hicnvfe need 
not broach our barrels, cousin, • 

ror purchase us new jerkins. — Comes not Philip? 
G IF. Yess, sir. He tarries but to drink a service 
To his good friends at parting. 

AucH. Friends for the beadle or the sheriff-officer. 
Well, let it pass. Who comes, and how .n1 tended. 
Since James designs not westward ? 

GiF. you shall have, instead, his fiery func- 
tionary, 
fieorge Home that was, but now Dunbar's great 

Earl; 
He leads a royal host, and comes to show you 
How he distributes justice on the Border, 
■^Tiere judge and hangman oft reverse their ofiice, 
And the noose does its work before the sentence. 
But I have said my tidings best and worst. 
None but yourself can know what course the time 
And peril may demand. To hft your banner. 
If I miglit be a judge, were desperate game ; 
Ireland and Galloway offer you convenience 
For flight, if flight be thought the better rimedy ; 
To face tlie court requires the consciousness 
And confidence of innocence. You alone 
Can judge if you possess these attributes. 

[A noise Oelmid the scenes. 
Aucu. Pliilip, I think, has broken up his revels ; 
His ragged regiment are dispersing thena, 
Well Uquor'd, doubtless. They're disbanded sol- 

di»rs. 
Or some such vagabonds. — Here comes the gaUant. 
{Enter Philip. He has a buff-coat and 

1 The caiuninioQs tale which ascribed the birth of James 
yi. to an intrigue of Uueen Mary with Rizzio; 



head-piece, wears a sword and dagger, witK 
pistols at his girdle. He appears to bt 
affected by liquor, but to be by i,:> meant 
intoxicated. 
ArcH. You scarce have been made known to 
one another, 
Although you sate 'together at the board. — 
Son PliiUp, know and prize our cousin Gifford. 
Phi. (tastes the idne on the table.) If you bad 
prized him, su-, you had been loth 
To have welcomed liim in bastard Alicant: 
rU make amends by pledging his good journey 
In glorious Burgundy. — The stirrup-cup, ho! 
And bring my cousin's horsos to the court. 

AncH, (draws him aside.) Tho sturup-cup ! He 
doth not ride to-uight — 
Shame on such churlish conduct to a kinsman ! 
Phi. (aside to his father.) I've news of pressing 
uuport. 
Send the fool off. — Stay, I will start him for you. 
(To GiF.) Yes, my kind cousin. Burgundy is better 
On a night-ride, to those who thread our moors. 
And we may deal it freely to our friends. 
For we came freely by it. Yonder ocean 
Rolls many a purple cask upon our shore. 
Rough with embossed shells and shagged sea-weedi 
When tlie good skipper and his careful crew 
Have had their latest earthly draught of brine. 
And gone to quench, or to endure their thirst, 
Wliere nectar's plenty, or even water's scarce, 
And filter'd to the parched crew by dropsfuU. 
Aucn. Thou'rt mad, son Philip ! — Gifford's no 
intruder, 
Tliat we should rid him hence by such wild rants ; 
My kinsman hither rode at his own danger, 
To tell us that Dunbar is h.asting to us. 
With a strong force, and with the King's com- 
mission. 
To enforce against our h use a hateful charge. 
With every measure of extremity, • 

Phi. And is this all that our good cousin tells 
us? 
I can say more, thanks to the ragged regiment. 
With whose good company you have upbraided me, 
On whose authority, I tell thee, cousin, 
Dunbar is here already. 

GiF. Already ? 

Phi. Yes, gentle coz. And jou, my sire, be 
hasty 
In what you think to do. 

AucH. I think thou darest n.t jest on such a 
subject. 
Where hadst thou these fell tidings ? 

Phi. Where you, too, might have heird tbezi^ 
noble father, 
Save that your ears, nail'd to our kinsman's lips, 
Would list no coarser accents. 0, my soldiers. 
My merry crew of vagabonds, for ever 1 



AUCHINDRA]SE. OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRACrEDY. 



801 



Scum of the Netherlands, and wash'd ashore 
Upon tliis coast' like unregarded sea-weed, 
They had not beeu two hours on Scottish land, 
When, 'o ! they met a military friend, 
An anoi"nt fourier, known to them of old. 
Who, w.'i^rm'd by certain stoups of searching wine, 
Infori'i'd his old companions that Duiibar 
Tjcfl G la«gow yesterday, comes here to-morrow ; 
Himself, he said, was sent a spy before, 
To view what jjrcparations we were making. 
AucH. {to GiF.) If this be sooth, good kinsman, 
thou must claim 
To take a part with us for life and death. 
Or speed from hence, and leave us to our fortune. 

GiF. In such dilemma, 
BeUeve me, friend, I'd choose upon the instant — 
But I lack harness, and a steed to charge on, 
Kor mine is overtired, and, save my page. 
There's not a man to back me. But I'll liie 
To Kyle, and raise my vassals to your aid. 

Pui. 'Twill be when the rats, 
That on these tidings fly this house of ours, 
Come back to pay their rents. — (Apart.) 

AiiCH. Courage, cousin — 
Thou goest not hence ill mounted for thy need : 
Full forty coursers feed in my wide stalls. 
The best of them is yours to speed your journey. 
Pni. Stand not on ceremony, good our cousin, 
When safety signs, to shorten coiu-tesy. 
GiF. {to Aucu.) Farewell, llien, cousin, for my 
tarrying here 
Were ruin to myself, small aid to you ; 
Yet loving well your name and family, 

['d fain 

Pui. Be gone ? — that is our object, too — 
liinsmau, adieu. 

[£xit GiFFOED. PniLir calls aftrr him. 
You yeoman of the stable, 
Give Master Gilford there my fleetest steed. 
Ton cut-tail'd roan that trembles at a spear. — 

[Trampling of the horse heard going off. 
Harl> ! he departs. How swift the dastaa'd rides, 
To ehun the neighborhood of jeopardy 1 

\_He lays aside the appearance of levity 
which he has hitherto worn, and sai/s 
very seriously, 

And now, my father — 
Adob. And now, my son — thou'st ta'en a peril- 
ous game 
tnto thine hands, rejecting elder counsel, — 
How dost thou mean to play it ? 

Phi. Sir, good gamesters play not 
Till they review the cards which fate has dealt them, 
Computing thus the chances of the game ; 
And woefully they seem to weigh against us. 

AucH. Exile's a passing ill, and may be borne ; 
And when Dunbar and all his myrmidons 

Are eastward turn'd, we'll seize our own again. 
101 



Phi. Would that were all the rLsk we had to 

stand to! 
But more and worse, — a doom of treason, fotfciture, 
Death to ourselves, dishonor to our house, 
Is what the stern Justiciary menaces ; 
And, fat.ally for us, he hath the me.ans 
To make his thrcatenings good. 

Aucu. It cannot be. I tell thee, there's no force 
In Scotti.sh law to raze a house like mine 
Coeval with the time tlie Lords of Galhn'/ay 
Submitted them unto the Scottish sceptre, 
Renouncing rights of Tanistry and Brchon. 
Some dreams they have of evidence ; some sus- 
picion. 
But old Montgomery knows my purpose well, 
And long before their mandate reach the camp 
To crave the presence of this mighty witness, 
He will be fitted with an answer to it. 

Phi. Father, what we call great, is often ruin'<< 
By means so ludicrou.sly disproportiou'd, 
Tliey make me think upon the guuuer's linstock, 
Which, yielding forth a hght about the size 
And semblance of the glow-worm, yet applied 
To jiowder, blew a palace into atoms, 
Sent a young Kmg — a young Queen's mate lit 

least — 
Into the air, as high as e'er flew niglit-hawk. 
And made such wild work iu the realm of Scotland, 
As they can tell who heard, — and you were one 
Who saw, perhaps, the night-flight whicli began it. 
AucH. If thou hast naught to speak but drunken 

folly, 
I cannot listen longer. 

Phi. I will speak brief aud sudden. — lliere is 

one 
Whose tongue to us has the same perilous force 
Which BothweU's powder had to Kirk of Field ; 
One whose least tones, and those but peasai^i ac 

cents. 
Could rend the roof from off our fathers' castle,. 
Level its tallest turret with its base ; 
And he that doth possess this wondrous power 
Sleeps this same night not five niHes distant from 

us. 
Aucu. {who had looked on PniLrp loith iMich ap 

pearance of astonishment and doulyf. ex 

claims,) Then thou art mad iudeed !- - Uj* ' 

ha ! I'm glad on't. 
I'd purchase an escape from what I dread 
Even by the phrensy of my only son 1 

Pui. I thank you, but agree not to the bargaiik 
You rest on what yon civet cat has said : 
Yon siHen doublet, stuff 'd with rotten straw. 
Told you but half the truth, and knew no morn. 
But my good vagrants had a perfect tale : 
They told me, little judging the importance. 
Tliat Quentin Blane had been discharged with 

themL 



HO'I 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thoy told me, that a quarrel happ'd at landing, 
And-tli;it the youngster and an ancient sergeant 
Had left their compau/, and taken refuge 
lu Chapeldonan, where oui' ranger dwells ;' 
They saw him scale the cliff on wliich it stands, 
Rve they were out of sight ; the old man with him. 
And therefore laugh m more at me as mad ; 
3ut laugh, if thou hast list for merriment, 
To .jmk lie stands on the same land with us, 
Whose absence tiou wouldst deem were cheaply 

purchased 
With thy soul's ransom and thy body's danger. 

A ucH. 'Tis then a fatal truth ! Thou art no yelper. 
To open rashly on so wild a scent ; 
Thourt the young bloodhound, which careers and 

springs. 
Frolics and fawns, as if the friend of man. 
But seizes on his victim hke a tiger. 

Phi. No matter what I am — I'm as you bred me ; 
So let that pass till there be time to mend me. 
And let us speak like men, and to the purpose. 
Tills object of our fear and of our dread, 
Smce such our pride must own him, sleeps to-night 
Witliin om' power : — to-morrow in Dunbar's, 
And we are then his victims.' 

Accn. He is in ours to-night.' 

i^Hi. He is. m answer that MacLellan's trusty. 

AucH. Yet he repHed to you to-day full rudely. 

Pui. Tes ! the poor knave has got a handsome 
wife. 
And is gone mad with jealousy. 

Aucn. Fool ! — ^Vhen we need the utmost faith, 
allegiance, 
Obedience, and attachment hi our vassals, 
Thy wild intrigues pour gall into their heai'ts, 
And turn their love to hatred ! 

Phi. Most reverend eh"e, you talk of ancient 
morals, 
Preach'd on by Knox, and practised by Glen- 

cau-n ;'' 
Respectable, mdeed, but somewhat musty 
In these our modern nostrils. In our days, 
"^f a young baron chance to le.ave his vassal 
The sole possessor of a handsomt wife, 
'Tis sign he loves his follower ; and, if not, 
He loves his follower's wife, which often proves 
The surer bond of patronage.' Take either case : 
Favor flows in of com'se, and vassals rise. 

• MS. — " In the old tower where Niel MficLellan dwells. 

And therefore laogh no more," &c. 

3 MP — " And we are then in his power." 
3 M.I. — " He's in our power to-night." 

* Alexander, fifth Earl of Glencaim, for distinction called 

, ' The Good Earl," was among the first of the peers of Scot- 
and who concurred in the Reformation, in aid of which he 
acted a conspicuous part, in the employment both of his 
iword ard pen. In a remonstrance with the Queen Regent, 
he t4>kl her, tbu "if she violated the engagements which she 



AucH. Philip, this is infamous. 
And, what is worse, impohtic. Take example : 
Break not God's laws or m.au'sfor each tcmptatioi 
That youth and blood suggest. I am a man — 
A weak and erring man ; — full well thou know'Bt 
Thiit I may hardly term myself a pattern 
Even to my son ; — yet thus fai' will I say, 
I never swerved fi'om my integrity. 
Save at the voice of strong necessity, , 

Or such o'eqjoweriug view of high advalitage 
As wise men liken to necessity. 
In strength and force compidsive. No one saw m« 
Exchange my reputation for nij pleasure. 
Or do the Devil's work without his Wiiges. 
I practised prudence, and paid tax to virtue, 
By followmg her behests, save where strong reason 
Compell'd a deviation. Then, if preachers 
At times look'd sour, or elders shook their heads. 
They could not term ray walk uregular ; 
For I stood up still for the worthy cause, 
A pillar, though a flaw'd one, of the altar. 
Kept a strict walk, and led three himdred horse. 

Phi. Ah, these three hundred horse in stjck 
rough times 
Were better, commendation to a party 
Than aU yoiu- efforts at hypocrisy, 
Betray'd so oft by avarice and ambition. 
And dragg'd to open shame. But, righteous father 
When sire and son unite in mutual crime. 
And join then- efforts to the same enormity, 
It is no time to measm'e other's faults. 
Or fix the amovmt of each. Most moral father. 
Think if it be a moment now to weigh I 

The vices of the Heir of Aucliiudrane, f 

Or take precaution that the ancient house i 

Shall have another heir than the sly courtier 
That's gaping for the forfeiture. 

AucH. We'll disappoint liim, Phihp, — 
We'll disappoint liim yet. It is a foil}', 
A wilful cheat, to cast our eyes behind, 
Wlien tune, and the fast flitting opportunity, j 

Call loudly, nay, compel us to look forwai-d : | 

Why are we not already at MacLelhm's, j 

Since there the victim sleeps » 

Phi. Nay, soft, I pray ♦i.9* 

I had not made yom- piety my confessor. 
Nor enter'd in debate on these sage councils. 
Which you're more like to give than I to profit Ij 

had come undei to her sohjects, iher would consic er them 
selves as absolved from their allegiance to her." He wai | 
author of a satirical poem against the Roman Catholics, en- j 
titled '• The Hermit of Allateit" (Loretto). — See Sidbald'b ' 
Chronicle of Scottish Poetry.— He assisted the Reformen 
with bis sword, when they took arms at Perth, in 1559 ; had 
a principal command in the .irmy embodied against dneen 
Mary, in June, 1.567 ; and demolished the altar, broke thi 
images, tore down the pictures, &c., in the Chapel-royal ol 
Holyrood-house, after the Queen was conducted to Loci.fcvea | 

He died in 1574. ; 



Coiild I have used the time more usefully • 
But first an interval must pass between 
The fate of Queutin and the little ai'tifice 
That shall detach him from liis comrade, 
The stout old soldier that I told you of 

AuoH. How work a point so difficult — so danger- 
ous 1 

Phi. 'Tis cared for. Mark, my father, the con- 
Teryence 
Arising from mean comp:my. My agents 
Are at my hand, like a good workman's tools, 
And if I mean a mischief, ten to one 
That they anticipate the deed and guilt. 
Well knowing tliis, when first the vagrant's tattle 
Gave me the hint that Quentin was so near us, 
Instant I sent MacLellaii, with strong charges 
To stop him for the night, and bring me word. 
Like in accompUsh'd spy, how all things stood. 
Lulling the enemy into security. 

AucH. There was a prudent general ! 

Phi. MacLellan went and came within the hour. 
The jealous bee, which buzzes in his nightcap. 
Had humm'd to him, tliis fellow, Quentin Blaue, 
Had been in schoolboy days an humble lover 
Of his own prett}' wil'e 

AucH. Most fortunate 1 

The knave will be more prompt to serve our pur- 
pose. , 

Phi. No doubt on't. 'Mid the tidings he brought 
back 
Was one of some importance. The old man 
Is flush of dollars ; this I caused him tell 
Among his comrades, who bec;ime as eager 
To have him in their company, as e'er 
They had been wild to pait with him. And in 

brief space, 
A letter's framed by an old hand amongst them, 
FamiUar with such feats. It bore the name 
And character of old Montgomery, [tance. 

Whom he might well suppose at no great dis- 
Commanding his old Sergeant Hildebrand, 
By all the ties of late authority. 
Conjuring liira by ancient soldiership. 
To hasten to his mansion instantly. 
On business of high import, with a charge 
To come alone 

AucH. Well, he sets out, I doubt it not, — what 
follows ! 

Phi. I am not curious into others' practices, — 
So far I'm an economist in guilt. 
As you my sire advise. But on the road 
To old Montgomery's he meets his comrades. 
They nourish grudge against him and his dollars. 
And thuigs may hap, which counsel, learn'd in law, 
Call Robbery and Murder. Shoul 1 he hve. 
He has seen naught that we woulo hide from liim. 

Ai;cH. Who carries the forged letter to tJie 
voteran ? 



Phi. Why, Niel MacLellan, who, return'd agais 
To his own tower, as if to piias tlic night there. 
They pass'd on lihu, or tried to pass, a story, 
As if they wish'd the sergeant's company. 
Without the young comptroller's — that is Quet 

tin's. 
And he became im agent of their ph>t. 
That he might better carry on oiu- own. 

Aueii. Tliere's life in it — yes, there is life in't 
And we will have a mounted party ready 
To scour the moors in quest of the banditti 
That kiird the poor old man — they shall die in 

stantly. 
Dunbar shall see us use sharp justice here, 
As well as he in Teviotdale. You are sure 
You gave no hint nor impulse to their purpose ? 

Phi. It needed not. The whole pack oped at 
once 
Upon the scent of dollars. — But time comes 
When I must seek the tower, and act with Niel 
What farther's to be done. 

AucH. Alone with him thou goest not. He beoii 
grudge— 
Thou art my only son, and on a night 
When sucli wild p.issions are so free abroad, 
When such wUd deeds are doing, 'tis but natural 
I guarantee thy safety. — I'U ride with thee. 

Phi. E en as you will, my lord. But, pardor 
me, — 
If you will come, let us not have a word 
Of conscience, and of pity, and forgiveness ; 
Fine words to-morrow, out of place to-night. 
Take ccjim.^el then, leave all this work to mi: , 
Call up your household. mal;e fit preparation. 
In love and peace, to welcome this Earl .lusticiar 
As one tliat's free of guilt. Go, deck the c^vstle 
As for a<i honor'd guest. Hallow the chapel 
(If they have power to hallow it) with thy prayers 
Let me ride forth alone, and ere the "sun 
Comes o'er the eastern liill, thou slialt accost him 
" Now do thy worst, thou oft-returning spy. 
Here's naught tliou canst discover." 

AncH. Yet goest thou not alone with that Mac 
Lellan ! 
He deems thou bearest will to injure him. 
And seek'st occasion suiting to such wUl. 
Philip, thou art irreverent, fierce, ill-nurtured, 
Stain'd with low vices, which disgust a fathff 
Yet ridest thou not alone with vfinder ni.an, — 
Come weal, come woe, myself will go with thee 
[Ji :il, and calls to horse behind the scent 

Phi. (alone.) Now would I give my fleetest hoiM 
to know 
What sudden thought roused this paternal care. 
And if 'tis on liis own account or mine : 
'Tis true, he hath the deepest share in all 
That's hkely now to hap, or which lias liDppen'd. 
Yet strong through Nature's universal reign 



804 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The link which binds the parent to the offspring : 
The she-wolf knows it, and the tigress owns it. 
So that dark man. who, shunning what is vicious, 
Ne'er turn'd aside fi-oni .an atrocity, 
Hath still some care left for his helpless offepring. 
Therefore 'tis meet, though wayward, light, and 

stubborn, 
That I should do for him all tliat a sou 
Can do for sire — and liis dark wisdom join'd 
To influence my bold courses, 'twLU be hard 
Co break our mutual purpose. — Horses there ! 

• [Sxit. 



.ACT m— SCENE I. 

ft is moonlight. The scene is the Beach beneath the 
Tomer which was exhibited in the first scene, — 
the Vessel is gone from Iter anchorage. Auch- 
INDRANE and Philip, as if dismounted from their 
horses, come forward cautiously. 

Phi. The nags are safely stow'd. Theu' noise 
might scare him ; 
Let them be safe, and ready when we need them, 
The business is but short. We'll call MacLellan, 
To wake him, and in quiet bring him forth, 
If he be so disposed, for here are waters 
Enough to drown, and sand enough to cover him. 
But if he hesitate, or fear to meet us, 
By lieaven, I'll deal on liim in Chapeldonan 
With my own hand ! — 

AucH. Too fm'ious boy ! — .alarm or noise undoes 
us. 
Our pr.actice must be silent as 'tis sudden. 
Bethink thee that conviction of this slaughter 
Confirms the very worst of accusations 
Our foes can bring against us. Wherefore should 

vfe, 
Who by our birth and fortime mate with nobles, 
And are alhed with them, take this lad's life, — 
His peasant life, — unless to quash his evidence, 
Taking such pains to rid him from the world, 
Vcf ho would, if spared, have fix'd a crime upon us ? 

Phi. Well, I do own me one of those wise folks, 
Who think tKat when a deed of fate is plann'd. 
The execution cannot be too rapid. 
But do we still keep purpose ? Is't determined 
He sails for L-eland — and without a wherry ? 
Salt water is his passport — is it not so ? 

Ancn. I would it could be otherwise. 
Might lie not go there while in life and limb, 
And breathe liis span out in another air ? 
Many seek Ulster never to retm'n — 
Why might tliis wretched youth not harbor there ? 

Vhi. With all my heart. It is small honor to me 



To be the agent in a work like this. — 

Yet this poor caitiff, having thrust himself 

Into tlie secrets of a noble house, 

And twined himself so closely with our safety, 

That we must perish, or that lie mu«t die, 

I'll hesitate as httle on tlie action. 

As I would do to slay the animal 

Whose flesh supplies my dimier. 'Tis as hanulesi 

That deer or steer, as is this Quentin Blai'e, 

And not more necessary is its death 

To our accommodation — so we slay it 

Without a moment's pause or hesitation. <^ 

AucH. 'Tis not, my son, the feeling OAll'd re 
morse, 
That now lies tugging at this heart of mbie, 
Engendering thoughts that stop the hfted hand. 
I Have I not heard John Knox pour fortn cis thun 
ders 
Against the oppressor and the man of "oiood, 
In accents of a minister of vengeance i 
Were not his fiery eyeballs turn'd on me, 
As if he said expressly, "Thou'rt the man!" 
Yet did my solid purpose, as I listen'd, 
Remain unsh.aken as that massive rock. 

Phi. Well, then, I'll understand 'tis not re- 
morse, — 
As 'tis a foible httle known to thee,— 
That interrupts thy purpose. Wliat, then, is it ? 
Is't scorn, or is't compassion ? One thing's certain 
Either tlie feeling must have free indulgence. 
Or fully be subjected to your reason — 
There is no room for tliese same treacherous courses 
Which men call moderate measures. 
We must confide in Quentin, or must slay him 

AucH. In Ireland he might Uve afar from us. 

Phi. Among Queen Mary's faitliful partisaiis. 
Your ancient enemies, the haughty Hamiltons, 
The stern MacDonnells, the resentful Griemes — 
With these around him, and witli Cassilis' death 
Exasperating them against you, thuik, my father, 
What chiince of Quentin's silence. 

AucH. Too true — too true. He is a silly youth, 
too. 
Who had not wit to shift for his own Uving — 
A bashful lover, whom his rivals laugh'd at — 
Of pliant temper, which companions play'd on — 
A moonlight, waker, and a noontide dreamer — 
A torturer of phrases into sonnets, — 
Whom all might lead that chose to praise hia 
rhymes. 

Phi. I marvel that your memory Jias room 
To liold so much on such a worthless subject. 

AucH. Base in himself, and yet so strangely link'd 
With me and with my fortunes, that I've studied 
To read him through and through, as I would read 
Some pjiltry rhyme of vulgar prophecy. 
Said to contain the fortunes of my house ; 
And, let me speak liim truly — He is grateful. 



AUOiK^DUANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



803 



Kind, tractable, obedient — a cliild 

Miglit lead liiin by a thread — lie sl'.all not die 1 

PnL Indeed ! — then have we had our midnight 
ride 
To wondrous little purpose. 

Aocn By the blue heaven. 

Thou shalt not murder him, cold selfi.fh sensualist I 
Yon pure vault speaks it — yonder summer moon. 
With its ten million sparklers, cries, Forbear ! 
The deep earth sighs it forth — Thou shalt not 

murder ! — 
Thou shalt not mar the image of thy Maker 1 
Thou shalt not from thy brother take the life. 
The precious gift which God alone ciui give ! — 

Phi. Here is a worthy gUerdon now, for stuffing 
His memory with old saws and holy sayings ! 
Tliey come upon him in tlie very crisis, 
And when his resolution should be firmest. 
They shake it like a palsy — Let it be. 
He'll end at last by yielding to temptation. 
Consenting to the thing which must be done, 
With more remorse the more he hesitates. — 

\_To Ilia Fiithery who has stood Jixed after 
his last speech. 
Well, sir, 'tis fitting you resolve at last. 
How the young clerk shall be disposed upon ; 
Unless you would ride home to Auchindrane, 
kwA bid them rear the Maiden in the court-yard, 
riiat when Dunbar comes, he have naught to do 
3ut bid us kiss the cushion and tne headsman. 

Acca It H too true — There is no safety for us, 
Consistent with the unhappy wretch's life ! 
In Ireland he is sure to find my enemies. 
Arran I've proved — the Netherlands I've tried. 
But wilds and wars return him on my hands. 

Pm. Yet fear not, father, we'll make surer work ; 
The land has caves, the sea has wliirlpools. 
Where that which they suck in returns no more. 

Anou. I will know naught of it, hard-hearted boy ! 

Phi. Hard-hearted I Why — my heart is soft as 
yours ; 
But then they must not feel remorse at once. 
We can't afford such wasteful tenderness : 
I can mouth forth remorse as well as you. 
Be executioner, and I'll be chaplain. 
And say as mild and moving things as you can ; 
But one of us must keep his steely temper. 

AucH. Do thou the deed — I cannot look on it. 

Phi. So be it — walk with me — MacLellan brings 
him. 
The boat lies moor'd within that reach of rock, 
Ajid 'twiU require our greatest strength combined 
To launch it from the beach. Meantime, MacLc^Uan 
Brings our man hither. — See the twmkling light 
That glances in the tower. 

AucH. Let us withdraw — ^for should he spy us 
suddenly, 
He may suspect us, and alarm the family. 



Phi. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and con 
■fidence. 
Bought witli a few sweet words and welcomes 
home. 
AucH. But tluidi you that the Ranger may be 

trusted ! 
Phi. I'll answer f6r liim, — Let's go float lY' 
shallop. 

\Tlicy (fo off, and as thn/ leave the Sta^i'. 

M.\cLkllan is seen dcsecndinff frmn tin 

?'o«'cr wi^AQuENTiN. The former bears a 

dark lantern. Thei/ come upon the Staye. 

Mac. (shoiving the liefht.) So — bravely done — 

that's the last ledge of rocks, 

And we are on the sands. — I have broke your 

slumbers 
Somewhat untimely. 

Que. Do not think so, friend. 

These six years past I have been used to stir 
When the reveille rung ; and that, believe me. 
Chooses the hours for rousing me at random, 
And, having given its summon.s, yields no license 
To indulge a second slmnber. Nay, more, I'll tell 

thee. 
That, like a pleased cliild, I was e'en too happy 
For sound repose. 

Mac. The greater fool were you. 

Men should enjoy the moments given to slumbei 
For who can tell how soon may be the waking. 
Or where we shall have leave to sleep again ? 
Que. The God of Slumber comes not at con> 
mand. 
Last night the blood danced merry through mj 

veins : 
Instead of finding this our land of Carrick 
The dreary waste my fears had apprehended, 
I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter, . 
And had a brother's welcome ; — saw thee, too, 
Renew'd my early friend.sliip with you both. 
And felt once more that I had friends and country 
So keen the joy that tingled tlirough my system, 
Join'd with the searching powers of yonder wine. 
That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, 
Althougli my hostess smooth'd my couch herself 
To cool my brow upon this mo.'nligbt beacK 
Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. 
Such scenes are wont to soothe me into melancholj. 
But such the hurry of my spirits now. 
That every thing I look on makes me laugh. 
Mac. I've seen but few so gamesome, Mastei 
Quentin, 
Being roused from sleep so suddably as you were 
Que. Why, there's the jest on't. Your old ca» 
tie's haunted. 
In vain the host — in vain the lovely hostess, 
In kind addition to all means of rest, 
Add their best wishes f(jr our sound repose, 
Wlien some hobgoblin brings a pressing message 



806 



SCOTT'S POjSTICAL WORKS. 



Montgomery presently must see hia sergeant, 
And up gets Hildebrand, and off he trudges. 
I can't but laugh to think upon the grin 
With wliich he doff d the kerchief he had twisted 
Around his brows, and put liis morion on — 
Ha! ha! ha! ha! 

M.ic. I'm glad to see you merry, Quentin. 

Que. Wliy, faith, my spirits are but transitory, 
And you may Uve with me a month or more. 
And never see me smile. Then some such trifle 
As yonder little maid of yours would laugh at, 
Will serve me for a theme of merriment— r 
Even now, I scarce can keep my gravity ; 
We were so snugly settled in om' quarters, 
With full intent to let the sun be high 
Ere we. should leave our beds — and first the one 
And then the other's summon'd briefly forth. 
To the old tune, " Black Bandsmen, up and march !" 

Mao. Well ! you shall sleep anon — rely upon it — 
And make up time misspent. Meantime, methinks. 
You are so merry on your broken slumbers. 
You ask'd not why I call'd you. 
• QtTE. I can guess. 

You lack my aid to search the weir for seals. 
You lack my company to stalk a deer. 
Think you I have forgot your silvan tasks, 
Which oft you have permitted me to share. 
Till days that we were rivals ? 

Mac. You have memory 

Of that too ?— 

Que. Like the memory of a dream. 

Delusion far too exquisite to last. 

Mao. You guess not then for what I call you forth. 
It was to meet a friend—^ 

Que. "Wliat friend ? Thyself excepted. 
The good old man who's gone to see Montgomery, 
And one to whom I once gave dearer title, 
I know not in wide Scotland man or woman 
Whom I could name a friend. 

Mac. • Thou art mistaken. 
Tliere is a Baron, and a powerful one 

Que. There flies my fit of mirth. You hare a 
grave 
And alter'd man before you. 

Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause for 
fear, — 
He will and must speak with you. 

Que. Spare me the meeting, Niel, I Ciinnot see 
him. 
Say, Vm just landed on my native earth ; 
Say, that I Tvill not cumber it a day ; 
Say, that my wretched thread of poor existence 
Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile. 
Where never memory of .so mean a thing 
Again shall cross his path — but do not ask me 
To see or speak again with that dark man I 

Mac. Ycuv fears are now as fooUsh as your 
niu'th — ■ 



What should the powerful Knight of Auchindrana 
In common have with such a man as thou ? 

Que. No matter what — Enough, I will not sea 

him. 
Mac. He is thy master, and he claims obedience. 
Que. My master ! Ay, my task-master — Evel 
since 
I could write man, his hand hath been upon me ; 
No step I've made but cumber'd with his chain. 
And I am weary on't — I wiU not see him. 

Mac. You must and shall — there is no remedy. 
Que. Take heed that you compel me not to find 
one. 
Tve seen the wars since we had strife together ; 
To put my late experience to the test 
Were something dangerous — Ha, I'm betray'd 1 

[ While the latter part of this dialogue it 
passing, Auchindeane and Philip en 
ter on the Stage frmn behind, and sud- 
denly present themselves. 
AucH. What says the rimagate ? 
Que. (laying aside all appearance of resistance,] 
, Nothing, you are my fate ; 
And in a shape more fearfully resistless. 
My evil angel could not stand before me. 

AcoH. And so you scruple, slave, at my com 
maud. 
To meet me when I deign to ask thy presence ! 
Que. No, sir ; I liad forgot — I am your bonil 
slave ; 
But sure a passing thought of independence. 
For which I've seen whole nations doing battle. 
Was not, in one who has so long enjoy'd it, 
A crime beyond forgiveness. 

AucH. We shall see : 

Thou wert my vassal, bom upon my land. 
Bred by my bounty — It concern'd me highly, 
Thou know'st it did — and yet against my charge 
Again I find thy wortlilessness in Scotland. 

Que. Alas ! the wealthy and the powerful know 
not 
How very dear to those who have least share in'<» 
Is that sweet word of country I The poor exile 
Feels, in each action of the varied day. 
His doom of banishment. Tlie very air 
Cools not liis brow as in his native land ; 
The scene is strange, the food is loathly to bim ; 
The language, nay, the music jars his ear.* 
Why should I, guiltless of the slightest crime, 
Sufi'er a punishment which, sparing life. 
Deprives that life of all which men hold dear f 

AucH. Hear ye the serf I bred, begin to reckon 
Upon his rights and pleasure I Who am I — 
Thou abject, who am I, whose will thou thwartesti 
Phi. Well spoke, my pious sire. There goes r» 
morse ! 

1 MS. — " The strains of foreign music jar hia ear." 



AUCfllNDRANE; OR. THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



8or 



Lot onco thy jirecious pride tak| fire, and then, 
UacLelliin, you and I may have small trouble. 
Que. Your words are deadly, and your power 
resistless ; 
Fm in your hands — but, surely, less than life 
May give you the security you seek, 
Without commission of a mortal crime. 
Avcs Who i.s't would deign to think upon thy 
life! 
I but require of thee to speed to Ireland, 
Where thou m-ay'st sojjUrr. for some little space, 
Having due menus of living dealt to thee. 
And when it suits the changes of the times, 
PcrmiBsion to return. 

QoE. N.'ble my lord, 

I am too weak to combat with your pleasure ; 
Tet, 0, for mercy's sake, and for the sake 
Of that dear land which is our common mother. 
Let me not part in darkness from my country ! 
Pass but an hour or two, and every cape, 
Headland, and bay, shall gleam with new-born 

light, 
A rid I'll take boat as gayly as the bird 
That soars to meet the morning. 
Grant me but this — to show no darker thoughts 
Are on your heart than those your speech ex- 
presses ! 
Pht. a modest favor, friend, is this you a.9k ! 
Are we to pace the beach like watermen. 
Waiting youi worsliip's pleasure to take boat ? 
No, by my faith ! you go upon the instant. 
The boat lies ready, and the ship receives you 
N'ear to the point of Turnberry. — Come, we wait 

you ; 
Bestir you ! 

Que. I obey. — Then farewell, Scotland, 

And Heaven forgive my sins, and grant that mercy. 
Which mortal man deserves not ! 

AucH. {xpeaJcx aside to his Son.) What signal 
Shall let me know 'tis done ? 

Phi. Wlien the light is quench'd. 

Your fears for Quentin Blane are at an end.— 
[To Que.) Come, comrade, come, we must begin 
our voyage. 
Que. But when, when to end it ! 

[He ffoes off rclw:taiitly with PHrLiP and 
MacLellan. Auchindr^vxe stands look- 
ing aft^ the:n. The moon becomes over- 
clouded, and the Staye dfirk. Auchin- 
iiF^A'S^,f/iho has (fazedjizedlt/ and^afjerly 
after those who have left the Stage, be- 
roipes animated, aiid speaks. 
AucH, It is no fallacy ! — The night is dark, 
W^ moon has sunk before the deepening clouds; 

.MS. * my antipathy, 

Strong scarce of inwani hate, arose within me. 
Seeing its ohject was within ray reach. 
And sr^rcelr coald forbear." 



I cannot on the mn:ky beach distinguish 

The shallop from the rocks which lie beside it • 

I cannot sec tall Philip's floating plume, 

Nor trace the sullen brow of Niel MacLellau ; 

Yet still that caitiff's visage is before me. 

With chattering teeth, niazeil look, .ind briitliii^ 

hair. 
As he stood here tliis moment ! — Have I changed 
My human eyes for those of some niglit prowler. 
Tlie wolf's, the tiger-cat's, or the hoarse bird's 
That spies its prey at midnight ? I can see 'lim— 
Yes, I cm see liifn, seeing no one else, — 
And well it is I do so. In his absence. 
Strange thoughts of pity mingled with my purpose. 
And moved remorse within me — But they vanish'd 
Whene'er he stood a living man before me ; 
Then my antipathy awaked within me.- 
Seeing its object close within my reach. 
Till I could scarce forbear him.' — How they linger 1 
The boat's not yet to sea ! — I ask myself, 
What has the poor wretch done to wake my ha 

tred— 
Docile, obedient, and in sufferance patient? — 
As well demand what evil has the hare 
Done to the hound that courses her in sport. 
Instinct infaUible supplies the reason — 
And that must plead my cause. — The vision's goiie I 
Tlieir boat now walks the waves ; a single gkara, 
Now seen, now lost, is all that m.arks her courae ; 
That soon shall vanish too — then .all is over I — 
Would it were o'er, for in this moment lies 
The agony of ages !' — Now, 'tis gone — 
And all is acted ! — no — she breasts again 
The opposing wave, and bears the tiuy sparkle 
Upon her crest — 

\_A faint cry heard as from seaward 
Ah ! there was fatal evidence, 
All's over now, indeed !^The light is quench'd — 
And Quentin, source of all my fear, exists not. — 
The morning tide shall sweep his corpse to sea, 
And hide all memory of tliis stcui night's work. 

\^Hev:alks in a slowani' dreply meditative 
manner towards the ^ide of the Stage, 
and suddenly meets M VRIOM, the wife oj 
MacLellan, who ho^ descended from 
the Castle. 
Now, how to meet Dunbar — Heaven guard ibj 

senses I 
Stand I who goes there ? — Do spirits w.alk the eartl 
Ere yet they've left the body ! 

Mar. Is it you. 

My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour ! 

AucH. It is MacLellan's wife, in search of hiw 
Or of her lover — of the murderer, 

2 " In that moment, o'er his sonl 

Wintere of memory seem'd to roll." 

BvRor* — The CHanr 



Or of the murder'd man. — Go to, Dame Marion, 
Men have theii' hunting-gear to give an eye to, 
Their snares and trackings for their game. But 
women 
■ Should shun tlie night air. A young wife also. 
Still more a handsome one, should keep her piUow 
Till the sun gives example for her wakening. 
Come, dame, go back — back to your bed again. 

ilAK. Hear me, my lord ! there have been sights 
and sounds 
That terrified my child and me — Groans, screams, 
As if of dying seamen, came frofti oceat — 
A corpse-light danced upon the crested waves 
For several minutes' space, then suuk at once. 
When we retired to rest we had two guests, 
Besides my Imsband Niel — I'U tell your lordship 
Who the men were 

AucH. Pshaw, woman, can you think 

That I have any interest in your gossips ? 
Please yom' own husband, and that you may please 

him, 
Get thee to bed, and shut up doors, good dame. 
Were I MacLellan, I sliould scarce be satisfied 
To find thee wandering here in mist and moonUght, 
When silence should be in thy habitation. 
And sleep upon thy pillow. 

Mae. Good my lord. 

This is a holyday. — By an ancient custom 
Our children seek the shore at break of day 
And gatlier shells, and dance, and play, and sport 

them 
in honor of the Ocean. Old men say 
The custom is derived from heathen times. Our 

Isabel 
Is mistress of the feast, and you may think 
She is awake already, and impatient 
To be the first shall stand upon the beach, 
And bid the sun good-morrow. 

AucH. Ay, indeed I 

Linger such dreg> of heathendom among you i 
And hath Knox j>reach'd, and Wishart died, in 

vain? 
Take notice, I forbid these sinful practices. 
And will not have my followers mingle in them. 

Mak. If such your honor's pleasure, I must go 
And lock the door on Isabel ; she is wilful, 
And voice of mine will have small force to keep hei 
From the amusement she so long has ckeara'd of. 
But I must teU your honor, the old people, 
That were survivors of the former race. 
Prophesied evil if this day should pass 
Without due homage to the mighty Ocean. 

AucH. Folly and Papistry — Perhaps the ocean 
Hath had liis morning sacrifice already ; 
Or can you think the di'eadful element, 
Whose frown is death, whose roar the dirge of 

navies, 
Will miss the idle pageant you prepare for ? 



Tve business for,you, too — the dawn advances— 
rd have thee lock thy little cliild in safety. 
And get to Auchindrane before the sun rise* 
I Tell them to get a royal banquet ready, 
As if a king were coming there to feast him. 
Mah. I will obey your pleasin*e. But my hiis 

band 

AncH. I wait him on the beach, andb:inf;himil 
To share the banquet. 

Mak. But he has a fr'jrd, 

Whom it would ill become him to int"- jf'.a 
Upon your hospitaUty. 

AncH. Fear not ; his friend shall bi made wel 
come too, 
Should he return with Niel. 

Mar. He must — he will return — htj has no op 

tion. 
AucH. (Apart.) Tlius raslily do we deem ol 
others' destiny — 
He has indeed no option — but he comes not. 
Begone on thy commission — I go this way 
To meet thy husband. 

[Marion goes to her 7hwer, and after en 
tering it, is seen to come out, lock the 
door, and leave the Stage, as if to execute 
Aucuindrane's commission. He, ap- 
parently going off in a different direc 
tion, has watched her from, the side oj 
the Stage, and on Iter departure speaks, 
AncH. Fare thee well, fond woman, 
Most dangerous of spies — thou prying, prating, 
Spying, and telling woman ! Tve cut short 
Thy dangerous testimony — Iiated word 1 
What other evidence have we cut sliort, 
And by what fated means, this dreary morning ! — 
Bright lances here and helmets ? — I must shift 
To join the others. [Mxit 

Enter from the other side the Sergeant, accompa- 
nied with an Officer and two Pikemen. 

Seb. 'Twas in good time you came ; a minute 
later 
Tlie knaves had ta'cn my doUars and my Ufe. 

Off. You fought most stoutly. Two of tben 
were down 
Ere we came to your aid. 

See. Gramercy, halber . 

And well it liappens, since your leader seeks 
This Quentui Blane, that you have iivll'n on me ; 
None else can surely tell you where he hides. 
Being in some fear, and bent to quit this province 

Off. 'Twill do our Earl good service. He hai 
Bent 
Dispatches into Holland for this Quentin. 

See. I left him two hours since in yonder tower 
Under the guard of one who s.-noothly spoke. 
Although he look'd but roughly — I will chide hiia 
For bidding me go fjrth with yonder traitor. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



SOB 



Off. Assure yourself 'twas a concerted strata- 
gem. 
Montgomery's been at Holyrood for months, 
And Cixn biive sent no letter — 'twas a plan 
On you and on your dollars, and a base one, 
To which this Ranger was most likely piivy ; 
Such men as he hang on our fiercer barons, 
The ready agents of their lawless will ; 
Boy? of the belt, who aid theii' master's pleasures. 
And in hi? moods ne'er scruple his injunc'.ions. 
But haste, for now we must unkennel Quentin ; 
Fve strictest charge concerning liim. 

See. Go up, then, to the tower. ' 

You've younger hmbs than mine — there shall you 

lind him 
Lounging and snoring, like a l.izy cur 
Btfjre a stable door ; it is his practice. 

[nie Officer r/oes up to the Tovier, and 
after knocking without receiving an 
answer, ttii^ns the key which Marion 
had left in the lock, and enters ; Isabel, 
dressed as if for h&f dance, nats out 
and descends to the Stage ; the Officer 
follows. 
v>FF. Tliere's no one in the house, this little 
maid 

Excepted 

IsA. And for me, I'm there no longer. 

And will not be again for three hours good : 
I'm gone to join my playmates on the sands. 
Off. {detainimj her.) You shall, when you have 
told to me distinctly 
Where are the guests who slept up there last night. 
IsA. Why, there is the old man, he stands beside 
you. 
The merry old man, with the glistening hair ; 
He left the tower at miduisfht, for my father 
Brought liim a letter. 

See. In ill hour I left you, 

[ wish to Heaven that I had stay'd with you ; 
There is a n.imeless horror that conies o'er me. — 
Speak, pretty maiden, tell us wh^ chanced next. 
And thou shalt have thy freedom. 

IsA. After you went last night, my father 
Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes. 
Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do 
Wlien theie is aught to chafe him. Until past 

midnight, 
He wauder'd to and fro, then call'd the stranger. 
The gav young man, that sung such merry songs, 
Fet ever look'd most sadly whilst he sung them. 
And forth they went together. 

Off. And you've seen 

Or heard naught of them since ? 

IsA. Seen surely nothing, and I o<vnnot think 
That they have lot or share in what I heard. 
I h jard my mother praying, for the corpse-lights 
Wi re dancing on the waves ; and at one o'clock, 



Just as the Abbey steeple toU'd the knell, 
There was a heavy plunge upon the waters, 
And some one cried aloud for mercy ! — mercy 
It was the water-spirit, sure, which promised 
Mercy to boat and ii.^herman, if we 
Perform'd to-day's rites duly. Let me go— 
I am to lead the ring. 

Off. (to Ser.) Detain her not. She cannot tell 

us more ; 
To give her hberty is the sure way 
To lure her parents homeward. — Strahan, take tw<! 

men, 
And should the father or the mother come. 
Arrest them both, or either. Auclundrane 
May come upon the beach ; arrest him also. 
But do not state a cause. I'll back again. 
And take directions from my Lord Dunbar. 
Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye 
To all that passes there. 

[Exeunt sepurateln 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes tc a remote and rocky part of cm 
Sea-beach. 

Enter Avcbi^d^ane, meeting Philip. 

AnoH. The devil's brought his legions to tlm 
beach. 
That wont to be so lonely ; morions, lances, 
Show in the morning beam as thick as glow 

worms 
At summer midnight. 

Phi. I'm right glad to see them. 

Be they whoe'er they may, so they are mortal ■ 
For I've contended with a hfeless foe. 
And I hiive lost the battle. I would give 
A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel 
Ring on a mortal harness. 

AucH. How now ! — Art mad, or hast thou dooa 
the turn — 
The turn we came for, and must hve or die by i 

Phi. 'Tis done, if man can do it ; but I doubt 
If tliis unhappy wretch ha^e He-aven's permission 
To die by mortal hands. 

Aucu. Wliere is he ? — where < MacLellan ? 

Pui. In the deep- 

Both in the deep, and what's immortal of them 
Gone to the judgment-seat, where we must meal 
them. 

AucH. MacLellan dead, and Quentin too ? — is* 
belt 
To all that menace ill to Aucliindrane, 
Or have the power to injure him I — Thy worda 
Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look 



81fi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lI.iTO in this pallid gloom a gliastliness, 
VVliiiih contradicts the tidings of thy tcague.' 

i'rn. Hear me, old man. — There is a heaven 
above us, 
A.-^ you have hoard qld Knox and Wishart preach, 
Tlwugli little to your boot. The dreaded witness 
U slain, and silent. But his misused body 
Conies right ashore, as if to cry for vengeance ; 
It rides the waters like a living tliing,'' 
Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear liim. 

Aeon. Thou speakest phrensy, when sense is 
most required. 

Phi. IIciu- me yet more I — I say I did the deed 
With all the coolness of a practised hunter 
When deaUiig with a stag. I struck liim over- 
board, 
And with MacLellan'.« aid I held his head 
Under the waters, while the Ranger tied 
The weights we had provided to liis feet. 
We cast him loose when Ufe and body parted. 
And bid him speed for Ireland. But even then, 
As in defiance of the words we spoke, 
Tlie body rose upright behind our stern. 
One half in ocean, and one half in air. 
And tided after as in chase of us.' 

AucH. It was enchantment! — Did you strike at 
it? 

Phi. Once and again. But blows avaU'd no more 
Tljan on a wreath of smokq, where they may break 
The column for a moment.'which unites 
And is entire again. Thus the dead body 
Sunk down before my oar, but rose unharm'd. 
And' dogg'd us closer still, as in defiance. 

AncH. 'Twas Hell's own work ! 

Phi. MacLellan then grew restive 

And desperate in his fear, blasphemed aloud. 
Cursing us both as authors of his ruin. 
Myself was wellnigh frantic while pursued 
By this dead shape, upon whose ghastly features 
Tlie changeful moonbeam spread a grisly light ; 
And, baited thus, I took the nearest way* 
To ensure his silence, and to quell hisnoise ; 

'* This man's brow, like to a title leaf. 

Foretells the nature of a tragic volume ; 

Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 

[s apter than Ihy tongae to tell thy errand." 

2d Kivg He-nry IV. 

> ' Walks the waters like a thing of life." 

Byron — The Corsair, 

s This passage was probably suggested by a striking one in 
Kloutliey's Life of Nelson, touching the corpse of the Neapoli- 
tan Prince Caraccioli, executed on hoard the Foudroyant, then 
the great British Admiral's flag-ship, in the hay of Naples, in 
1799. The circumstances of Caraccioli's trial and death form, 
't is almost needless to observe, the most unpleasant chapter in 
Lord Nelson's history : — 

"The body," says Soathey, "was carried out to a con- 
liderable distance and snnk in the bay, with three double- 
beaded shot, weighing two hundred and tifty pounds, tied to 



I used my dagger, and I flung him overIy>ard, 

And half expected his dead carcass also 

Would join the chase — but he sunk down at once. 

AucH. He had enough of mortal sin about him, 
To sink an argosy. 

Phi. But now resolve you what defence to make 
If Quentin's body shall be recognized : 
For 'tis ashore already ; and he bears 
Marks of my handiwork ; so does MacLellan. 

Adch. The concom'se thickens stiU — Away, 
away I 
We must avoid the multitude. 

[^T/ici/ rush out 



SCENE III. 

Scene changes to another part of the Beach. Chil- 
dren are seen dancing, and ViUagcrs looking o9U 
Isabel seeins to take the management of thi 
Dance. 

ViL. WoM. How well shr ''■..ee' j it, the brave 

little maiden ! 
ViL. Ay, they all quT < it friiu their very 
cradle. 
These willing slaves of ',/,u^oty Auchindrane. 
But now I hear the old rr,ari s reign is ended ; — 
'Tis well — he has been '^yraut U)ng enough. 

Second Vil. Finlay, speak low, you interrupt 

the sports. 
Third Vil. Look out to sea — There's something 
commg yonder. 
Bound for the beach, will scare us from our mirth. 
FoUETH Vii.. Pshaw, it is. but a sea-gull on the 
wing. 
Between the wave and sky. 

Thied Vil. Thou art a fool, 

Standing on solid land — 'tis a dead body. 

Second Vil. And if it be, he bears him like a 
Uve ona^ 

its legs. Between two or three >rseks aftervards, when the 
King (of Naples) was or board the Foriuroyaiit, a Neapolitan 
fisherman came to t'.e ship and so'ciunly declared, that 
Caraccioli had risec f'O i *].r bo'.LOm of th*: sea, and was com- 
ing as fast as he c:>i .<' to Napbs, swimming half out of the 
water. Such an 'j' •' »t was listened to like a tale of idle 
credulity. The h'/'»'ing fair, Nelson, to please the King, 
stood out to sea ; hj* t\e ship had not proceeded far before a 
body was distine'.y s;en, upright in the water, and onnroach- 
ing them. It v-^ii recognized, indeed, to be the corpse oi 
Caraccioli. which had risen and floated, while the great 
weights attached to the legs kept the body in a position like 
that of a living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished th« 
King, and perhaps excited some feelings of superstitious fear 
akin to regret. He gave permission for the body to be taken ov 
shore, and receive Christian burial." — Life of J^elnon, chap 
vi. 
* MS — " And, baited by mv slavA I used mv dagger *• 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



en 



Not prone and weltering like a drowned corpse, 
But bolt erect, as if lie trode the waters. 
And used them as his path. 

Fourth Vil. It is a merman. 

And nothing of this earth, alive or dead. 

[By degrees all the Dancers break off 
from their sport, and stand gazing to 
seaward, while an object, imperfectly 
seen, drifts toivards the Beach, and at 
le-.-gth arrives among the rocks which 
border the tide. 
Tbisd Vil. Perhaps it is some wretch who needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper, make in and see. 

Second Vil. Not I, my friend ; 

E'en take the risk yourself, you'd put on others. 

[HiLDEBRAND has entered, and heard the 
two last words. 
Ser. What, are you men ? 
Fear ye to look on what you must be one day ? 
I, who have seen a thousand dead and dying 
Within a flight-shot square, will teach you how in 

war 
We look upon the corpse when life has left it. 

[^Hc goes to the back scene, and seems at- 
tempting to turn the body, which has 
come ashore with its face downwards. 
Will none of you come aid to turn the body ? 
IsA. You're cowards all. — I'll help thee, good old 
man. 

[She goes to aid the Sergeant with the 
body, and presently gives a cry, and 
faints. HiLDEBRAND comes forward. 
All crowd round him ; he speaks with 
an expression of horror. 
Seb. 'Tis Quentin Blane ! Poor youth, his gloomy 
bodings 
Have been the prologue to an act of darkness ; 
His feet are manacled, his bosom stabb'd. 
And he is foully murder'd. The proud Knight 
And his dark Ranger must have done tliis deed. 
For which po common ruffian could have motive. 
A Pea. Caution 'tvere best, old man — Thou art 
a str,anger, 
rbe Knight is great and powerful. 

See. Let it be so. 

Uall'd on by Heaven to stand forth an avenger, 
I iTill not blench for feiu- of mortal man. 
Hi^e I not seen that when that innocent 

I MS.—'* Ilis Dnblooded wounds," &c. 

« " The poet, in liia play of Anchiudrane, displayed real 
««gic power, and soothed all those who cried out before fir a 
IQOie direct story, and less of the retrospective. Several o' tlie 
Icenes at conceived and executed with all the powen of the 



Had placed her hands upon the murder'd body. 
His gaping wounds,' that erst were soak'd with 

brine. 
Burst forth with blood as ruddy as the cloud 
Wliich now the sun doth rise on ? 

Pea. What of that ! 

See. Nothing that can affect the innocent child, 
But murder's guilt attaching to her father. 
Since the blood musters in the victim's veins 
At the approach of what holds lease from him 
Of all that parents can transmit to children. 
And here comes one to whom I'll vouch the cir 
cumstance. 

The Eakl of Ddnbae enters with Soldiers aiid oth- 
ers, having Auchindrane and Philip prisoners. 
Dux. Fetter the young riiffian and his trait'rous 
father 1 

[They are made secure 
AjjCH. 'Twas a lord spoke it — I have known a 
knight, 
Sii' George of Home, who had not dared to say sc. 
Dun, 'Tis Heaven, not I, decides upon your guilt 
A harmless youth is traced within your power. 
Sleeps in your Ranger's house — his friend at mid- 
night 
Is spirited away. Then lights are seen. 
And groans are heard, and corpses come ashore 
Mangled with daggers, while (to Philip) your aai> 

ger wears 
The sanguine livery of recent slaughter : 
Here, too, the body of a murder'd victim 
(Whom none but you had interest to remove) 
Bleeds on the cliild's approach, because the daughtei 
Of one the abettor of the wicked deed. 
All tills, and other proofs corroborative. 
Call on us briefly to pronounce the doom 
We have in charge to utter. 

Ancn. If my house perish, Heaven's will be done 
I wish not to survive it ; but, Philip, 
Would one could pay the ransom for us both 1 

Phi. Father, 'tis fitter that we both should di • 
Leaving no heir behind. — The piety 
Of a bless'd saint, the morals of an anchorite, 
Could not atone thy dark hypocrisy. 
Or the wild profligacy I have practised. 
Ruin'd our house, and shatter'd be our towers. 
And with them end the curse our sins have mer 
itedl" 

best parts of ' Waverley.' The verse, too, is mor<* roogh, natu- 
ral, and nervoas, than that of ' flalidon Hill , Doi. noble ai 
tlie effort \*as, it was eclipse-I so much by his splendiJ «'»maii' 
ces, tJmt the public still complained thai hp l""' "ot oone hll 
best, and that his geniaa was not dramatic." — Allan Cuit 
M1NOHA.U. — Athenaum, 14th Dec, X833. 



A TRAGEDY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

This aiitmpt at dramatic composition was exe- 
cuted nearly thirty years since, -n-hea tlie magnifi- 
cent Works of Goethe and Scliiller were for the 
first time made known to the British public, and 
received, as many now alive must remember, with 
universal enthusiasm. What we admire we usually 
attempt to imitate ; and the author, not trusting 
to his own efforts, borrowed the substance of the 
story and a part of the diction from a dramatic 
romance called " Der Heilige Vehme" (the Secret 
Tribunal), wliich fills the sixth volume of tlie " Sa- 
gen der Vorzeit" (Tales of Antiquity), by Beit 
Weber. The drama must be termed rather a rifa- 
cimento of the original than a translation, since the 
whole is compressed, and the incidents and dia- 
logue occasionally much varied. The imitator is 
ignorant of the real name of his ingenious contem- 
porary, and has been informed that of Beit Weber 
is fictitious.' 

The late Mr. John Kemble at one time had some 
desire to bring out the play at Drury-Lane, then 
adorned by himself and his matchless sister, who 
were to have supported the characters of the un- 
happy son and mother : but great objections ap- 
peared to this proposal. There was danger that 
the main-spring of the story, — the binding engage- 
ments formed by members of the secret tribunal, — 
might not be suflnciently felt by an English audi- 
ence, to whom the nature of that singularly mys- 
terious institution was unknown from *arly associ- 
ation. There was also, according to Mr. KemUe's 
experienced opinion, too much blood, too much of 
the dire catastrophe of Tom Thumb, when ail die 
jn the stage. It was, besides, esteemed perilous to 
place the fifth act and the parade and show of the 
secret conclave, at the mercy of underlings and 
fcene-shifters, who, by a ridiculous motion, gesture, 
or accent, might turn what should be grave into 
farce. 

The author, or rathtr the translator, willingly 
acquiesced in this reasoning, and never afterwards 

1 George VViicliter, who published varions works nnder the 
pseadonyiB of Veit fVeber,_wa3 born in 1763, and died in 1837. 
—Ed 



made any attempt to gain the honor of the busKm 
The Germ.in taste also, caricatured by a numbei 
of imitators who, incapable of copying tlie sublim- 
ity of the great masters of the scliool, supplied its 
place by extravagance and bombast, fell into dis- 
repute, and received a coup d^ grace from th^ joint 
efforts of the late lamented Mr. Canning and Mr. 
Frere. The effect of their singulaily happy piece 
of ridicule called " Tlie Rovers," a mock play wliicb 
appeared in the Anti-Jacobin, was, that the Ger- 
man school, with its beauties and its defects, passed 
completely oui of fashion,' and the foUowiug scenes 
were consigned to neglect and obscurity. Very 
lately, however, the writer chanced to look them 
over with feelings very different from those of the 
adventurous period of his literary life durir.g which 
they had been written, and yet with such as per- 
haps a reformed Ubertine might regai-d the ille- 
gitimate production of an early amour. There is 
sometliing to be ashamed of, certainly ; but, after 
all, patern.al vanity whispers that the child has a 
resemblance to the father. 

To this it need only be added, that there are in 
existence so many manuscript copies of the foUow- 
mg play, tlial if it should not find its way to the 
public sooner, it is certain to do so when the author 
can no liiore iiave any opportunity of correcting 
the i^rtss, and consequently at greater disatlvantage 
th.m at present. Being of too small a size or con- 
sequence for a separate publication, the piece is 
g.ent as a contribution to the Keepsake, where ita 
demerits may be hidden amid the beayties of more 
valuable articles." 

ABBOTstoED, 1st April, 1829. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



RuDiGER, Baron of Aspen, an old German marriol 

George of Aspen, J ., r> j- 

y sons to Kudiqer. 
IIenhy of Aspen, ^ 



2 See Life of Scott, vci. 
il.BOS. 



pages 13, 20, 72: iii S 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



sro' 



RoDEnio, Cmmt of Maltingen, chief of a department 
of the Invisible Tribunal, and the hereditary ene- 
m>f of the family of Aspen. 

William, Baron of Wolfstein, ally of Count Rod- 
eric. 

Bertram of Ebersdoef, brother to the former hus- 
band of the Haroness of Aspen, disguised as a 
minstrel. 

OuKE OF Bavaria. 

R ICKERD i 

., _ ' i followers of the House of AapeTi. 

CoNKAD, Paffe of Honor to Henry of Aspen. 
Martin, Squire to George of Aspen, 
Hugo, Squire to Count liodcric. 
Petek, an ancient domestic of Jiudiger. 
Father Ludovic, Chaplain to Rudiger. 

WOMEH. 

1sitSEiA.A, formerly married to A:nolf of Ebersdorf, 

now wife of Jiudiger. 
Gebteude, Isabella's niece, betrothed to Henry. 

Soldiers, Judges of the Invisible Tribunal, 
tic. dc 

Scene. — TTie flastle of Ehrrsdorf in Bavaria, the 
ruins of Griefenhaus, aid the adjacent country. 



®l)e ^Gmt of ^spm. 



ACT I.— BCENE I. 

An ancient Gothic chamber in (lie Castle of Ebers- 
dorf. Spears, crossbows, and arms, vnth t/ic horns 
of buffaloes and of deer, are hung round the wall. 
An antique buffet with beakers and stone bottles. 

RuDiGEE, Baron of Aspen, and his lady, Isabella, 
arc discovered sitting at a large oaken table. 

RuD. A plague upon that roan liorse 1 Had he 
not stumbled with me at the ford after our last 
gkii-mish, I had been now with my sons. And 
yonder the boys are, hardly three miles off, bat- 
tUug with Count Roderic, and their father must 
lie here like a worm-eaten manuscript in a convent 
jbrary 1 Out upon it ! Out upon it I Is it not hard 
that a warrior, who has travelled so many leagues 
to display the cross on the walls of Zion, should be 
now unable to lift a spear before hia own caatlu 
gate 1 

IsA. Dear husband, your anxiety retai-da your 
- recoveiy. 

Rhd. May be so ; but not less than your silence 
uid melancholy ! Here have I sate thia month, 



and more, since that cursed fall I Neither huntinfr 
nor feasting, nor lance-breaking for me 1 And mj 
sons — George enters cold and reserved, as if he 
had the weight of the empire on his shoulders, ut 
ter.s by syllables a cold " How is it with you ?" and 
shuts liimself up for days in his solitary chamlier— 
Henry, my cheerful Henry — 

IsA. Surely, he at least — 

Run. Even he forsakes me, and skips up tht 
tower staircase like lightning to join your fair 
ward, Gertrude, on the battlements. I cannut 
blame him ; for, by my knightly faith, were I in 
his place, I think even these bruised bones woulu 
hardly keep me from her side. Still, however, 
here I must sit alone. 

IsA. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven knows 
what I would do to soften your confinement. 

RuD. Tell me not of that, lady. Wlien I first 
knew thee, Isabella, the fair maid of Arnheim wan 
the joy of her companions, and breathed life where 
ever she came. Thy father married thee to Arnoli 
of Ebersdorf — not much with thy will, 'tis true — 
(she hides her face) Nay — forgive me, I.sabcUa— 
but that is over — he died, and the ties between u.* 
which thy marriage had broken, were renewod- 
but the suusliine of my Isabella's hght heart r». 
turned no more. 

IsA. (weeping.) Beloved Rudiger, you search my 
very soul ! Wliy will you recall past times — days 
of spring that can never return i Do I not love 
thee more than ever wife loved husband ? 

Run, (stretches out his arms — she embraces him.) 
And therefore art thou ever my beloved Isabella. 
But still, is it not true ? Has not thy cheerfulness 
vanished since thou hast become Lady of Aspen ' 
Dost thou repent of thy love to Rudiger ? 

Is. Alas ! no I neveV ! never ! 

RiiD. Then why dost thou herd with monks and 
priests, and leave thy old knight alone, when, foi 
the first time in liis stormy Ufe, he has rested foi 
weeks within the walls of liis castle 'I Hast thou 
committed a crime from which Rudiger's love 
cannot absolve thee 3 

IsA. many 1 many 1 

Run. Then be this kiss thy pen.ance. And t«ll 
me, Isabella, hast thou not founded a convent, asd 
endowed it with the best of thy late husbanai 
lands ? Ay, and with a vineyard which I cs'ilc 
have prized as well as the sleek monks. Host 
thou not daily distribute alms to twenty pilgi'so* ( 
Dost thou not cause ten masses to be sung each 
night for the repose of thy late husband's soul 1 

IsA. It will not know repose. 

Rl'd. Well, well — God's peace be witn AmoU 
of Ebersdorf; the mention of him makes thee ever 
sad, though so many years have passed since hia 
death. 

IsA. But at present, dear husband, have I not 



814 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the most just cause for anxiety ? Are not Henry 
and Geurge, our beloved sons, at this very moment 
perhaps eiigiiged in doubtful contest witli our he- 
reditary foe, Count Iloderic of Maltingen ? 

RuD. Now, there lies the difference : you sorrow 
that they are in danger, I that I cannot share it 
witn them. — Hark ! I hear horses' feet on the 
drawbiidge. Go to the window, Isabella. 

Is.4. (at the -.oindow.) It is Wickerd, your squire. 

Rui ' Then shall we have tidings of George and 
Henry. (Enter Wickekd.) How now, Wickerd ? 
Have you come to blows yet ? 

Wic. Not yet, noble sir. 

Run. Not yet ? — shame on the boys' dallying — 
what wait they for ? 

Wic. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, upon 
the Wolfshill, near the ruins of Griefenhaus ; there- 
fore your noble son, George of Aspen, greets you 
well, and reqiiests twenty more men-at-arms, and, 
after they have joined him, he hopes, with the aid 
of St. Theodore, to send you news of victory. 

Run. (attempts to rise hastily.) Saddle my black 
barb , I will head them myself (Sits down.) A 
murrain on that stumbling roan ! I had forgot my 
dislocated bones. Call Reynold, Wickerd, and bid 
him take all whom he can spare from defence of 
the castle — (Wiokeed is going) and ho 1 Wick- 
erd, carry with you my black barb, and bid George 
charge upon him. (Exit Wickerd.) Now see, 
Isabella, if I disregard the boy's safety ; I send 
him the best horse ever knight bestrode. When 
we lay before Ascalon, indeed, I had a bright bay 
Persian — Thou dost not heed me. 

IsA. Forgive me, dear husband ; are not our 
sons in danger ? Will not our sins be visited upon 
them ? Is not their present situation 

Run. Situation? I know it well: as fair a field 
for open fight ivs I ever hunted over : see here — 
(ynakes lines o7i the table) — here is the ancient cas- 
tle of Griefenhaus in ruins, here the Wolfshill ; and 
here the marsh on the right. 

IsA. The marsh of Griefenhaus'. 

Run. Yes ; by that the boys must pass. 

IsA. Pass there 1 (Ajiarl.) Avenging Heaven ! 
'hy hand is upon us ! [Exit hastily. 

Run. Whither now ! Whither now I She is 
i5one. Thus it goes. Peter ! Peter ! (Enter Pe- 
rua.) Help me to the gallery, that I may see 
them on horsoback. ■ [Exit, leaning on Peter. 



SCENE IL 

The inner court of t!ie Castle of Ebersdorf; a quad- 
rangle, surrounded with Gotliic buildings ; troop- 
ers, follov:ers of Rudigeb, pass and repass in 
haste, a.v if preparing for an excursion. 



Wickerd comes forward. 
Wio. What, ho I Reynold ! Reynold I— By om 
Lady, the spirit of the Seven Sleepers is upog 
him — So ho ! not mounted yet ! Reynold 1 

Enter Reynold. 

Ret. Here ! here I A devil choke thy bawling ' 
tliink'st thou old Reynold is not as ready for a skir- 
mish as thou ! 

Wic. Nay, nay ; I did but jest ; but, by my sooth, 
it were a shame should our youngsters have yoked 
with Count Roderic before we graybeards come. 

Rey. Heaven forefend ! Our troopers are but 
saddlhig their horses ; five minutes more, and we 
are in our sturups, and then let Count Roderic sit 
fast. 

Wio. a plague on Iiim ! he has ever lain hard 
on the sku'ts of our noble master. 

Rey. Especially since he was refused the hand 
of our lady's niece, the pretty Lady Gertrude. 

Wic. Ay, marry ! would nothing less serve the 
fox of Maltingen than the lovely lamb of our young 
Baron Henry ! By my sooth, Reynold, when I 
look upon these two lovers, they make me fuH 
twenty years younger ; and when I meet the man 
that would divide them — I say notliing — but let 
him look to it. 

Rey. And how fare our young lords ! 

Wio. Each well in hia humor. — Baron George 
stern and cold, according to his wont, ' and his 
bicther as cheerful as ever. 

Rey. Well I — Baron Henry for me. 

Wic. Yet George saved thy life. 

Rey. True — with as much indifference as if he 
had been snatching a chestnut cut of the fire. 
Now Baron Henry wept for my danger and my 
wounds. Therefore George shall ever command 
my life, but Henry my love. 

Wic. Nay, Baron George shows his gloomy spirit 
even by the choice of a favorite. 

Rey. Ay — Martin, formerly the squire of Arnoll 
of Ebersdorf, his mother's first husband, — I marvel 
he could not have fitted himself with an attendant 
from among the faithful followers of his worthy 
father, whom Arnolf and his adherents used to 
hate as the Devil hates holy water. ' But Martin 
is a good soldier, and has stood toughly by George 
in many a htu'd brunt. 

Wic The knave is sturdy enough, but so sulky 
withal — I have seen, brother Reynold, that when 
Martin showed his moody visage at the banquet 
om' noble mistress has di'opped the wine she was 
raising to her lips, and exchanged her smiles for a 
ghastly frown, as if sorrow went by sympathy, aa 
kissing goes by favor. 

Rey. His appeaiance reminds her of her first 
husband, and thou hast well seen that makes hei 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



611 



\Vw. Do,it thou marvel at that f She was mar- 
ried to Aniolf by a species of force, and they siij 
that before his dcatli he compelled her to swear 
never to espouse Rudigcr. The priests will not 
:ib8nlve hcT for the breai'l> of that vow, and there- 
fore she is troubled in mind. For, d'ye mark me, 
Uejnold [Siigle somids. 

Rev. a truce to your preaching ! To horse 1 
•ud a Messing on our arms ! 

\N'i 1 St. George grant it ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE IIL 

1 

! i'he galleri/ of the Castle, terminating in a large 

baleonif coinmmiding a distant prospect. — Voices, 

bugle-horns, Irttle-drums, trampling nf horses, d-e., 

I are heard without. 

Ktri;iQKK, leaning on Peter, looks fr&in the balcony. 
! Gerteude and Isabella are near him. 

RiiD. Tliere they go at length — look, Isabella ! 
look, my pretty Gertrude — these are the ii'on- 
banded warriors who shall tell Eoderic what it 
will cost him to force thee from my protection — 
{Flourish withoibt — Rudiger stretches his artns 
from the balconi/.) Go, my children, and God's 
blessing with you. Look at my black barb, Ger- 
trude. That horse shall let daylight in through a 
phalanx, were it twenty pikes deep. Shame on it 
that I cannot mount liim ! Seest thou how fierce 
old Reynold looks ? 

Gek. I can hai'dly know my friends iu their armor. 
[The bugles and kettle-drums are heard 
as at n. greater distance. 

Run. Now I could tell every one of their names, 
jven at this distance; ay, and were they covered, 
as I have seen them, with dust and blood. He on 
the dapple-gray is Wickferd^a hardy fellow, but 
somewhat given to prating. That is young Con- 
rad who gallops .so fast, page to thy Henry, my girl. 
[Bugles, &c., at a greater distance still. 

Gee. Heaven guard them. Alas ! the voice of 
wartliat calls the blood into your cheeks cliills and 
freezes mine. • 

RiTi. Say not so. It is glorious, my girl, glori- 
ous ' See how their armor ghstens as they wind 
rnui d yon hill ! how their spears gUnimer amid 
the long train of dust. Hark ! you can still hear 
the faict notes of their trumpets — {Bugles very 
faint.) — ^Aud Rudiger, old Rudiger with the iron 
«rm, as the crusaders used to call me, must remain 
oeliind with the priests and the women. WcU ! 
trell I— {Sings.) 

" It was a knights battle rode, 
Ajjd ■»« liis war-horse he bestrode." 



Fill me a bowl of wine, Gertrude ; and do tlion 
Peter, call tlie minstrel wlio came liither last niglit 
—{Hings.) 

" Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sa 1 
And stroked his wliiskers, tra, la, la." — 

(Peter goes ou^— Rudiger sits down, and Ger- 
TRUCE helps him with wine.) Tlianks, my love. It 
tastes ever best from thy band. Isabella, here '» 
glory and victoi-y to cur boys — {Drinks.) — Wilt 
thou not pledge me ? 

IsA. To tlieir safety, and God grant it ! — {Drinks.) 

Enter Berttxaii as a minstrel, %i'ith a boy bearing 
his harp. — Also Peter. 

Run.- Tliy name, minstrel ? 

Bee. Minhold, so please you. 

Run. Art thou a German ? 

Beh. Yes, noble sir ; and of this province. 

Run. Sing me a song of battle. 

[Bertram .■tings to the harp. 

Run. Tlianks, minstrel: well sung, and lustU-y 
Wliat sayest thou, Isabella ? 

IsA. I marked him not. 

Run. Nay, iu sooth you are too anxious. Cheer 
up. And lliou, too, my lovely Gertrude : in a few 
hours, thy Henry shall rotuni, and twine his lau- 
rels into a garland for thy hair. He fights foi 
thee, and lie must conquer. 

Ger. Alas I must blood be spilled for a silly 
maiden ? 

Run. Surely : for wliat should knights break 
lances but for honor ami ladies' love — ha, minstrel ' 

Bee. So please you — also to punish crimes. 

RuD. Out upon it 1 wouldst have us execution 
ers, minstrel ? Such work would disgrace our 
blades. We leave malefactors to the Secret Tri- 
bunal. 

IsA. Merciful God ! Thou hast spoken a word, 
Rudiger, of dreadful import. 

Gee. They say that, unknown and invisible 
themselves, these awful judges are ever present 
with the guilty; that the past and the present 
misdeeds, the secrets of the confessional, nay, the 
very thoughts of the heart are before them ; that 
their doom is as sure as that of fate, the means 
and executioners unknown. 

RiiD. Tiiey say true ; the secrets of that asso- 
ciation, and the names of those who compose it, 
are as uiscrutable as tlie grave : we only know 
that it has taken deep ro<it, and spread i!^i branchea 
wide. I sit down cacli day in my hall, ;;:ir know 
I how many of these secret judges may surround 
me, all bound by the most solemn vow to .avenge 
guilt. Once, and but once, a knight, at the earnoiit 
request and inquiries of the emperor, liintcd that 
he belonged to the society : the next moroiog b« 



Bie 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



w&» found slain in a forest : the poniard was left in 
the wound, and bore this label — " Thus do the in- 
visible judges punish treachery." 

Geb. Gracious ! aunt, you grow pale. 

IsA. A shght indisposition only. 

Run. And what of it all ? We know our Irearts 
are open to our Creator : shall we fear any earthly 
inspection '' Come to the battlements ; there we 
shall soonest descry the return of our warriors. 

[-Exit RuDiGER, with Gertrude and Peter. 

IsA. IVIinstrel, senjd the chaplain liither. {&it 
Bertram.) Gracious Heaven ! the guileless inno- 
cence of my niece, the manly honesty of my up- 
right-hearted Rudiger, become daily tortures to 
me. While he was engaged in active and stormy 
exploits, fear for his safety, joy wheik he returned 
to his castle, enabled me to disguise my mward 
jnguish from others. But from myself — Judges 
of blood, that lie concealed in noontide as in mid- 
night, who boast to avenge the hidden guUt, and' 
to penetrate the recesses of the human breast, how 
blind is your penetration, how vain your dagger, 
and your cord, compared to the conscience of the 
einncr ! 

Enter Father Ludovic. 

Lhd. Peace be with you, lady 1 

IsA. It is not with me : it is thy office to bring it. 

LuD. And the cause is the absence of the young 
mights ? 

IsA. Tlieir absence and their danger. 

LuD. Daughter, thy hand has been stretched out 
in bounty to the sick and to the needy. Thou hast 
not denied a shelter to the weary, nor a tear to 
the afflicted. Trust in their prayers, and in those 
of the holy convent thou hast founded; perad- 
venture they wUl bring back thy children to thy 
bo.som. 

IsA. Thy brethren cannot pray for me or mine. 
Their vow binds them to pray night and day for 
another — to supplicate, without ceasing, the Eter- 
nal Mercy for the soul of one who — Oh, only 
Heaven knows how much he needs thoir prayer ! 

LuD. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. The 
^oul of thy former husband — 

IsA. I charge thee, priest, mention not the word. 
( Apart.) Wretch that I am, the meanest menial in 
my train has power to goad me to madness ! 

LuD. Hearken to me, daughter ; thy crime 
against Arnolf of Ebersdorf cannot bear in the eye 
of Heaven so deep a dye of guilt. 

IsA. Repeat that once mbre ; say once again 
that it cannot — cannot bear so deep a dye. Prove 
to me that ages of the bitterest penance, that tears 
of the dearest blood, can erase such guilt. Prove 
but that to me, and I will build thee an abbey 
which shall put to shame the fairest fane in Chi-is- 
tend om. 

LuD. Nay, nay. daughter, your cousciente is over 



tender. Supposing that, under dread of the stern 
Arnolf, you swore never to marry your present 
husband, still the exacting such an oath was un- 
lawful, and the breach of it venial. 

IsA. [resumhifj Jier coi7i2yosvre.) Be it. so, good 
father ; I yield to thy better reasons. And now 
tell me, has thy pious care acliieved the task I 
intrusted to thee ? 

LuD. Of superintending the erectiop of thy new 
hospital for pilgrims ? I have, nobte lajy ; and 
last night the minstrel now in the cas*ie lodged 
there. 

IsA. Wherefore came he then to [)ie castle ? 

LuD. Reynold brought the cominanda of the 
Baron. 

IsA. Wlience comes he. and what is his tale! 
Wlien he sung before Rudijjer, I thought that long 
before I had heard such tones — seen such a face. 

LuD. It is possible you may have seen him, lady, 
for he boasts to have been k-nown to Arnolf o/ 
Ebersdorf, and to have lived formerly in this cas 
tie. He inquires much after Martin, Ainolf's 
squire. 

IsA. Go, Ludovic — go quick, good tather, seek 
him out, give him tliis pm'se, and bid iiim leave 
the castle, and speed him on his way. 

LuD. May I ask why, noble lady i 

IsA. Thou art inquisitive, priest; I honor the 
servants of God, but I foster not tiu prying spirit 
of a monk. Begone ! 

LuD. But the Baron, lady, wiL expect a reason 
why I di.smiss his guest ! 

IsA. True, true {recoUectiny herself) ; pardon my 
warmth, good father, I was iMjking of the cuckoo 
that grows too big for the i.est of the sparrow, and 
strangles its foster-mother Do no such birds roost 
in convent-walls? 

LuD. Lady, I understand you not. 

IsA. Well, then, say to the Baron, that I have 
dismissed long ago all the attendants of the man 
of whom thou hast spoken, and that I wish to have 
none of them beneath my roof 

Lnn. {inqidsitivdti.) Except Martin ? 

IsA. {sharply.) Except Martin ! who saved \ha 
life of my son George ! Do as I commimd thee. 

[Exit. 
Manet Ludovic. 

LuD. Ever the same — stern and peremptory to 
others as rigorous to herself; haughty even to me, 
to whom, in another mood, she has knelt for abso- 
lution, and whose knees she has bathed in tears, 
I cannot fathom her. The unnatural zeal with 
which she performs her dreadful penarces cannot 
be religion, for shrewdly I guess she believes not 
in then- blessed efficacy. Well for her that she is 
the foundress of our convent, otherwise we might 
not have erred in denouncmg-her as a herttia 

[Etit 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



Sit 



ACT IL— SCENE I. 

d woodland prospect. — Through a long avenue, half 
grown up hi/ brambles, are discerned in the back- 
ground the ruins of the ancient Castle of Grie- 
fcnhaus. The distant noise of bailie is heard da- 
ring this scene. 

Enter George of Aspen, armed with a battle-axe 
in his hand, as from horseback. He supports 
iLiETiN, and brings him forward. 

^Eo. lay thee dowTi here, old friend. The en- 
emy's horsemen will hardly take their way among 
these brambles, through which I have dragged 
thee. 

JIab. Oh, do not leave me ! leave me not an 
instant ! My moments are now but few, and I 
would profit by them. 

Geo. Martin, you forget yourself and me — I must 
back to the field. 

Mar. (allempts to rise.) Tlien drag me back 
thither also ; I cannot die but in your presence — I 
dare not be alone. Stay, to give peace to my 
parting soul. 

Geo. I am no priest, Martin. ( Going.) 

Mae. {raising himself with great pain.) Baron 
George of Aspen, I saved thy life iu battle : for 
that good deed, hear me but one moment. 

Geo. I hear thee, my poor friend. {Returning) 

Mak. But come close — very close. See'st thou, 
>ir knight — this wound I bore for thee — and this — 
Mid this — dost thou not remember ? 

Geo. I do. 

Mar. I have served thee since thou wast a 
child ; served thee faithfully — was never from thy 
side. 

Geo. Thou hast. 

Mae. And now I die in thy service. 

Geo. Thou may'st recover. 

Mar. I cannot. By my long service — by my 
scars — by this mortal gash, and by the death that 
I am to die — oh, do not hate me for what I am 
now to unfold ! 

Geo. Be assured I can never hate thee. 

Mar. Ah, thou Uttle knowest Swear to me 

Ihou wilt speak a word of comfort to my parting 

soul. 

■ Geo. {takes his hand.) I swear I will. {Alarm 

and shouting.) But be brief^thou knowest my 

haste. 

Mar. Hear me, then. I was the squire, the be- 
loved and favorite attendant, of Arnolf of Ebers- 
dorf. Arnolf was savage as the mountain bear. 
He loved the Lady Isabel, but she requited not 
his passion. She loved thy father ; but her sire, 
old Avnheim, was the friend of Arnolf, and she 

was forced to marry him. By midnight, in the 
103 



chapel of Ebersdorf, the ill-omened rites were per- 
formed ; her resistance, her screams were in vain. 
These ai'ms detained her at the altar till tlie nup- 
tial benediction was pronounced. Canst thou for- 
give me ? 

Geo. I do forgive thee. Thy obedience to thy 
savage master has been obUterated by a long train 
of services to his widow. 

Mar. Services! ay, bloody services 1 for they 
commenced — do not quit my hand — they com- 
menced with the murder of my master. (Ueorgb 
quits his hand, and stands aghast in speechless hor- 
ror.) Trample on me ! pursue me with your dag- 
ger ! I aided your mother to poison lier first hus- 
b;md ! I thank Heaven, it is said. 

Geo. My mother? Sacred Heaven ! Martin, t^-r; 
ravest — the fever of thy wound has distracted 
thee. 

Mae. No ! I am not mad 1 Would to God I wero I 
Try me ! Yonder is the Wolfshill — yonder the old 
castle of Griefenhaus — and yonder is the hemlock 
marsh {in a xehisper) where I gathered the deadly 
plant that di'ugged Arnolf 's cup of death. (Georgb 
traverses the stage in the utmost agitation, and some 
times stands over Martin with his hands clasped to- 
gether.) Oh, had you seen him wh^u the potion 
took effect ! Had you heard his ravings, and seen 
the contortions of his ghastly visage ! — He died 
furious and imjjenitent, as he lived ; and went— 
where I am shortly to go. You do not speak ? 

Geo. {with exertion.) Miserable wretch ! how 
can I ? 

Mae. Can you not forgive me ? 

Geo. May God pardon thee^I caimot ! 

Mar. I saved thy Ufe 

Geo. For that, take my curse ! (lie snatches up 
his battle-axe, and rushes out to the side from 'ohich 
the noise is heard.) ' 

Mae. Hear me 1 yet more — more horror 4 (A > 
tempts to rise, and falls heavily. A loud alarm.") 

Enter Wickerd, hastily. 

Wic. In the name of God. Martin, lend me thy 
brand 1 

Mae. Take it. 

Wio. Where is it ? 

Mae. (looks wildly at him.) In the chapel at 
Ebersdorf, or buried in the hemlock mar.sh. 

Wic. The old grumbler is crazy with his wound* 
Marlin, if thou hast a spark of reason in thee, gire 
mf thy sword. The day goes sore against us. 

AIar. There it lies. Bury it in the heart of thy 
master George ; thou wilt do him a good office— 
the office of a faithful servant. 

Enter Coneai). 
Con. Away, Wickerd I to horse, and pursue . 
Baron George has turned the day ; he fights mor« 



818 



SOOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



like a fiend than a man : he has 'uihorse-l R^der•c, 
and slain six of his troopers — they are ii\ head- 
long flight — the hemlock marsh is red with their 
gore ! (Martix gives a deep groan^ and faints.'^ 
Away ! away ! {They hurri/ off, as to the pur- 
suit.) 

h'ntcr RoDEEic OF Maitingen, leithouf his helmet, 

his arms disordered and broken, holding the 

truncheon of a spear in. his hand; with hiin, 

Baeon Wolfstein. 

Rod. a curse on fortune, and a double curse upon 
treorge of Aspen ! Never, nerer will I forgive 
him my disgrace — overthrown like a rotten trunk 
before a whirlwind ! 

Wolf. Be comforted, Count Roderic ; it is weU 
we have escaped being prisoners. See how the 
troopers of Aspen pour along the plain, Uke the 
billows of the Rhine ! It is good we are .shrouded 
by the thicket. 

Rod. Why took he not my life, when he robbed 
me of my honor and of my love ? Why did his 
spear not pierce my heart, when mine shivered 
on his arms Uke a frail bulrush ? (Throios down the 
broken spear.) Be.ar witness, he.aven and earth, I 
outlive this disgrace only to avenge ! 

Wolf. Be comforted ; the knights of Aspen have 
not gained a bloodless victory. And see, there 
lies one of George's followers — [seeing Mabtin.) 

Rod. His squire Martin ; if he be not dead, we 
will secure him : he is the depositary of the secrets 
of his master. Arouse thee, trusty follower of the 
house of Aspen ! 

Mae. (reviving.) Leave me not ! leave me not, 
Baron George 1 my eyes are darkened with agony ! 
I have not yet told all. 

Wolf. The old man takes you for his master. 

Rod. What wouldst thou teU ? 

Mae. Oh, I would tell all the temptations by 
which I was urged to the murder of Ebersdorf ! 

Rod. Murder ! — this is worth marking. Proceed. 

M.UV. I loved a maiden, daughter of Arnolf's 
steward ; my master seduced her — ihe became an 
outcast, and died in misery — I vowed vengeance — 
■md I did avenge her. 

Rod. Hadst thou accomplices ! 

Mae. None, but thy mother. 

Rod. The Lady Isabella ! 

Mae. Ay : she hated her husband ; he knew her 
lOve to Rudiger, and when she heard that thy 
father was retm'ned from Palestme, her Ufe was 
endangered by the transports of his jealousy — 
thus prepared for evil, the fienil tempted us, and 
we fell. 

Rod. (breaks into a transport.) Fortune! thou 
hast repaid me all ! Love and vengeance are my 
own ! — Wolfstein, recall our followers ! quick, sound 
thy buj;le — (Wolfstein somuls.) 



Mae. (stares wildly round.) That was no nott 
01 Aspen — Count Roderic of Maltingen — Heaven 
v'hat have I said ! 

R.-^D. What thou canst not recalL 

Mae. Then is my fate decreed ! 'Tis as it should 
be ! iu thi? very j.-lace was the poison gather'd— 
i-is retributiun I 

Kfiter thr-'^ o- fof^r soldiers of Rodeeic. 

Rod. Secure tb"! wou.'>ded trooper ; bind his 
wounds, and guard him WtU: carry liim to the 
ruins of Griefenhaas, uid coi:ceKl him tdl the 
troopers of Aspen have rehired from the piirsuit; 
— look to him, as you love yoiu- L've.\ 

Mae. {ledoffby soldiers.) Ministers of vengeance ! 
my hour is come 1 [Sxeurit 

Rod. Hope, joy, and triumph, once 'igair are ye 
mine ! Welcome to my heart, long-absent visit 
ants! One lucky chance has thrown den-ioion 
into the scale of the house of Maltingeu, and As- 
pen kicks the beam. 

Wolf. I foresee, indeed, dishonor to the famUif ol 
Aspen, should tliis wounded squire make good hia 
tale. 

Rod. And how think'st thou this disgrace wiU 
fall on them ? 

Wolf. Surely, by the public punishment of La<ljr 
Isabella. 

Rod. And is that aU ? 

Wolf. What more ? 

Rod. Shortsighted that thou art, is not George 
of Aspen, as well as thou, a member of the holy 
and invisible circle, over which I preside ? 

Wolf. Speak lower, for God's sake ! these arr 
things not to be mentioned before the sun. 

Rod. True : but stands he not bound by the 
most .solemn oath religion can devise, to discover 
to the tribunal whatever concealed iniquity shall 
come to liis knowledge, be the perpetrator \7hom 
he may — ay, were that perpetrator his own fa- 
ther — or mother ; and can you doubt that he hae 
heard Martin's confession ? 

Wolf. True : but, blessed Virgin ! do you thuit 
he will accuse liis own mother before the invisible 
judges ? 

Rod. If not, he becomes forsworn, and, by our 
law, must die. Either way my vengeance is com- 
plete — perjured or jjarricide, I caie not ; but, aa 
the one or the other shall I crush the haughty 
George of Aspea 

Wolf. Thy vengeance strikes deep. 

Rod. Deep as the wounds I have borne from 
tills proud family. RucUger slew my father in bat- 
tle — George has twice baffled and dishonored my 
arms, and Henry has stolen the heart of my be- 
lolled: but no longer can Gertrude now remain 
under the cai-e of the murderous dam of this 
brood of wolves ; far less can she wed the Maooth 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



81. 



checked boy, when this scene of vUlany shall be 
disclosed. [Bugle. 

Wolf. Hark ! tliey sound a retreat : let us go 
deeper into the wood. 

Rod. The victors approach 1 I shall dash their 
triumph ! — Issue the private summons for convok- 
bg the members this very evening ; I will direct 
the otlier measures. 

WiLF What place? 

Rod. The old chapel in t-ie ruins of Griefenhaus, 
as u9aaL \_Exeunt. 



SCENE II 

Enter George of Aspen, as from the pursuit. 

Geo. {comes shivli/forteard.) How many wretches 
have sunk under my arm this day, to wliom life 
was sweet, though the wretched bondsmen of 
Coxmt Roderic ! And I — I wlio sought death be- 
neath every lifted battle-axe, and offered my 
breast to every arrow — I am cursed with victory 

and safety. Here I left the wretch Martin 1 — 

Martin ! — wliat, ho ! Martin ! — —Mother of God I 
he is gone I Should he repeat the dreadful tale 
to any other Martin ! — He answers not. Per- 
haps he has crept into the thicket, and died there 
—were it so, the horrible secret is only mine. 

Enter Henbt of Aspen, mth Wiokeed, Reynold, 
arid followers. 

Hen. Joy to thee, brother ! though, by St. Fran- 
cis, i would not gain another field at the price of 
seeing thee fight with such reckless desperation. 
Thy safety is little less thin miraculous. 

Ret. By'r Lady, when Baron George struck, I 
think he must have forgot that his foes were 
God's creatures. Such furious doings I never saw, 
and I have been a trooper tliese forty -two years 
come St. Barnaby 

Geo. Peace ! saw any of you Martin ? 

Wic. Noble sir, I left him here not long since. 

Geo. Alive or dead ? 

Wic. Alive, noble sir, but sorely wounded. I 
think he must be prisoner, for he could not have 
budged else from hence. 

Geo. Heedless slave! Why didst thou leave him ? 

Hen. Dear brother, Wickerd acted for the best : 
he came to our assistance and the aid of liis com- 
panions. 

Geo. I tell'thee, Henry, Martin's safety was of 
more importance than the lives of any ten that 
Btand here. 

Wig. ^mtttteting.) Here's much to do about an 
lid crazy treni her-shifter. 

Geo. What mutterest thou ! 

Wio. Only, sir knight, that Martin seemed out 



of lua senses when I left him, and has pcrhapl 
wandered into tlie marsh, and perished there. 

Geo. How — out of liis senses? Did he speak t* 
thee ? — {apprehensively.) 

Wic. Yes, noble sir. 

Geo. Dear Henry, step for an instant to yor, 
tree — thou wilt see fnim thence if the foe rallj 
upon the Wolfshill. (Henry retires.) And do yiv 
8t;md back {to the soldiers.) 

[He brings Wickerd forward, 

Geo. {with marked apprehension.) What did 
M.artin say to thee, Wickerd? — tell me, on thy 
allegiance. 

Wic. Mere ravings, sir knights-offered me hia 
sword to kill you. 

Geo. Said he aught of killing any one else ' 

Wig. No : the pain of his wound seemed to have 
brought on 9, fever. 

Geo. {clasps his hands together) I breathe again 
— I spy comfort. Why could I not see as well aa 
this fellow, that the wounded wretch may have 
been distracted ? Let me at least thiuk so till 
proof shall show the truth {aside.) Wickerd, thinlr 
not on what I said — the heat of the battle had 
chafed my blood. Thou hast wished for the Netb 
er farm at Ebersdorf — it shall be lliino 

Wic. Thanks, my noble lord. 

Re-enter Henet. 

Hen. No— they do not rally — they have had 
enough of it — but Wickerd and Conrad shall re- 
main, with twenty troopers and a score of cross- 
bowmen, and scour the woods towards Griefen- 
haus, to prevent the fugitives from making head 
We will, with the rest, to Ebersdorf What say 
you, brother ? 

Geo. Well ordered. Wickerd, look thou searcl 
everywhere for Martin : bring him to me dead oi 
alive ; leave not a nook of the wood unsought. 

Wig. I warrant you, noble sir, I shall find him, 
could be clew himself up like a dormouse. 

Hen. I think he must be prisoner. 

Geo. Heaven forefend 1 Take a trumpet, Eu* 
tace {to an attendant) ; ride to the castle of Mai 
tingen, and demand a parley. If Martin is prisoner 
offer any ransom : offer ten — twenty — aU our pri* 
oners in exchange. 

Eus. It .shall be done, sir knight. 

Hen. Ere we go, sound trumpets — strike up tbi 
song of victory. 



Joy to the victors 1 the sons of old Aspen I 

Joy to the race of the battle .ind scar I 
Glory's proud garland triumphantly grasping ; 
Generous in peace, and victorious in war. 
Honor acquiring, 
Valor inspiring, 



£20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bursting resistless, through foemen they go : 

War-axes wielding, 

Broken ranks yielding, 
Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, 
Fields in wild rout the fair palm to his foe. 

Joy to each wai'rior, true follower of Aspen ! 

Joy to the heroes that gain'd the bold day 1 
Health to our womided, in agony gasping ; 
Peace to our bretlu-en that fell in the fray I 
Boldly this morning, 
Roderic's power scorning, 
Well for then' chieftain their blades did they 
wield : 
Joy blest them dying. 
As Maltingen flying, 
Low laid his banners, our conquest.adoming. 
Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on the field ! 

Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, 

Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away ; 
There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping. 
Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the 
fray. 
Listening the prancing 
Of horses advancing ; 
E'en now on the tmi'ets om' maidens appear. 
Love our hearts warmmg, 
Songs the night charming. 
Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing ; 
Love, wine, and song, our bhthe evening shall 
cheer 1 

Hen. Now spread our banners, and to Ebersdorf 
in triumph. We carry relief to the anxious, joy 
to the heart of the aged, brother George. ( Going 

off-) 

Geo. Or treble misery and death. 

[Apart, and following slowly. 

The music sounds, and the foil owtrs of Aspen begin 
to file across the stage. The curtain falls. 



ACT ni— SCENE L 
Castle of Ebersdorf. 

Rddiger, Is.ibella, and Gertrude. 

Rod. I prithee, dear wife, be merry. It must 
bo over by this time, and happUy, otherwise the 
rad news had reached us. 

IsA. Should we not, then, have heard the tidings 
»f the good ! 

Bm). Oh 1 these fly slower by half. Besides, T 
Wanaut all of them engaged m the pursuit. Ohl 



not a page would leave tie skirts of the fugitivel 
till they were fairly beaten into their holds ; but 
had tlie boys lost the day, the stragglers had made 
for the castle. Go to the window, G ertrude : seest 
thou any thing ? 

Gee. I think I siee a horseman. 

IsA. A single rider ? tlien I fear me much. 

Ger. It is only Father Ludovic. 

RuD. A plague on thee ! didst thou take a fal 
friar on a mule for a trooper of the house of Aspen! 

Gee. But yonder is a cloud of dust. 

Run. (cagerhj.) Indeed ! 

Ger. It is only the wine sledges going to my 
aunt's convent. 

Run. The devil confound the wine sledges, and 
the mules, and the monks ! Come from the win- 
dow, and torment me no longer, thou seer of 
strange sights. 

Ger. Deal' uncle, what can I do to amuse you I 
Sh.all I tell you what I dreamed this morning ? 

Run. Nonsense : but say on ; any tlimg is better 
than silence. 

Ger. I thought I was in the chapel, and they 
were burying my a.unt Isabella alive. And who, 
do you think, aunt, were the gravediggers who 
shovelled in the earth upon you? Even Barm 
George and old Martin. 

IsA. (appears shovked) Heaven ! what an idea ! 

Ger. Do but thuik of my terror — and Minhold 
the minstrel played all the while, to drown your 
screams. 

Run. And old Father Ludovic danced a sara- 
band, with the steeple of the new convent upon 
his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce to this 
nonsense. Give us a song, my love, and leave thy 
dreams and visions. 

Gee. What shall I sing to you ? 

Run. Smg to me of war. 

Ger. I cannot sing of battle ; but I will sing 
you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, when her lover 
was slain m the wars. 

IsA. Oh, no laments, Gertrude. 

Run. Theu sing a song of mirth. 

IsA. Dear husband, is this a time for mirth i 

RuD. Is it neither a time to sing of mirth nor ol 
sorrow ? Is.-ibeUa would rather hear Father Ludo- 
vic chant the "De prcfundis." 

Ger. Dear uncle, l« not angry. At : resent, 1 
can only smg the lay of pocr Eleanor. It comes 
to my heart at tliis moment as if the sorrowhil 
mourner had been my own sister. , 

SONS.' 

Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 
Weak were the whispers tha '. waved the dark 
wood, 

1 Cowpan* with '* Ttie Uaid of Toro " amu, 636 



As a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, 
Sigh'J to the breezes and wept to the flood. — 

" Saints, from the mansion of bHss lowly bending, 
Virgin, that hear'st tho poor suppliant's cry, 

Grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 
My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor die." 

Distant and faint were the sounds of the battle ; 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail. 
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's 
dread rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamor came loading the 
gale. ■ • 

Breathless she gazed through the woodland so 
dreary, 
Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary. 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was liis mien. 

" Save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ; 
Save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ; 
Cold on yon heath thy bold Frederick is lying. 
Fast through the woodland approaches the foe." 
[The voice of Geetrude sinis by degrees, 
till she bursts into tears. 

Rnn. How now, Gertrude ? 

Gee. Alas ! may not the fate of poor Eleanor at 
this moment be mine ! 

Run. Never, my girl, never ! [Militar;/ music is 

Iieard.) Hark ! hark ! to the sounds that tell thee so. 

[AH rise and run to the window. 

Rnn. Joyl joy! they come, and come victorious. 
{The chorus of the war-song is heard xnithout.) Wel- 
come ! welcome ! once more have my old eyes 
seen the banners of the house of Maltingen tram- 
pled in the dust. — Isabella, broach our oldest casks: 
wine is sweet after war. 

Enter 'S^kry, followed by Reynold and troopers. 

Run. Joy to thee, my boy 1 let me press thee to 
this old heart. 

IsA. Bless thee, my son — {embraces him) — Oh, 
how many hours of bitterness are compensated by 
this embrace I Bless thee, my Henry I where hast 
thou left thy brother ? 

Hen. Hard at hand : by tliis he is crossmg the 
drawbridge. Hast thou no greetings for me, Ger- 
trude ? {Goes to her.) 

Gee. I joy not in battles. 

Run. But she had tears for thy danger. 

Hbn. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude See, I have 
brought back thy scarf from no inglorious field. 

Gee. It is bloody ! — (shocked.) 

Run. Dost start at that, my girl ? Were it his 
twa blocd, as it is that of liis foes, thou shouldst 
glory in it. — Go, Reynold, mike good cheer with 
thy fellows [Exit Reynold and Soldiers. 



Enter Geobqe pensively. 

Geo. {(/oes straight to Rudigee.) Father, tivf 
blessing. 

RuD. Thou hast it, boy. 

IsA. (rushes to anbrace hitii — lie avoids lier 
How S art thou woui-Jed .* 

Geo. No. 

RuD. Thou lookest deadly pale 

GEa It is nothing 

IsA. Heaven's blessmg on my gallant George. 

Geo. (aside.) Dares she bestow a blessing S Oh 
Martin's tale was phrensy 1 

IsA. Smile upon us for once, my son; darkec 
not thy brow on this day of gladness^few are 
our moments of joy — should not my sons .^hare in 
them? 

Geo. (aside.) She has moments of joy — it was 
phrensy then ! 

IsA. Gertnide, my love, assist mc to disarm the 
knight. (She loosens and takes off his casijue,) 

Gee. There is one, two, three hacks, and none 
has pierced the steel. 

RuD. Let me see. Let me see. A trusty casque I 

Gee. Else hadst thou gone. 

IsA. I will reward the armorer with its weight 
in gold. 

Geo. (aside.) She must be innocent. 

Gee. And Henry's shield is hacked, too 1 Let me 
show it to you, imcle. (She carries Henuy's shield 
to Rudigee.) 

Run. Do, my love ; and come hither, Henry, 
thou shalt tell me how the day went. 

[Henry and Geetrude converse apart with 
RuDiGER ; George comes forward ; Isa- 
bella cotnes to him. 

Isa. Surely, George, some evil has befallen 
thee. Grave thou art ever, but so dreadfullj 
gloomy — 

Geo. Evil, indeed. — (Aside.) Now for the trial 

Isa. Has yoiir loss been gi'eat ? 

Geo. No ! — Yes ! — (Apart.) I cannot do it. 

Isa. Perhaps some friend lost ? 

Geo. It must be. — Martin is dead. — (Heregardt 
her with apprehension, but steadily, as Ik pronoun/^, i 
these loords) 

Isa. (starts, then shows a ghastly (Xfyruron oj 
joy.) Dead ! 

Geo. (almost overcome by his <-<Ungs.) Gmlty! 
•Guilty ! — (apart.) 

Isa. (without observing his emotion.) Didst thou 
say dead ? 

Geo. Did I— no — I only said mortally wounded 

Isa. Wounded ? only wounded ? Where is he 
Let me fly to him. — ( Going) 

Geo. (sternly.) Hold, lady ! — Speak not so loud 
— Thou can.st not see him ! — He is a prisoner. 

Isa. a prisoner, and wounded ? P'ly to his de 
liverance ! — Offer wealth, lands, castles, — all oa 



822 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



possessions, for his ransom. Never Bli.aU I know 
oeace till these walls, or till the grave secures him. 
Geo. {apart.) Guilty! Guilty I 

Enter Peter. 

Pet. Hugo, squire t« the Count of Maltingen, 
tis arrived with a message. 

RuD. I will receive him in the haU. 

[Exit, leanitiff on Gertrude and Henet. 

IsA. Go, George — see after Martin. 

Geo. ( jirmly.) No — I have a task to perform ; 
»nd thougli the earth should open and devour me 
alive — I will accomplish it. But first — but first — 
Nature, take thy tribute. — [He falls on his mother's 
neck, and weeps bitterly.) 

IsA. George ! my son ! for Heaven's sake, what 
dreadful plu-ensy ! 

Geo. [imlks two turns across the stage and com- 
poses himself.) Listen, mother — I knew a knight 
in Hungary, gallant in battle, hospitable and gen- 
erous in peace. The king gave him his friend-sliip, 
and the administration of a province ; that province 
was infested by thieves and murderers. You mark 
me? — 

IsA. Most heedfully. 

Geo. The knight was sworn— bound by an oath 
the most dreadful that can be taken by man — to 
deal among offenders even-handed, stern, and im- 
partial justice. Was it not a dreadful vow ? 

IsA. (loilh an affectation of cmnposure.) Solemn, 
doubtless, as the oath of every magistrate. 

Geo. And inviolable ? 

IsA. Surely — inviolable. 

Geo. Well ! it happened, that when he rode out 
against the banditti, he made a prisoner. And 
who, t il ink you, that prisoner was ? 

laA. I know not [with increasing terror.) 

Geo. {trembling, but proceeding rapidly.) His 
own twin-brother, who sucked the same breasts 
with liim, and lay in the bosom of the same moth- 
2r; his brother whom he loved as Iiis own soul 
■ — what should that knight have done unto his 
brother ! 

IsA. {almost speechless.) Alas ! what did he do ? 

Geo. He did {turning his head from her, and 
with clasped hands) what I can never do : — he did 
tiw duty. 

IsA. My son! my eon 1 — Mercy! Mercy I {Clings 
*» him.) 

Geo. Is it then true ? 

IsA. What? 

Geo. What Martin said ! (Isabella hides her 
face.) It is true ! 

IsA. (looks up with an air of dignity.) Hear, 
Framer of the laws of nature ! the mother is judged 
by tho child — {Turns towards him.) Yes, it is true 
— true that, fearful of my own hfe, I secured it by 
Me mwder ol my tyrant. Mistaken coward ! I 



little knew on what terrors I ran, to avoid om 
moment's agony. — Thou hast the secret ! 

Geo. Knowest thou to whom thou hast told it t 

Isa. To my son. 

Geo. No ! No ! to an executi^rer I 

Isa. Be it so — go, proclaim my crime, and forget 
not mj' punishment. Forget not tliat the murder- 
ess of her husband has dragged out years of hidden 
remorse, to be brought at last to the scaffold by 
her own cherished son — thou art silent. 

Geo. The language of Nature is no more I How 
shall I learn another ? 

Isa. Look upon me, George. Should the execu- 
tioner be abaslied before the criminal — look upon 
me, my son. From my soul do I forgive thee. 

Geo. Forgive me what ? 

Isa. What thou dost meditate — be vengeance 
heavy, but let it be secret — add not the death of a 
father to that of the sinner ! Oh ! Rudiger ! Rudi- 
ger ! innocent cause of all my guilt and all my woe, 
how wilt thou teal" thy silver locks when thou shalt 
hear her guilt whom thou hast so often clasped to 
thy bosom — hear her infamy proclaimed by the 
son of thy fondest ho'pes^{wecps.) 

Geo. (struggling for breath.) Nature will have 
utterance : mother, dearest mother, I will save 
you or perish ! {throws himself into her arms.) 
Thus fall my vows. 

Isa. Man thyself! I ask not safety from thee. 
Never shall it be said, that Isabella of Aspen 
turned lier son from the path of duty, though feJ3 
footsteps must pass over her mangled corpse. 
Man thyself. 

Geo. No 1 No 1 The ties of Nature were knit 
by God himself. Cursed be the stoic pride that 
would rend them asunder, and call it virtue ! 

IsA. My son 1 My son ! — How shall 1 oehold thee 
hereafter ? 

[Three knocks are heard upon the door of 
the apartment. 

Geo. Hark ! One — two — three. Roderic, thou 
art speedy I {Apart^ 

Isa. (opens the door.) A parchment stuck to the 
door with a poniard ! ( Opens it.) Heaven ana 
earth! — a summons from the invisible judge*! — 
(Drops the parchment.) 

Geo. (reads teith emotion) " Isabella of Aspen, 
accused of murder by poison, we conjure thee, by 
the cord and by the steel, to appear this night 
before the avengers of blood, who judge in secret 
and av jnge in secret, like the Deity. As thou art 
innocei-t or guilty, so be thy deliverance." — Mar- 
tm, Martui, thou hast played false I 

Isa. Alas ! whither shall I fly ? 

Geo. Thou canst not fly ; instant death would 
follow the attempt ; a hundred thousand . anus 
would be raised against thy hfe ; every morse' 
thou didst taste, every drop which thou didJi 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



S2a 



(tiiok, thi very breeze of heaven that fanned thee, 
Would come loaded with destruction. One ehauce 
jf safety is open: — obey the summons. 

ISA. And perish. — ^Yet why should I still fear 
death ? Be it so. 

Gko. No — I have sworn to save you. ' I will not 
do the work by halves. Does any one save Martin 
Know of the dreadful deed ? 

IsA. None. • 

Geo. Then go — assert your innocence, and leave 
the rest to me. 

IsA. Wretch that I am ! How can I support the 
task you would impose ? 

Gko. Think on my father. Live for him: he 
will need all the comfort thou canst bestow. Let 
the thought that his destruction is involved in 
thine, carry tliee through the dreadful trial. 

IsA. Be it so. — For Rudiger I have Uved: for 
him I will continue to bear the burden of exist- 
ence : but the instant that my guilt conies to his 
knowledge shall be the last of my Ufe. Ere I 
would bear from him one ghmce of hatred or of 
Bcoru, this d:igger should drink my blood. [Puts 
*he poniard into her hosom.) 

Geo. Fear not. He can never know. No evi- 
dence shall appear against you. 

IsA. How shall I obey the summons, and where 
find the terrible judgment-seat >. 

Geo. Leave that to the judges. Resolve but to 
obey, antl a conductor will be found. Go to the 
chapel ; there pray for your sins and for mine. 
[He leads Iter out, and returns.) — Sms, mdeed ! I 
break a di'eadful vow, but I save the life of a pa- 
rent ; and the penance I will do for my perjury 
shall appal even the judges of blood. 

Enter Reynold. 
Ret. Sir knight, the messenger of Coimt Roderic 
desires to speak with you. 
Geo. Atlmit him. 

Enter Hogg. 

Hug. Count Roderic of Maltingen greets you. 
Ke says he will this night hear the bat flutter and 
the owlet screiun ; and he bids me ask if thou also 
wilt liste» to the music. • 

Geo. ' jnderstand him. I will be there. 

Hdg. And the Count says to you, that he wiU 
flot rausoL' your wounded squire, though you 
would down-weigh his best horse with gold. But 
you may send him a confessor, for the Count aays 
he will need one. 

Geo. Is he so near death ? 

Hog. Not as it seems to me. He is weak tlirough 
lose of blood ; but since his wound was dressed he 
fan both stand and walk. Our Count has a notable 
Salaam, which has recruited lihn much. 

Geo. Enough — I will send the priest. — {Exit 

OGO.) ] fathom his plot. He would add another 



witness to the tale of Martin's guilt. Put no priest 
shall approach him. Reynold, thmkest thou not 
we could send oue of the troopers, disguised as a 
monk, to aid Martin in making his escape '( 

Rey. Noble :m\ the followo'rs of vour house are 
so well known to those of Maltingen, that I fear it 
is impossible. 

Geo. Kuowest thou of no stranger w ho might I* 
employed ? His reward shall exceed even his hopes 

Rey. So please you — I think the minstrel coiiM 
well execute such a commission : he Li shrewd and 
cuunnig, and can write and read like a priest. 

Geo. Call liim. — {Exit Reynold.) If this fails, I 
must employ open force. Were Martip removed, 
no tongue can assert the bloody truth. 

Enter Minstrel. 

Geo. Come hither, Minhold. Hast thou courage 
to undertaka a dangerous enterprise ? 

Ber. My hfe, su- knight, has been one scene of 
danger and of dread. I liave forgotten how to fear 

Geo. Thy speech is above thy seeming. Who 
art thou? 

Bee. An mifortunate knight, obhged to shroud 
myself under tliis disguise. 

Geo. What is the cause of thy misfortunes i 

Ber. I slew, at a tournament, a prince, and wa» 
laid under the ban of the empire. 

Geo. 1 have mterest with the emperor. Swear 
to perfcjrm what task I shall impose on thee, and 
I wiU procure the recall of the ban. 

Ber. I swear. 

Geo. Then take the disguise of a monk, and go 
with the follower of Count Roderic, as if to confess 
my wounded squire Martin. Give him thy dress, 
mid remain in prison in liis stead. Thy captivity 
shall be short, and I pledge my knightly word I 
wiU labor to execute my promise, when thou shalt 
have leisure to unfold thy history. 

Bee. I will do as you dh'ect. Is the life of your 
squire m danger i 

Geo. It is, imless thou canst accomplish his re- 
lease. 

Bee. I wiU essay it. {Exit. 

Geo. Such are the mean expedients to wliich 
George of Aspen must now resort. No longer can I 
debate with Roderic ui the field. The depraved- - 
the perjured knight must contend with liim only 
in the arts of dissimulation and treachery. Oh, 
mother! mother! tlie most bitter consequence of \ 
thy crime has been the birth of thy first-born I 
But I must warn my brother of the impeiuling 
storm. Poor Henry, how little can thy gay tem- 
per anticipate evil ! What, ho there I {Enter an 
Attendant:) Where is Baron Henry? 

Att. Noble sir, he rode forth, after a slight re 
freshment, to visit the party m the field. 

Geo. Saddle my steed ; I wiU foUow Uim 



S24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



Att. So please you, your noble father has twice 
aemajided your pieseuce at the banquet. 

Geo. It matters not — say that I have ridden 
forth to the Wolfshill. Where is thy lady ? 

AiT. In the chapel, sir knight. 

Gj:o. 'Tis well — saddle my bay-horae — (apart) 
'or the last time. [JSxit. 



ACT IV.— SCENE t 

Che wood of Griefenhaus, with the ruins of the 
Castle. A nearer view of the' Castle than in 
Act Second, but still at some distance. 

Enter Rodebig, Wolf.stein, and Soldiers, as from 
a reconnoitcrinfj party. 

Wolf. They mean to improve their success, and 
■vill push their advantage far. We must retreat 
betimes. Count Roderic. 

Rod. We are safe here for the present. They 
make no immediate motion of advance. I fancy 
neitlier George nor Henry are with their party in 
thr: wood. 

Enter Hnoo. 

Hug. Noble su-, how shall I tell what has hap- 
pened ? 

Rod. What? 

Hug. Martin has escaped. 

Rod. Villain, thy life shall pay it 1 {Strikes at 
Hugo — is hfld by Wolfstein.) 

Wolf. Hold, hold. Count Roderic 1 Hugo may 
be blameless. 

Rod. Reckless slave I how came he to escape ' 

Hug. Under the disguise of a monk's habit, 
whom by your orders we brought to confess him. 

Rod. Has he been long gone ? 

Hug. An hour and more since he passed our 
sentinels, disguised as the chaplain of Aspen : but 
he walked so slowly and feebly, I think he cannot 
yet have reached the posts of tlie enemy. 

Rod. Wliere is the treacherous priest ? 

Hug. He waits his doom not far from hence. 

[Exit Hugo. 

Rod. Drag him hither. The miscreant that 
snatched the morsel of vengeance from the lion of 
Maltmgen, shall expire mider torture. 

Re-enter Hugo, with Bertram and Attendants. 

Rod. Villain ! what tempted thee, under the 
gart) of a minister of religion, to steal a criminal 
from the hand of justice ? 

Bee. I am no villain. Count Roderic ; and I only 
aided the escape of one wounded wretch whom 
thou didst mean to kill basely. 

Rod. Liar and slave ! thou } ast assisted a mur- 
derer, upon whom justice had facred claims. 



Bee. I warn thee again, Count, that I am neithe; 
liar nor slave. Shortly I hope to tell thee I am 
once more thy equak 

Rod. Thou! Thou! 

Bee. Yes ! the name of Bertram of Ebersdori 
was once not unknown to thee. 

Rod. {astonished.) Thou Bertram 1 the brother 
of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, first husband of the Bar- 
oness Isabella of Aspen ? 

Bee. The siime. 

Rod. Who, in a quarrel at a tournament, man)' 
years since, slew a blood-relation of the emperor 
and was laid under the ban ? 

Bee. The same. 

Rod. And who has now, in the disguise of a 
priest, aided the escape of Martin, squu^c to George 
of Aspen ? 

Bee. The same — the same. 

Rod. Then, by the holy cross of Cologi-e, thou 
hast set at liberty the murdere/ of thy brothel 
Arnolf ! 

Bee. How ! What ! I understand thee not ! 

Rod. Miserable plotter ! — Martin, by his own 
confession, as Wolfstein heard, avowed having 
aided Isabella in the murder of her husband. I 
ha'd laid such a plan of vengeance as should have 
made all Germany shudder. And thou hast coun- 
teracted it — thou, the brother of the murderec? 
Arnolf* 

Bee. Can this be so, Wolfstein ? 

Wolf. I beard Martin confess the murder. 

Bee. Then am I indeed unfortunate ! 

Rod. What, in the name of evil, brought J;hee 
here ? 

Bee. I am the last of my race. When I was 
outlawed, as thou knowest, the lands of Ebers- 
dorf, my rightful inheritance, were decbired for- 
feited, and the Empei'or bestowed them upon 
Rudiger when he married Isabella. I attempted 
to defend my domain, but Rudiger — Hell thank 
him for it — enforced the ban against me at the 
head of his vassals, and I was constrained to fly. 
Since then I have warred against the Saracens in 
Spain and Palestine. 

Rod. But why didst thou return to a land where 
death attends thy being discovered i 

Bee. Impatience mged me to see once more the 
land of my nativity, and the towers of Eb2rsdor£ 
I came there yesterday, under the name of the 
minstrel Minhold. 

Rod. And what prevailed on thee to undertake 
to deliver Mai-tin ? 

Bee. George, though I told not my name, en- 
gaged to procure the recall of the ban ; besides, 
he told me Martin's life was in danger, aud I ac- 
counted the t)ld villain to be the last remaining 
follower of our house. But, as God shall judge 
me, the tale of horror thou hast mentioned I could 



not have even suspected. Report ran, that my 
brother died of the plague. 

Wolf. Raisi^d for the piu-pose, doubtless, of pre- 
rrenting attendance upon his sick-bed, and an in- 
spection of his body. 

Ber. My Tfngeauce shall be dreadful as its 
cause ! Tlic usurpers of ray inheritance, the rob- 
bers cf my honor, the murderers of my brother, 
■hall be cut ofl', root and branch ! 

Ron. Thi-'U art, then, welcume here ; especially 
if 'Jiou ait still a true brother to our invisible 
order. 

Bek. I am. 

Rod. There is a meeting tliis night on the busi- 
ness of thy brother's death. Some are now come. 
I must dispatch them in pursuit of Martin. 

Enter Hugo. 

Huo, The foes advance, sir knight. 

Rod. Back ! back to the ruins ! Come with us, 
Bertram ; on the road thou shalt hear the dread- 
ful history. [Exeunt. 

From the opposite side enter George, Heney, 
WicKERD, Conrad, atid Soldiers, 

Geo. No news of Martin yet ? 

Wic. None, sir knight. 

Geo. Nor of the minstrel f 

Wic. None. 

Geo. Tlien he has betrayed me, or is prisoner — 
misery either way. Begone, and search the wood, 
Wickerd. [Exeimt Wiokerd and followers. 

Hen. StUl this dreadful gloom on thy brow, 
brother ? 

Geo. Ay I what else ? 

Hen. Once thou thoughtest me worthy of thy 
friendsliip. 

Geo. Henry, thou art young — 

Hen. Shall I therefore betray thy confidence ? 

Geo. No ! but thou ai't gentle and well-na- 
tured. Tliy mind cannot even support the burden 
which mine must bear, far less wilt thou approve 
the means I shall use to throw it off. 

Hen. Try me. 

Geo. I may not. 

Hen. Then thou dost no longer love me. 

Geo*. I love thee, and because I love thee, I will 
Qot involve thee in my distress. 

Hen. I will bear it with thee. 

Geo. Shouldst thou share it, it would be doubled 
to me. 

Hen. Fear not, I will find a remedy. 

Geo. It would cost thee peace of mind, here, 
and hereafter. 

Hen. I take the risk. 

Q^o. It may not be, Henry. Thou wouldst be- 
come the confidant of crimes past — the accompUce 
at oth«rs to come. 
104 



Hen. Shall I guess ? 

Geo. I charge thee, no ! 

Hen. I must. Thou art one of the secret judgea 

Geo. Unhappy boy ! what hast thou said I 

Hen. Is it not so ! 

Geo. Dost thou know what the discovery hm 
cost thee ? 

Hen. I care not. 

Geo. He wl^i discovers any part of our mystery 
must himself become one of our number. 

Hen. How so ? 

Geo. If he does not consent, his secrecy will be 
speedily ensureil by his death. To that we are 
sworn — take thy choice 1 

Hen. Well, are you not b.inded ui secret to 
pimish those offenders whom the sword of justice 
cannot reacli, or who are shielded from its stroke 
by the buckler of ])Ower ? 

Geo. Such is indeed the purpose of our frater- 
nity ; but the end is piu'sued through paths dark, 
intricate, and shppeiy with blootl. Who is he that 
shall tread them with safety 'i Accursed be the 
hour m which I entered the labyrmth, and doubly 
accursed that, in wliich thou too must lose the 
cheerful sunshine oi a sou! without a mystery ! 

Hen. Yet for thy sake will I be a member. 

Geo. Henry, thou didst rise this morning a free 
man. No one could say to thee, " Wliy dost thou 
so ?" Thou layest thee down to-night the veriest 
slave that ever tugged at an oar — the slave ol 
men whose actions will appear to thee savage and 
incomprehensible, and whom thou must aid against 
the world, upon peril of thy throat. 

Hen. Be it so. I will share your lot. 

Geo. Alas, Henry I Heaven forbid ! But since 
thou hast by a hasty word fettered thyself, I will 
avail myself of thy bondage. Mount thy fleetest 
steed, and liie thee tliis very night to the Duke oi 
Bavaria. He is cliief and paramount of our chap- 
ter. Show him this signet and this letter ; tell 
him that matters will be this night discussed con- 
cerning the house of Aspen. Bid him speed him 
to the assembly for he well knows the president 
b our deadly foe. He will admit thee a membef 
of our holy body. 

Hen. Who is the foe whom you dread ? 

Geo. Young man, the first duty thou must loarn 
is implicit and blind obedience. 

Hen. Well ! I shall soon return and see the« 
again. 

Geo. Return, indeed, thou wilt ; but for the rest 
— well I that matters not. 

Hen. I go : thou wilt set a watch here ? 

Geo. I will. (Henry going.) Return, my teal 
Henry ; let me embrace thee, shouldst thou no* 
see me again. 

Hen. Heaven ! what mean you ! 

Geo. Nothing. Tue hfe of mortals is precwi' 



B26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



JUS ; and, should we not meet again, take my 
blessing and this embrace — and this — {embraces 
him wannly.) And now haste to the duke. {Bxit 
He.vet.) Poor youth, thou little knowest what 
thou hast undertaken. But if Martin has escaped, 
and if the duke arrives, they will not dai'e to pro- 
ceed without proot 

Re-enter Wickerd and followers. 
Wic. We hare made a follower of Maltmgen 
prisoner, Baron George, who reports that Martin 
nas escaped. 

Geo. Joy ! joy ! such joy as I can now feel ! 
Set him free for the good news — and, Wickerd, 
keep a good watch in this spot all night. Send 
out scouts to find Martin, lest he should not be 
»ble to reach Ebersdorf. 
Wio. I shall, noble sir. 

[The kettle-drums and trumpets flourish 
as for setting the watch : t/ie scene closes. 



SCENE IL 

The chapel at Ebersdorf, an ancient Gothic building. 

Isabella is discovered rising from before tJie altar, 
on which burn two tapers. 

IsA. I cannot pray. Terror and guilt have sti- 
fled devotion. The heart must be at ease — the 
hands nmst be pure when they are lifted to Heav- 
en. Midnight is the hour of summons : it is now 
near, How can I pray, when I go resolved to 
deny a crime which every drop of my blood could 
not wash away ! And my son ! Oh ! he will fall 
the victim of my crime ! Arnolfl Arnolf! thou 
art dreadfully avenged ! (Tap at the door.) The 
footstep of my dreadful guide. (Tap again.) My 
courage is no more. {-Enter Gertrude b;/ the door.) 
Gertrude ! is it only thou 1 {embraces her.) 

Ger. Dear aunt, leave this awful place ; it chills 
my very blood. My uncle sent me to call you to 
the hall. 

IsA. Who is in the hall ? 

Gek. Only Reynold and the family, with whom 
•ny uncle is making merry. 

Ui. Sawest thou no strange faces ! 

Ger. No ; none but friends. 

IsA. Art thou sure of that ! Is George there ? 

Ger. No, nor Henry ; both have ridden out. I 
think they might have staid one day at least. But 
eome, aunt, I hate this place ; it reminds me of my 
dream. See, yonder was the spot where methought 
they were burying you alive, below yon monu- 
ment (pointing.) 

laA (ttarting.) The monument of my first hus- 



band. Leave me, leave me, Gertrude. I follow 
in a moment. (Exit Gertrude.) Ay, there ha 
lies 1 forgetful aUke of his crimes and injuries 
Insensible, as if this chapel had never rxmg with 
my shrieks, or the castle resounded to his parting 
groans 1 When shall I sleep so soundly ? (At 
she gazes on the monument, a figure muffled in black 
appears from behind it.) Merciful God ! is it a 
vision, such as has haunted my couch (It ap- 
proaches : she goes on tvifh mingled terror and rej- 
olution.) Ghastly phantom, art thou the restless 
spirit of one who died in agony, or art thou the 
mysterious being that must /:^uide me to the pres- 
ence of the avengers of blood ? (Figure bend^ its 
head and beckons.) — To-morrow I To-morrow I I 
caimot follow thee now 1 (Figure shmos a dagger 
from beneath its oloak.) Compulsion ! I imder- 
standthee: I will follow. {She follows the figure 
a little way ; he turns and wraps a black veil round 
her head, and takes her hand: then both exeunt 
behind the monument.) 



SCENE III. 

The Wood of Griefenhaus. — A watch-fire, rouna 
which sit Wickerd, Conrad, and others, in theit 
watch-cloaks. 

Wio. The night is bitter cold. 

Con. Ay, but thou hast lined thy doublet well 
with old Rhenish. 

Wio. True ; and I'll give you warrant for it> 
(Sings.) 

(RHEIN-WEIN LIED.) 

What makes the troopers' frozen courage muster I 

Tlie grapes of juice divine. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster : 

Oh, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit sHn, sua. 

Bedeck your Saracen ; 
He'll freeze without what warms our hearts with- 
in, sirs. 

When the night-frost crusts the fen. 

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine, 
That make our troopers' frozen courage muster : 

Oh, blessed be the Rhine 1 

Con. Well sung, Wickerd; thou wert ev6r • 
jovial souL 

Enter a trooper or two molt, 
Wio. Hast thou made the rounds, Frank I 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



82'} 



Feank. Tea, up to the hemlock marsh. It is a 
rtormy night ; the moon shone on the Wolfshill, 
and on tlie dead bodies with which to-day's work 
has covered it. We heard the spirit of the house 
of Maltingen waiUng over the slaughter of its ad- 
herents : I durst go no farther. 

Wio. Hen-hearted rascal ! The spirit of some old 
raven, who waa picking their bones. 

Con. Nay, Wickerd ; the churclunen say there 
are such things. 

Frank. Ay ; and Father Ludovic told us last 
sermon, how the devil twisted the neck of ten 
farmers at Kletterbach, who refused to pay Pe- 
ter's pence. 

Wic. Yes, some church devil, no doubt. 

Frank. Nay, old Reynold says, that in passing, 
by midnight, near the old cliapel at our castle, he 
saw it all Hghted up, and heard a chorus of voices 
sing the funeral service. 

Another Soldier. Father Ludovic he.ird the 
same. 

Wic. Hear me, ye hare-livered boys ! Can you 
look death in the face in battle, and dre.iil sucli 
nursery bugbears ? Old Reynold saw his vision 
in the strength of the grape. As for the chaplaui, 
far be it from me to name the spirit wliich visits 
him ^ but I know what I know, wlien X found him 
confessing Bertrand's pretty Agnes in the chestnut 
grove. 

Con. But, Wickerd, though I have often heard 
of strange tales which I could not credit, yet there 
is one in our family so well attested, that I almost 
beUeve it. Shall I tell it you ? 

All Soldiers. Do ! do tell it, gentle Conrad. 

Wic. And I will take t'other sup of Rhenish to 
fence against the horrors of the tale. 

CoN. It is about my own uncle and godfather, 
Albert of Horsheim. 

Wio. I have seen him — he was a gallant war- 
rior. 

Con. Well ! he was long absent in the Bohe- 
uian wars. In an expedition he was benighted, 
and came to a lone liouse on the edge of a forest: 
he and his followers knocked repeatedly for en- 
trance in vain. They forced the door, but found 
no inhabitants. 

Frank. And they made good their quarters ? 

Con. They did : and Albert retired to rest ip an 
upper chamber. Opposite to the bed on which he 
threw himself was a large mirror. At midnight 
he was awaked by deep groans : he cast his eyes 
upon the mirror, and saw 

Frank. Sacred Heaven I Heard you nothing ? 

Wic. Ay, the wind among the n^ther'd leaves. 
\}o on, Conrad. Your imcle was a wi.se man. 

Con. That's more than gray hairs can make 
«ther folks. 

Wio. Ha ! stripling, art thou so malapert ? 



Though thou art Lord Henry's page, I shall teach 
thee who commands this party. 

All Soldiers. Peace, peace, good Wickerd ; lei 
Conrad proceed. 

Con. Where was I ? 

Frank. About the mirror. 

Con. Ti'ue. My uncle beheld in the mirror the 
reflection of a human face distorted and covered 
with blood. A voice pronounced articulately. " Ti 
is yet time." As the words were spoken, my un- 
cle di.scerned in the ghastly visage the features ol 
Iiis own father. 

Soldier. Hush ! By St Francis, I heard a groan 
{The;/ start up all but Wickerd.) 

Wic. The croaking of a frog, who has caught 
cold in this bitter night, and sings rather more 
hoarsely than usual. 

Frank. Wickerd, thou art surely no Cliristian 
{They sit down, and close round thejire.) 

Con. Well — my uncle called up his attendants, 
and they searched every nook of tlie chamber, but 
found nothing. So they covered the muror with 
a cloth, and Albert was left alone ; but hardly had 
he closed Iiis eyes when the same voice proclaimed, 
" It is now too late ;" the covering was drawn aside, 
and he saw the figure 

Frank. Merciful Vu-gin ! It comes. {All rise.) 

Wic. Where ? what I 

Con. See yon figure coming from the thicket- ' 

Enter Martin, in the monk's dress, much disordet 
ed: his face is very pale and his steps slow. 

Wic. {levelling his pike.) Man or devil, which 
thou wilt, thou shalt feel cold iron, if thou budgest 
a foot nearer. (Martin stops.) Who art thou ! 
What dost thou seek ? 

Mar. To warm myself at your fire. It is deadly 
cold. 

Wic. See there, ye cravens, your apparition is 
a poor beniglited monk : sit down, father. (They 
place Martin by /he fire.) By heaven, it is Martin 
— our Martin ! Martin, how fares it with thee ! 
We have sought thee this whole night. 

Mar. So have many others {vacantly.) 

Con. Yes, thy master. 

Mar. Did you see him too ( 

Con. Whom ? Baron George ? 

Mar. No ! my first master, Amolf of Eberwlort 

Wic. He raves. 

Mar. He passed me but now in the wood, mouDt- 
ed upon liis old black steed ; its nostrils breatheal 
smoke and flame ; neither tree nor rock stopped 
him. He said, " Martin, thou wilt return this night 
to my service I" 

. Wie. Wrap thy cloak around him, Francis; he 
is distracted with cold and pain. Dost thou not 
recollect me, old friend ? 

Mar. Yes, you are the butler at Ebersdorf : Ton 



have the charge of the large gilded cup, embossed 
with the figures of the twelve apostles. It was the 
javorite goblet of my old master. 

Co.N. By our lady, Martin, thou must be dis- 
tracted indeed, to think our master would intrust 
Wickiru with the care of the cellar. 

Mae. I know a face so like the apostate Judas 
on that cup. I have seen the likeness when I gazed 
■xi a mirror. 

Wic. Try to go to sleep, dear Martin ; it will 
reiieve thy brain. {FooUteps are lieard In the wood.) 
To your arm,s. {They take their arms) 

Enter two Members of the Invisible Tribunal, muf- 
Jied in their cloaks. 
Con. Stand I Who are you ? 
1 Mem. Travellers benighted in the wood. 
Wio. Are ye friends to Aspen or Maltiugen t 

1 Mem. We enter not into their quarrel : we are 
friends to the right. 

Wio. Then are ye friends to us, and welcome to 
pass the night by om- fire. 

2 Mem. Thanks. (They approach the fire, and 
regard Martin very earnesthj.) 

Con. Hear ye any news abroad ! 
2 Mem. None ; but that oppression and villany 
ire rife and rank as ever. 
Wio. The old complaint. 

1 Mem. No ! never did former age equal this in 
wickedness ; and yet, as if the daily commission of 
enormities were not enough to blot the eun, every 
hour discovers crimes which have lain concealed 
for years. 

Con. Pity the Holy Tribunal should slumber in 
its office. 

2 Mem. Young man, it slumbers not. When 
criminals are ripe for its vengeance, it falls like 
the bolt of He^en. 

Mak. {attempting to rise.) Let me be gone. 

Con. (detaining him) Whither now, Martin ! 

Mar. To mass. 

1 Mem. Even now, we heard a tale of a villain, 
who, ungrateful as the frozen adder, stung the bo- 
som that had warmed him into life. 

Mak. Conrad, bear me off; I would be away from 
these men. 

Ouif. Be at ease, and strive to sleep. 

Mar. Too well I know — I shall never sleep again. 

1 Mem. The wretch of whom we speak became, 
fixm revenge and lust of gain, the murderer of the 
master whose bread he did eat. 

Wic. Out upon the monster I 

1 Mem. For neai'ly thirty years was he permit- 
ted to cumber the ground. The miscreant thought 
his crime was concealed ; but the earth which 
groaned under lais footsteps — the winds which 
passed over his unhallowed head — the stream 
wliich he polluted by his Ups — the fire at which he 



warmed his blood-stained hand? — every element 
bore witness to his guilt. 

Mar. Conrad, good youth — lead .me from heax, 
and 1 will show thee where, thirty ) ear.-i since, 1 
deposited a mighty bribe. \^Risea, 

Con. Be patient, good Martin. 
Wic. And where was the miscreant neized S 

\TJie two Members suddenly lay hmida on 
Martin, and draw their daggers; the 
Soldiers spring to their arms. 
1 Mem. On this very spot. 
Wic. Traitors, unloose your hold I 
1 Mem. In the name of the Invisible Judgee, I 
charge ye, impede us not in our duty. 

[All sitik their weapons, and stand mo- 
tionless. 
Mar. Help! help! 
1 Mem. Help him with your prayers I 

[He is dragged off. Tlie scene shuU, 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 

The subterranean chapel of the Castle of Oriefen- 
haus. It seems deserted, and in decay. There ara 
four entrances, each defended by a« iron portal. 
At each door stands a warder clothed in black, 
and unasked, armed with a naked sword. During 
the whole scene they remain motionless on their 
posts. In the centre of the chapel is a ruinous 
altar, half sunk in the ground, on which lie a 
large book, a dagger, and a coil of ropes, beside 
two lighted tapers. Antique stone benches of dif- 
ferent heights around the chapel. In the back' 
scerie is seeji a dilapidated entran-ce into the sa- 
cristy, which is qttite dark. 

Various Members of the Invisible Tribunal enter 
by the four different doors of the chapel. Each 
whispers sotnething as he passes the Warder 
which is answered by an inclination of the head. 
The costume of the Meinbers is a long black robe 
capable of muring the face : some wear it in this • 
manner ; others have their faces uncovered, un- 
less on the entrance of a stranger : they place 
themselves in profound silence upon the stone 
benches. 

Enter OotiKT Rodeeio, dressed in a scarlet cloak oj 
the same form with those of the other Membert. 
He takes his place mi the most elevated bencK 

Rod. Warders, secure the doors 1 (The doori 

are barred wifji great care) Herald, do thy duty 1 

[Members all rise — Herald stands by the 

altar. 

Her. Members of the Invisible Tribunal, who 

judge in secret, and avenge in secret, like the Deity, 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



829 



Ue your heart? free S-an malice, and your handa 
from blood-guiU)ned« ? 

{All the Members incline their heads. 

Rod. God p:trdon our sins of ignorance, and pre- 
serve us frooi those of presumption. 

[Again the Members solemnly incline their 
heads. 

Her. To the east, and to the west, and to the 
north, and to the south, I raise my voice ; "wherever 
there is treason, wherever there is blood-guUtiuess, 
wherever there is sacrilege, sorcery, robbery, or 
perjmy, there let this curse alight, and pierce the 
marrow and the bone. Raise, then, your voices, 
and say with me. woe ! woe, unto offenders ! 

All. Woe ! woe ! [3fejnbcrs sit down. 

Her. He who knoweth of an unpunished crime, 
let him stand forth as bound by his oath when his 
hand was laid upon the dagger and upon the cord, 
and call to the assembly for vengeance ! 

Mem. {rises, his face covered.) Vengeance I ven- 
geance ! vengeance I 

Rod. Upon whom dost thou invoke vengeance ? 

Accuser. Upon a brother of this order, who is 
lorsworn, and perjured to its laws. 

Rod. Relate his crime. 

Accu. This perjured brother was sworn, upon 
the steel and upon the cord, to denounce malefac- 
tors to the judgment-seat, from the four quarters 
of heaven, though it were the spouse of his heart, 
or the sou whom he loved as the apple of liis eye ; 
yet did he conceal the guilt of one who was dear 
cnto him ; he folded up the crime from the knowl- 
edge of the tribunal ; he removed the evidence of 
guilt, and withdrew the criminal from justice. 
What does his perjury deserve ? 

Rod. Accuser, come before the altar ; lay thy 
hand upon the dagger and the cord, and swear to 
the truth of thy accusation. 

Accu. {his hand on the altar.) I swear I 

Rod. Wilt thou take upon thyself the penalty 
of perjury, should it be found false ? 

Accu. I will. 

Rod. Brethren, what is your sentence ! 

\The Metnbers confer a moment in whis- 
pers — a silence. 

Eldest Mem. Our voice is, that the perjured 
Orother merits death. 

Rod. Accuser, thou hast heard the voice of the 
ikjsembly ; name the criminal. 

AccD. George, Baron of Aspen. 

[A murmur in the assembly. 

A Mem. {suddenly rising.) I am ready, accord- 
ing to our holy laws, to swear, by the steel and 
the cord, that George of Aspen merits not this ac- 
tusation, and that it is a foul calumny. 

Accu. Rash man ! gagest thou an oath so lightly ? 

Mem. I gage it not lightly. I proffer it in the 
^use of iunocencft and virtue. 



Accu. What if George of Aspen should not him* 
self deny the charge ! 

Mem. Then would I never trust man agaia 

Aecu. Hear him, then, bear witness against him- 
self {throws back his mantle.) 

Rod. Baron George of Aspen ! 

Geo. The same — prepared to do penance frr the 
crime of which he stands self-accused. 

Rod. Still, canst thou disclose the name of thi 
criminal whom thou hast rescued from ; .istice, on 
that condition alone, thy brethren may sa"i e thy 
hfe. 

Geo. Tliinkest thou I would betray for the safety 
of my hfe, a secret I have preserved at the breach 
of my word ? — No ! I have weighed the value of 
my obligation — I will not discharge it — but most 
willingly will I p.ay the penalty ! 

Rod Retire, George of Aspen, till the assembly 
pronounce judgment. 

Geo. Welcome be your sentence — -I am weary 
of your yoke of iron. A light beams on my soul. 
Woe to those who seek justice in the dark haunts 
of mystery and of cruelty . She dwells in the 
broad blaze of the sun, and Mercy is ever by her 
side. Woe to those who would advance the gen- 
eral weal by trampUng upon the social affections 1 
thoy aspire to be more than men — tliey shall be- 
come worse thafi tigers. I go: better for me your 
altars should be stained with my blood, than mr 
soul blackened with your crimes. 

[Exit George, by the ruinous door in ths 
back scene, into the sacristy. 

Rod. Brethren, sworn upon the steel and upon 
the cord, to judge and to avenge in secret, without 
favor and without pity, what is your judgment 
upon George of Aspen, self-accused of perjury, and 
resistance to the laws of our fi'aternity ? 

[Lo7iff and earnest murmurs in the as- 
sembly. 

Rod. Speak your doom. 

Eldest Mem. George of Aspen has declared him 
self perjured ; — the penalty of perjury is death 1 

Rod. Father of the secret judges — Eldest among 
those who avenge in secret — take to tliee the steel 
and the cord ; — let the guilty no longer cumber the 
land. 

Eldest Mem. I am fourscore and eight years old. 
My eyes are dim, and my hand is feeble ; soon shall 
I be called before the throne of my Creitor ; — How 
shall I stand there, stained with the blood of such 
a man? 

Rod. How wilt thou stand before that throne, 
loaded with the guilt of a broken oath ? The blood 
of tlie criminal be upon us and ours ! 

Eldest Mem. So be it, in tlie name of God I 

[He takes the dagger from the altar, goei 
slowly towards the back scene, and r» 
luctantly enters the sacristy. 



B30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Eldest Jubge. (from behind the scene.) Dost thou 
forgive me ? 
Geo. (6c/(/«d) I do ! (He is heard to fall lieavily.) 
[Re-enter the old judc/e from the smcristy. 
He lays on the altar the bloody dagger. 
Hod. Hast thou done thy duty ! 
Eldest Mem. I have. (.He faints.) 
Rod. He swoons. Remove him. 

I He is assisted off the stage. During this 
four members enter the sacristy^ and 
bring out a bier covered tenth a pall, 
which they place on the steps of the altar. 
A deep silence. 
Rod, Judges of evil, dooming in secret, and aveng- 
ing in secret, like the Deity : God keep your thoughts 
from evil, and your handa^from guilt. 

Ber. I raise my voice m this assembly, and cry, 
T^engeance ! vengeance ! vengeance ! 

Rod. Enough lias this night been done — (he rises 
and brings Bertram forward.) Think what thou 
doest — George has fallen — it were murder to slay 
both mother and son. 

Bek. George of Aspen was thy victim — a sacri- 
fice to thy hatred and envy. I claim mine, sacred 
to justice and to ray murdered brother. Resmne 
thy place — thou canst not stop the rock thou hast 
put in motion. 

Rod. [resumes his seat.) Upon whom callest thou 
for vengeance ? 

Ber. Upou Isabella of Aspen. 
Rod. She has been summoned. 
Herald. Isabella of Aspen, accused of murder 
by poison, I charge thee to appear, and stand upon 
thy defence. 

[Three knocks are heard at one of the 
doors — it is opened by the warder. 

Enter Isabella, the veil still wrapped around her 
head, led by her conductor. All the members 
muffle their faces. 

Rod. Uncover her eyes. 

[The veil is removed. Isabella looks mid- 
ly round. 

Rod. Knowest thou, lady, where thou art ? 

IsA. I guess. 

Rod. Say thy guess. 

IsA. Before the Avengers of blood. 

Rod. Knowest thou why thou art called to their 
presence ! 

IsA. No. 

Roi. Speak, accuser. 

Ber. I impeach thee, Isabella of Aspen, before 
this awful assembly, of having murdered, privily 
and by poison, Amolf of Ebersdorf, thy first hus- 
band. 

Rod. Canst thou swear to the accusation ? 

Ber. {his hajid on the altar.) I lay my hand on 
the steel and the <-ord, and swear. 



Rod Isabella of Aspen, thou hast heard thy ao 
cusation What capst thou answer ! 

IsA. That the oath of an accuser is no proof at 
guilt I 

Rod. Hast thou more to say ? 

IsA. I have. 

Rod. Speak on. 

IsA. Judges invisible \f> the sun, and seen only 
by the stars of midnight I I stand before you, ac- 
cused of an enormous, daring, and premeditaied 
crime. I was married to Arnolf when I was only 
eighteen years old. Arnolf was wary and jealous ; 
ever suspecting me without a cause, unless it waa 
because be had injm-ed me. How then should I 
plan and perpetrate such a deed ? The lamb turnj 
not against the wolf, though a prisoner in his den. 

Rod. Have you finished ? 

IsA. A moment. Tears after years have elapsed 
without a whisper of this foul suspicion. Arnolf 
left a brother ! though common fame had been 
silent, natural affection would have been heard 
against me — why spoke he not my accusation ? Ol 
has my conduct justified tliis horrible charge ? No ! 
awful judges, I may answer, I have founded clois- 
ters, I have endowed hospitals. The goods that 
Heaven bestowed on me I have not held back from 
the needy. I appeal to you, judges of evU, can 
these proofs of innocence be down-weighed by the 
assertion of an unknown and disguised, perchance 
a malignant accuser ! 

Ber. No longer will I wear that disguise {throwi 
back his mantle.) Dost thou know me now ? 

IsA. Yes ; I know thee for a wandering minstrel, 
reheved by the charity of my husband. 

Ber. No, traitress ! know me for Bertram o2 
Ebersdorf, brother to him thou didst murder. Call 
her accomplice, Martin. Ha ! turnest thou pale ? 

IsA. M.ay I have some water ? — (Apart.) Sacreii 
Heaven ! his vindictive look is so like — 

[ Water is brought 

A Mem. Martin died in the hands of our brethren. 

Rod. Dost thou know the accuser, lady ? 

IsA. (reassu7ning fortitude.) Let not the sinking 
of nature under this dreadful trial be imputed to 
the consciousness of guilt. I do know the accuser 
— know him to be outlawed for homicide, and un- 
der the ban of the empire : his testimony cannot 
be received. 

Eldest Judge. She says truly. 

Ber. (to Roderic.) Then I call upon thee and 
William of Wolfstein to bear witness to what you 
know. 

Rod. Wolfstein is not in the assembly, and my 
place prevents me from being a witness. 

Ber. Then I will call another : meanwhile lei 
the accused be removed. 

Rod. Retire, lady. 

[Isabella is led to the sacrittf 



THE HOUSE OF AaPEN. 



831 



IsA. {in going off.) Tlie ground is slippery — 
fTeavens ! it is floated with blood ! 

[Exit into the sacristy. 

Rod. (apart to Bekteam.) Whom dost thou mean 
to call ? [Bertram whispers, 

• Rod. This goes beyond me. {After a inomeiit's 
thyugkl.) But be it so. Maltingen sliall beliold 
Aspen humbled in the dust. {Aloud) Brethren, 
the accuser calls for a witness who remains with- 
out : admit him. \All maffie their faces. 

Enter Rudiger, his eyes bound or covered, leaning 
npott two mmnbers; they place a stool for him, 
and unbind his eyes. 

Rod. Knowest thou where thou art, and before 
wiiom ! 

RuD. I know not, and I care not. Two strangers 
summoned me from my castle to assist, they said, 
at a great act of justice. I ascended the litter 
they brought, and I am here. 

Rod. It regards the punishment of perjury and 
the discovery of murder. Art thou willing to as- 
•ist us! 

RuD. Most willing, as is my duty. 

Rod. Wliat if tlie crime regard thy friend I 

RuD. I will hold him no longer so. 

Rod. What if thine own blood ? 

RcD. I would let it out with my poniard. 

Rod. Then canst thou not blame us for this deed 
of justice. Remove the pall. {The pall is lifted, 
beneath which is discovered the body of George, 
pale and bloody. Rudiger staggers towards it.) 

Run. My George ! my George ! Not slain manly 
m battle, but murdered by legal assassins. Much, 
much may I mourn thee, my beloved boy ; but 
not now — not now : never will T shed a tear for 
thy deatli till I have cleared thy fame. — Hear me, 
ye midnight murderers, he wai innocent {raising 
his voice) — upright as the truth itself. Let the 
man who dares gainsay me lift that gage. If the 
Almighty does not strengthen #iese frail limbs, to 
make good a father's qDSJrel, I have a son left, who 
wili vindicate the honor of Aspen, or lay his bloody 
V>dy beside his btother's. 

Rod. Rash and inseasate ! Hear first the cause. 
E3ar the dishonor of thy house. 

Iea. {from tlie sacristy.) Never shall he hear it 
till the author is no morel (Rm^iGEE attempts to 
rush awards the sacristy, but is prevented. Isabella 
rUera wounded, and throws herself on Georqe's 
body) 

IsA. Mm'dgred for me — for me I my dear, dear 
sonl 

Rm>. {still held.) Cowardly villains, let me loose ! 
Maltingen, this is thy doing 1 Thy face thou wouldst 
disguise, thy deeds thou canst not 1 I defy thee 
to mstant and mortal combat I 

IsA. {looking up.) No I no! endanger not thy 



hfe ! Myself ! myself I I could not bear thou 

shouldst know Oh ! {Dies.) 

RuD. Oh I let me go — let me but try to stop hot 
blood, and I will forgive aU. 

Rod. Drag him off and detain him. Tlie voicf 
of lamentation must not distiu'b the stern delibei 
ation of justice. 

RuD. Bloodhound of Maltingen 1 Well beseems 
thee thy base revenge I The marks cf my son's 
lance are stUl on thy craven crest I Venc^eauct ui' 
the band of ye ! 

[Rudiger is dragged off to the sacristy 

Rod. Brethren, we stand discovered ! What ia 

to be done to him who shall descry our mystery ? 

Eldest Judge. He must become a brother of 

our order, or die ! 

Rod. This man will never join us I He cannot^ 
put his hand into ours, which are stained witli tti<, 
blood of Ills wife and son : he must therefore die I 
{Murmurs in the assembly.) Brethren 1 I wonder not 
at your reluctance ; but the man is powerful, has 
friends and aUies to buckler hL 'ause. It is over 
with us, and with our order, unless tlie laws are 
obeyed. {Fainter murmurs.) Besides, have we 
not sworn a deadly oath to execute these statutes ! 
{A dead silence.) Take to thee the steel and the 
cord {to the eldest judge.) 

Eldest Judge. He has done no evil — he was the 
companion of my battle — I will not ! 

Rod. {to another.) Do thou — and succeed to thj 
rank of Mm who has disobeyed. Remember yout 
oath 1 {Member takes the dagger, and goes irresiy 
lutely forward; looks iiito tlie sacristy, and comet 
back.) 

Mem. He has fainted — fainted in anguish foi his 
wife and his son ; the bloody ground is strewed 
with his white hairs, torn by those hand? that have 
fought for Clu-istendom. I will not be your butcher. 
— {Throws down the dagger.) 

Ber. Irresolute and perjured I the robber of my 
inheritance, the author of my exile, shall die I 

Rod. lliauks, Bertram. Execute the doom- 
secure the safety of the holy tribim.vl I 

[Bertram seizes the dagger, and is about to 
rush into the sacristy, wften three loud 
knocks are heard at the door. 
All. Hold! Hold! 

[77i« Duke of Bavaria, attended by many 
members of the Invisible Tribunal, enters, 
dressed in a scarlet mantle trimmed with 
ermine, and wearing a dueal croion. — I{e 
carries a rod in his hand. — All rise. — A 
murmur among the members, who whispef 
to each other, " The Duke" " The Chiefs 
iee. 
Rod. The Duke of Bavaria I I am lost. 
Duke, {sees the bodies.) I am too late— the Tit 
tims Iv e fallca 



SS2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hen. (who enters with the Duke.) Gracious Hcav- 
jn I George I 

RtD. {from the sacristy.) Henry — it is thy voice 
— save me ! [Henry rushes into the sacristy. 

Duke. Eoderic of Maltingen, descend from tlie 
B&at "wliicli thou hast dishonored — {Roderio leaves 
h:s place, which the Duke occupies.) — Thou standest 
accused of having perverted the laws of our order ; 
(br that, being a mortal enemy to the house of 
Aspen, thou hast abused thy sacred authority to 
zander to thy private revenge ; and to this Wolf- 
steiu has been witness. 

Rod. Chief among our circles, I have but acted 
according to our laws. 

Duke. Thou hast indeed observed the letter of 
our statutes, and woe am I that they do warrant 
thi" ' ' ,ht's bloody work I I cannot do unto thee 
would, but what I can I wiU. Thou hast not 
• '■ ' ^ssed our law, but thou hast wrested 

,' ' ; kneel down, therefore, and place 

thy hands betwixt mine. (Rodehio kneels as di- 
rected.) I degrade thee from thy sacred office 

treads his hands, as pushing RoDEHic/ro»i him.) 
.fter two days thou darest to pollute Bavarian 
ground by thy footsteps, be it at the peril of the 
eteel and the cord (Roueuic rises.) I dissolve this 
meeting (all rise.) Judges and condemners of 
others, God teach you knowledge of yourselves 1 
'All bend their heads — Dnke breaks his rod, and 
iOinet forta^rd.) 



Rod. Lord Duke, thou hast charged rce witi 
treachery — thou art my Mege lord — but who elsa 
dares maintain the accusation, hes in his throat. 

Hen. (ru-ihing from the sacristy.) Villain 1 I ac- 
cept thy challenge 1 

Rod. Vain boy I my lance shall chastise thee in 
the lists — there lies my gage. 

Duke. Henry, on thy allegiance, touch it not. 
(To Roderic.) Lists shalt thou never more enter; 
lance shalt thou never more wield (draivs kis 
su'ord.) With this sword wast thou dubbed a 
knight ; with this sword I dishonor thee — I thy 
prmce — (strikes hi^n slightly with the flat of the 
sword) — I take from tlice the degree oi kni^-ht, the 
dignity of cliivahy. Thou art no longer a free 
German'noble ; thou art honorless and rightless' ; 
the funeral obsequies shall be performed for thee 
as for one dead to knightly honor and to fan- fame ; 
thy spurs shall be hacked from thy heels; thy 
arms baffled and reversed by the common execu- 
tioner. Go, fraudful and dishonored, hide thy 
shame in a foreign land! (Roderio shows a dumb 
expression of rage.) Lay hands on Bertram of 
Ebersdorf : as I hve, he shall pay the forfeiture ol 
liis outlawry. Henry, aid us to remove thy father 
from this charnel-house. Never shall he know the 
dreadful secret. Be it mine to soothe his sorrowa, 
and to restore the honor of the House of Aspiio, 

(Cwtan ilowly/alU.) 



irsB a; 3X1. 



INDEX. 



A. 

' Abbot," Versea from the, 691-2. 
Abercorn, Marquis of, suggestion of, re- 

(farding a jKissage in Marniion, 85. n. ; 

dedication of " The Lady of the Lake" 

to, 183. 

— Marchioness of. lO.i. n. 
Abercromby, Sir Ralph, tribute to the 

memory of, 105. 
Achaius, King of Scotland, 1G9, n. 
Adam, Right Hon. William, a specimen 

of minstrel recitatiou obtained from, 

553. • 

Addison, Ilia criticism on Chevy Cliase, 

539, 540, 
Adoiphus, J. L., E^q. extraols from his 

** Lettere on the Author of Waverley," 

391. n. ; 51G. ii. ; 527,' ji. ,- 535. 

* AURIMAN," 716. 

Albania, a poem, extract from, 613. 
AII»yn'* Anthology, SoNos written for, 

660. 661. 675. 676. 
Alexander 111. " the la.'^t Scottish king of 

the pure Celtic race," 542. 
Ale.\aiidre, Moiis., the ventriloquist, 

" Lines aohresskd to," 713. 
" Amce Brand." iil3. 254, n. 

Ai.len-a-Dale," 323. 
Vlvanley, Lady. 654, n. 
Ambition, personification of. 277. 

* Ancient Mariner," Coleridge's, 559. 
474. 

"Ancient Gaelic Melody," 679. 
Ancram Moor, battle of. 597. 
Anglo-Saxons, poetry of, 682. 
Angus, Arcliihald, sixth Earl of, called 

■'Bell-llie-C:it," 130. 143. 171. 
Angus, seventh Earl of, 40. 74. 194. 244. 
"An hotr with tuee," 720. 
" Annual Review," the critical notices 

from. 16. 32. 53. 
Anne of Geirbtein. Verses from, 724. 
Anthony J^Tow jYoio, 555. 
*' ANTitii'ARY." Verses from the, 662-5. 
Anxiety, efft-ct of, in giving aeotencss to 

the organs of sense, 297. 356. 
Arbuthiiot. Sir William. 662, n. ; 704. n. 
Aram, Eugene. reni;irk:ibie case of. 361. 
Archers, Eiiglisli. 126. 109. 462. 49S. 729. 

730. 
Ardoch, Roman camp at. 263. 
Argentine, Sir Giles de, 422. 465. 500. 
Ariosto, Translation from, 674, 
" Armin and Elvira," 560. 
Arran, Earl of (1569;. 600, n. 

r-land of. 44H. 489. 

Arthur. King. 154. 385. 392. 411. 

Arthur's Seat, 704. 

Artornish Castle. 469. 

Ascetic religionists, 249, 

Ascliam's "Schoolmaster," note from. 

•411. 
Ashton, Lney, Pong of. 679. 
"As Lords their laborere* hire delay," 

715. 
'Aspen, Tub House op, a tragedy," 

796. 
Athole, John de Strathbogie, Earl of 

(temp. Rob 1.), 480. 
Duvirl de Strathbogie, Earl of 

a335), 222, n. 
' Auciiisdrane, or the Ayrshire trage- 
dy," 770. ^ 
\yr, loyalty of the men of, rewarded by 

King 'Robert Bruce, 458, n. 
105 



B. 

Baillie, Joanna, letter to. on Rokehy, 
353. Prologue to her " Family Le- 
gend," 639, Dedica'ior to her of 
" Macduff's Cross." TS\ 

105. 524, n. ; 1^^ n 



Balfonr of Burley, epitapfi on. 666, 
"Ballad, the Ancient, Essay on 

Imitations of," 5'vi. 
" Ballads. Imitatioi^s of," .574. 

fROM THE German," 609. 

and Poems. ;nieienl, very 

few manuscript records of discovered, 

543. Printed in Garlantis, ib. 

— Collections of, hy Pepys, 543. 

The Dukeol'Roxburgh, th. An anony- 
mous editor, ib. .Miller and Cha|inian, 

544. James WiiL^on, ib. Allan Ram- 
say, ib. Dr. Percy, ib. Evans, 548. 
David Herd. 549. Pinkerton. i7j. Rit- 
son. ib. Scott (the Border Minstrelsy), 
550. Sir J. G. Dalzell. ib. Robert 
Jamieson, ib. Motherwell, 551. Fin- 
lay, ib. Kirdoch, ib. C. K, Sharpe, 
ib. Charle': Leslie, ib. Peter Buchaii, 
ib. And Rev. C. H. IlaiLshorne, 552. 

Ballantyne, Mr. James, Border Minstrel- 
sy, the first work printed by him. 550, 
570. Letters from Scott to, 236. 238. 
292. 306. 310. 313. 322. 354. His re- 
marks on John Kemble's retirement 
from the Edinburgh stage. 671, n. 
Constable's sobriquets of. 713. 
Mr. John, 665, 



Bangor, the Monks of. 672. 

" Bannatyne Club, The," 711. 

Bannatyne. George, compiler of ancient 

MSS., 711. 
Bannerman. Miss Anne, her "Tales of 

Superstition and Chivalry," 559. 
Bannockbum. Battle of. 460; st.inza 18 

to end of the poem. See also notes, pp. 

495. 501. 
Banstrrs, what, 549, n. 
Barbauld. Mrs,, 565. 
"Bard's Incantation, The," wT-it- 

ten under the threat of invasion, 1804, 

632. 
" Barefooted Friar. The," 651. 
Barnard Castle. 296. .306. 356. 3C0. 
BarringtOQ, Shute, Bishop of Durham. 

524. 
" Battle of Sempacq," 619. 
Beacons, 32. 68. 

Bealach-nam-bo. Pass of, 209. 253. 
Beal' an Duine, skirmisli at, 233. 267. 
Beattie, Mr., of Mickledale, 13. 
Dr.. lines from, on the power of 

fancy, 305, 71. 
Bellenden, 30. 71. 

Sir James, 599, n. 



Belrinnes, Ballad of, 550. 

Bell-Rock Lighthouse, lines on visiting, 

645. 
Beltane-tree, the, 589. 593. 
Ben-an Mountain, 187. 
Benledi, 185. 
Benvenne, 187. 
Benvoirlich. 184. 
Beresford, Field-marehal Lord, tribute to, 

282, 283. His training the Portuguese 

troops, 291. 

642. 



" Bertram, Hirry, Nativity of,"t>58. 
Berwick, North 135. 



" Betrothed, ' Verses from the, 71*- 

716. 

*' Bessie Bell and Mary Gray," remtiki 
on tbe ballad of, 553. 

Bethnne. or Be:ilon. family of, 57. 

Bigotry, personification of, 276. 

Binram's Corse, tradition of, 101. 

Biting the thumb, or the ;;love, 47. 76. 

"Black Dvvark," Mottoes from the, 
66d. 

Blackford-hill. 122. 

/;/ac/;-rti<-ji7. 32. 363. - - 

Blackwater, Battle of, \r ^ 

"Black Knioht's'' (. 

Blackwood's Ma^'-izU .^a 

notices from. 408. 51. ». .. _. • 

Blair, Right I'onorabie Robert, Lbrff 
President of the Conrt of Session, deal' 
of, 269. 

" Blondel, the Bloody Vest,"^' 
of, 717. .. i. 

Blood of wliich party tirst shed, nnaugnr; 
of success in batil'e. 212. 2.)4. 

Blood-hound, or Sluit!i-hoiin.i,'SQ. VPP 
240. 482. 

" Blue-blanket," the, 704, n. 

" Boat Song," 197, 

Bobun. Sir FIcnry de. Ins encoTinter with 
King Robert Bruce, 460. 496. 

" Bold Dragoon, or tbe Plain of Bada* 
jos," 6'12. 

Bolero, a Spanish dance, 287. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, allusions to in 
" Tlie Vision of Don Roderick," 277. 
281, 282. And in " Tlie Field of Wa- 
terloo," 504-511, passim. Apostro- 
phe to the period of his fall, 455, 456. 
642. ■ 



Bond of Alliance, or feud stanching, 
betwixt the clans of Scott and Ken 
(1529;, 57. 

"Bonnets of Bonny Dnndee," Sono to 
the air of. 759. 

"Border Ballad," 689. 

Borderers, English, excommunication of, 
by the Bishop of Durham (1498), 24^ 
Disorderly condnci of those who attend- 
ed the Protector Somerset. 74. Custom 
of hanging up n ::love in a church as a 
challenge, 377. 

Scottish, in OSS-troopers after the 

union of the cro-,viis. 59. Religion, 60. 
Speed in collecli.;^' large bodies of liOTse, 
68. Places of il^eir herdsmen's refuge, 
ib. March-tre.'i'in, 72. Form of Oath, 
ib Instances a:' the cruelty which oc- 
casionally attended their warfare. 6S 
Regulations in 1648. 73. Friendly in- 
tercourse with the Englisli. 74. Foofr 
ball play, ib Pursuit of marauder* 
called the/(()?-/ry(/, 75. RobbcmqurU 
ed by K. James V., 247. Manner O" 
carrying on depredations, 363. Tast« 
for poetry and music, 542. 

Borough-moor of Edinburgh. 168. 

Botliwell. Adam Hepburn, Eurl of (temp. 
Jac. IV.). 167. 

Francis Stewart, Earl of (temp 

Jac. VI.). 244. 

James Hepbuj-n, Earl of (tema 

Mary). -74. ] 18. 

" BoTiiwELL Castle," 628. 

Bowbrt!. 52. n 

Brackenbury Tower, 314. 362. 

BrackbuD Cascade. 195. 24& 



834 



INDEX. 



Bradford. Sir Thomas, 704. 

Bmiiksome Casile, 18. 54, ib. » 

• Bridal op Triermain," 379. See 
also 413. 

' Bridal Song" iq Waverley, 647. 

" Bride of Lammermoor," Verses 
from the, 678-9. 

' Bndee of Uee," poem of the, 552. 

Bt.gg. or Bridge of Turk, 185. . 

British Critic, notices from tlie, 9. 89. 298. 
355. 43G, 437. 44it 445. 4G7. 729. 738. 
T47. 

" Brooch of Lorn." the, 424. 476. 

RfOLiick Castle. Arraii, 44B. 489. 

Bruce, King Robert, defeats John of Lorn, 
473. DefeatL'd by the Lord of Lorn, 
476. Clowned at Scoon, 476. Subse- 
quent disasters, ib. His compunction 
lor violation of tiie sanctuary by the 
slaughter of Comyn. 481. Exconirau- 
nicated for it, ib. Observed omens — 
one of a spider, ib. Traced by a blood- 
hound, 482. Setiuel to tliat adventure 
told by Barbour, 484. Tradition that 
he was at the battle of Falkirk inaccu- 
rate, 483. Crossed tlie Peninsula of 
Cantyre, 488. Landing in Arran, 443. 

488. Instance of his humanity, 445. 

489. Uia l.-inding in Carrick, 449. 451. 

490. 491. Defeats the Earl of Pem- 
broke. 493. Blockade of Stirling Cas- 
tle. 456. 494, AHected by Leprosy, 
and founds the Monastery of King's 
Case, 491-2. His arrangements for the 
Battle of Bannockburn, 495. Encoun- 
ter witli Sir Henry de Bohun, 459. 496. 
Battle of Bannoi:kburn, 460 to end of 
the [loern, and 495 to end ol' the notes. 
Uisniternient of liis remains at Dun- 
iVTUiIiue, 437. n. 

Edward, brather of King Robert, 

489. 493. 

Nigel, another brotJier of the 

King. 48U. 

Sir John, of Kinross, 549. 

Mrs., of Arnot, ib. 

Branne, Robert de, 540. 546. 

Brunswick. Duke of, slain at Jena, 104. 
1U5. " Bryce Snailsloot's Advertise- 
ment," 700. 

Brydone. Patrick. Esq., 177. 

Buccaniers. 309. 357. 360.*362. 365. 

Baccleuch, ancestors of the house of, 17, 
n. 54, 55, 56. Romantic origin of the 
name, 76. 

Charles, Duke of, 95, n. 

Letters is Verse to, 645. 673. 

Harriet, Duchess of, 12. 95, n. 

Death of, 412. Tribute to her Memo- 
ry, 466. 

-f and Moni;:outh, Anne, Da- 
chess of. 18. n. 

Buchan, Mr. Peter, hi- Collection of Bal- 
lads, 552. 

Buchanan of Arnprior, " King of Kip- 
pen," 268. 

Burns, Robert, his " Scots wha' hae wi' 
W^allace bled," 497. Structure of 
Verse used by iiim, 543. The poet 
most capable to relieve and height- 
en the character of ancient poetry, 
559. 

Rury, Lady Charlotte, introduced the 
author to M. G. Lewis, 565, and to 
Lady Anne Hai^ilton, 602. 

Byron, Lord, Remarks on a conversation 
betwi.\i him and Captain Medwin, 
13. 572. His Satire on Marmion, 81. 
Lines on Pitt and Fox. 85, 86. Re- 
Berablance between part of Parasuia 
and a scene in Marmion, 101, n. No- 
tice by him of the imitators of Sir Wal- 
ler Scott, 294, 71., 295, n. His imita- 
Uon- of a passage in the Lord of the 
Isles, 454, n. Notes on Waterloo. 291. 
503to507,;jflSA/m. Poem on his moth- 
er's marriage, 552. Parallel passages 
from. 203. H., 279. 297. 302. 321. 387. 
421 433. 443. 454. 503. 508. 



C. 

Cadoqan, Colonel, tribate to the memo- 
ry of, 282. 

"Cadvow Castle," 598. 

Cadell, Mr. Robert, his recollections of 
"The Lady of the Lake," 181, n. 

*' Cairns,^' 68. 

Caledonian Forest and wild cattle, 598. 
600. 602. 

Cambusniore, 185. 

Cameron, Colonel, killed at Fuentes de 
Honoro 290. 

Colonel, of Fassiefern, killed at 

auatre-Bras, 509. 665. 

Sir Ewan of Lochiel, 264. 

Cameronians, 604. 

Camp, a favorite dog of the author's, 115. 

Campbell. Thomas, 169. "The Bard of' 
Hope," 561. His admiration of the 
poem " Cadyow Castle," 602. 

Lady Charlotte. See " Bury." 



Canna, island and town of, 440. 486. 
Canning, Right Hon. George, a writer in 

the Anti-Jacobin, 124. t(. 796. 
Cantyre, peninsula of, 488. 
Caracoioli, Prince, 794, n. 
" Carle, now the King's come," Parti., 

702. Part ii.. 703. 
Caroline, Princess of Wales, 105, 7i. 
Cartwright, Dr., the first living poet the 

author recollected of having seen, 560. 
Cassilis, the Earl of (temp. Jac. VI.), 

779. Bond byliim to his brother, 771. 
"Castle of the Seven Shields," 

ballad of the, 527. 
Castilians, their skill in fighting with 

darLs, 61. 
Caiiltne, death of, 506, n. 
Cave, Mac-Alister's, in Strathaird, 485. 
Ca.xlon, William. 117. 
Celts, tiie, 541. Their music and poetry, 

541-2. 567-8. 
Clialmers, George, his " Caledonia," 163. 

His edition of Sir David Lindsay's 

Works, 166. 268. 
Chapel Perilous, 86. 154. 
Chapman, Walter, an early Scottish prin- 
ter. See " Millar and Cliapman." 
Charles I., King. 364. 369. 
X. of France, in Edinburgh, 

125, n. 
Prince Edward, one of his places 

of retreat, 242. 
Charms, healing, 31. 67. 
Charter-stones. 492 

Chace, the royal, in Eltrick Forest, 160. 
Cha-^tity. punishment for broken vows of, 

102. 164. 
Chatterlon, Thomas, 558. 
" Cheviot," 631. 
"Chevy Chase," 539, 540. 
"Child of Elle, The," 548. 
Chivalry. 38. 66. 72. 76. 369. 
■/ Christ's Kirk on the Green," 543. 
'Christmas, 137. 173. 

Cid, liie, in Hpain, metrical poems of, 538. 
" Claud Halcro's Verses," 695, 696. 

698. 
Claverhouse, Grahame of. See Dundee. 
Clerk, Sir George, liis tenure of Penny- 

cuik, 606. 703, n. 
John. Esi|., of Eldin, author of an 

Essmj upon A'7/rn/ Tactics, 604, 7i. 

John. Est). (Lord Eldin), 711, n. 

Wiliiam, Esq., 573. 

" Cleveland's Sonos." 698. 
Coir-nan-Uriskin. 209. 252. 
joleridge. S. T., his " Ancient Marin- 
er," 474. 559. His "Christabel," 13. 

"The Bridal of Triermain," an imita- 
tion of his style, 408. 
Colkitio, 470. 
Collins, his fiignu or imagination, 383. 

410. 
Colman'a " Random Records," 753. 
Colwulfl". King of Norihumberland, 100. 

163. 
Combat, single, 38. 66. 72, 73. 132. 172. 

£23. 263. 



Comyn, the Red, 424. 428. 477. 481. 
Coneybeare's. Rev. Mr., his illnstratioiM 

of Anglo-Saxon poetry, 554. 
Coiigreve's " Mourning Bride," 524. 
Conscience, 296. 299. 
Constable, Mr. Archibald, his " bold ixu. 

liberal industry." 14. Extract from 

letter of the author to, 714, n. 
George, Esq. (Jonathan Old 

buck), 567. 
Contributions of Scott to " Min- 
strelsy OF the Scottish Bor 

der," 537-608. 
Coronach of the Highlanders, 206. 251. 
Cornwallis, Marquis of, 638. 
"Count Robert of Paris," Mottoei 

from, 726. 
" County Guy," Song, 709. 
Cowper, 561. 

Cox, Captain, of Coventry, 549. 
Cranstoun, family of, 57i 65. 
— George, Esq., consulted by th6 

author on his attempts at composition, 

14. «. 
Crichton Castle, 118. 167. 
Critical Review, notices from. 16. 21. 25. 

33. 37. 45. 47. ill. 149. 187. 192. 1Q7. 

239. 270. 272. 297, 298. 299. 31 1. 313. 

318. 354. 381. 383. 420. 429. 439, 440. 

444. 533. 536. 606. 
Cromwell, Oliver, his conduct at Marslon 

Moor, 314. 357. 359. 
" Crusader's Return, Th'e." 681. 
" Cumnor Hall," poem of, 548. 
Cunningham, Allan, his ballad poetry, 

559. Critical remarks on Auchindpane, 

795, H. 
Cup, a drinking one, at Dunevegan, 474, 

" Curch, the," worn by Si;ottish mat 

rous, 250. 
"Cypress Wreath, The," 335 



Dacre, families of, 70. 

Dahomay, spell of, 402. 

Dalhousie, Earl of, tribute to, 645. 

Dalkeith, Charies, Earl of (afterwarda 
Duke of Buccleuuh), dedication of 
"The Lay of the Last Minsirel" to, 
16. See Baccleuch. 

Harriet, Countess of (afterward 



Duchess of BuccleuchJ, 12. See also 
Buccleuch. 

- Town and Castle of 607. 



Dalzell, (now) Sir J. G., his collection of 

Scottish poems, 550. 
Sir William, his combat with Sii 

Piers Courtenay, 150. 
" Dance of Death, The," 654. 
Danes, the, invasion of Northumberland 

by, 323. 366. Traces of their religion 

in Teesdale, 366. 
Daoine Shi', or "men of peace," 176 

259, 260. 
David L, King, founded Melrose Abbey 

60. A sore saint for the crown, 23, n 
" Dead bell,'' tlie, 164. 
Death of Leith-hall, poem of tlie, 552. 
Death, presiiges of, 250. 
"Death Chant." 722. 

" OF Kkeldar. The," 723 

Debateable Land, the, 77. 

Deloraine, lands of, 58. 

" Donald Cairo's come again," 676. 

Dovjou, what, 156. 

"Don Roderick, the Vision of,** 

269. 
" Doom of Devorqoil," 753. 
Douglas, the House of, 177. Ancienl 

sword belonging to, 172. 
Archibald, third Eari of, called 

"Tine-man," 245. 730. 
" The Good Lord James" char^ 

ed tocaiTy tiie Bruue's heart to the Holy 

Land, 481. In Arran. 490. Makei 

prisoners of Murray and Bonkle, ib 

Often took the Castle of Douglas, 495 

His " Larder,''* ib. At Bannockban 

460. 495. 497. 499. 



INDEX. 



831 



I*on»la?. Wm., eifflith Earl of. stabbed 
b) K..I:Liiit^i 11. ill £^u^lillg CusUe, "Jzlo. 
2Ci. 

■ - William, "the knight ot'Liddes- 

.l;ile." 'J4. til. 

Gawaiii. Bishop of Diiiikeld. 143. 

■ of Kii^^)^^ldit;, utleclii.^ story of, 

Jtio. 

Do'iiit* Castle. 2iW. 

Ukamatu: I'iifCKS, " Halidon Hill " 
7'J9. ■• Mncdiirt'"* Cross," 743. " The 
Doniii of I)evorsi)il," loX " Aachin- 

-drano,"' 784. " Tlie House of Asneii," 

Drinking lo excess, custom ql', iti tlie 

Western Islands. ■I7.'i. 
nrybiirgh Abbey. 5U5. 
Dryden, bis aucouiu o\' bis jirojeuled ejiiu 

|ioem of "The Round Table," 155. 
Duellins. 'iVyX %4. 
Diiirf,'ur (uorlliern dwarfs), 259. 
Duft". Adam. Emi.. 043. n. • 
Dundiis, Kighi Honorable William, 14, 

II.; 18. II.: 81. 
Dundee, Viscount (Graham of Clavei^ 

house). Xi. His ch.^racter. 243. 
Dunmailraise, 1184. 
" Dl'nois, Romance of," (iOli. 
Dunolly Castle. 473. 
Dunstaifnage Castle, 473. 
D' Urfey 's t*iils to Purge Me'.iticholy. 557. 
Durham Cathedral, 521. 
"Dyinu Hard. The." 634. 
" Gii'sv Smuggler, The," 658. 



Edkwlbd, daughter of King Oswy, 99. 
162. 

Edinburgh, ancient cross of, 133-4. 172. 

Old Town of. 124. 169. 

Magazine, the, critical notice 

from. 40d. 

Review, the, critical extracts 

from, on the Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
16. 17, 18. 19. 2;i. 31. 33. 43, 48, 49, .>U. 
51. 53. Oil Marmion, 85.92. HU. 104. 
132. 143. 140. 147. 131. 152. Ou the 
Lady of the Lake. 183. 196. 201, 202. 
203. -JtCi. 208. 217. 225. 2;W. 238, 239. 
On lliL- Vision of Don Roderick, 270. 
280. 2.'!*3-4. And on llie lord of the 
Isles, 414. 420. 423, 424. 4-11. 461. 465. 
467. 

Edw;ard I., King, Jiis vindictive spirit. 
481. Mis employment of the Welsh in 
his Scottish w.ifs, 494. ^ets out to de- 
stroy the Bruce, 438. 480. His death, 
480. 

II. at Bannockburn, 461. His 

gallanirv, 499. His tligbt. ib. 

III.. Moito ou his shield. 546. 

"Edwaru the Black I'ri.vce, To the 
Memory e.'"," 673. 

Egliston Abbey, 307. 300. Visited by 
Scott. 319. 

Bigg, cave ill the hiand of, the scene of 
a dreadful act of vengeance, 487. 

r.ildoii HilLs 63. 

'Elfin Gray, the," translated from the 
Danish, 255. 

fil'is. George, Esq., critical notices by. 50, 
n.; 124. 153. Dedication to him of tlie 
Fifth Canto of Marmion. 124 

" r-Lsptrii's Ballad," 603. 

EUes, 2GU. See '" p'airies.'" 

Encamou-eut, Scottish mode of, in 1547. 
I5y. 

Ennui. .'tl2. 536. 

Epic Poem, a receipt to make an, 380. 

Poetry. 379. 

'Epilogies." To The Appeal, a 
Tragedy, 075. Play of St. Ronan's 
Weil, 713. aoeen Mary, 714. 
KfiTAPHS."— Miss Seward. 639. Jon 
o' ve Girnell, 663. Balfour of Barley, 
o66. Mre. Erskine, 635. The Rev. 
George Scott. 726. 
Erl Kino, The," 626. 

trrol. Ear of. 704. 



Erskine. Thomas Lord, speech of, on hu- 
manity towards aniniaU, 49H. 

William, E^q. {Lord Kmiiedder), 

consulted by Scoll on his attempts in 
compo^ilion, 14. Dt-ditfatiou to the 
Third Canto of Marniion. 104. Pas- 
sage in Rokwliy quoted by bim as de- 
scriptive of the Author. 316. Reputed 
autiior of " The Bridal of Triermain," 
413. 521. 

Mrs.. Epitaph on, 085. 

" Essay on Popular Poetry," 537. 

" o.N Imitations or the An- 
cient Ballad." 555. 

Ettrick Forest, 160. 

Eugene .-irara, remarkable ca.*e of, 361. 

Evans, Mr. T., his collection of Ballads, 
548. 

^ Mr. R. H., his republication of 

that Collection, 548. 

" Eve OF St. John,'.' 594. See also 56ti. 
573. 

Evil principle, the, 716. 

Ezekiel, quotation from the prophecies of, 
221, n. 



Fac-Simile of Sir Walter Scott's Manu- 
script of The Lady of the Lake (for 
page 202). placed after tliK Contents. 

Fain, meaning of. 322, n. 

Fairies, 165. 259, 260, 201. 285. 

"Fair .Maid of Perth," Verses from 
the. 721-4. 

*' Fair Rosamond," ballad of, 555. 

Fancy, power of. in youth, 305. Lines 
on. from Bealtie, ib., a. 

" Farewell to Mackenzie, High 
Chief of Kiniail," from the Gaelic, 
652. 

" Imitation of," 653. 

" to the Muse," 702. 

" Song of the." 339. 

" Felon Sow ofRokeby," bunting of the, 
by the Friars of Richmond, 371. 

Ferragus and Aseabart. 190. 242. 

Feuds, 55, 56, 57. 784. 

" Field of Waterloo," poem of the, 
502. 

Fiery Cross, the, 201, 202. 248. 

Fingal's Cave at .-tatla. 440. 487. 

Fiiilay. Mr. John, liis collection of bal- 
lads, 551. His imitations of the ballad 
style, 559. 

" Fire King, ' ballad of Ibe. 610. 

-573. 

Flanders, manner of reaping in, 511. 

Fletcher, his comedy of Monsieur Thom- 
as, 554. 

F'oddeii, account of the battle of, 146. 
178. 

" Flodden Field," an ancient English 
poem, extracts from, 88, 71.; 167-8. 
178. 

Florinda, daughter of Count Julian, 285. 

"Flower of Yarrow," Marv Scott, 71. 
161. 

"Flying Dutchman, the." 361. 

"Following" (feudal retainers), 128, n. 

Footballt game of, 74. 057. 

Forbes, Sir William (author of "The 
Life of Beatlie"), tribute to his memo- 
ry, 115, 106. 

son of the preceding, 115, 115, 71. 

" For a' that, an' a' that," 644. 

Forgeries of documents. 176. 

" Fortune, Lines on," 726. 

" Fortunes of Nigel," Mottoes from 
the, 705-8. 

Poster-children. 368. 

Fox, Right Honorable Charles James, 
"among tho>«; who smiled on the ad- 
venturous min.'itrel," 14. Never ap- 
plied lo by Scott regarding his appoint- 
ment as a Clerk of Session. 81. Trib- 
ute lo his memory, 85. His compliment 
to the author of " The Monk," 504. 

Franchemont, euperstiiiouB belief r^ard- 
ioe the Castle of, 139. 176. 



FrjLser [or Frizel]. Sir Simon, ancestor ol 
the family of Lovjil. falc ol'. 480. 

Frederick II.. King of Prusstia, undefi 
valued the literature of liis country 
562. 

"Fredkrick ^nu Ai.tcK." OIH, 

French army in the Penin-sula, move* 
ments of applied lo in the prophecies ol 
Joel, 2a9. Retreat of, March, 1811, 
289. 

Frere. Right Hon. J. H. A writer in the 
" Aniijacobin." 124. n.; 812. Hil 
imitations of the ancieni ballad, 558. 

"Friar Rush. I Hi. HW. 

" From the KuyNi'n." 6.^7. ' 

Fuentes de llonuio, action of. 290. 

Fullarton of Kilniiih-I. family of, 498^ 

" Funeral Iiymn," 083. 

G. 

Gala, the river, 415. 

'■ Gaelic Melody, Ancient," 689 

Gait, John, Esq.. epilogue to his tragedy 

of" Tlie Appeal," 675. 
Garlands (small ballad miscellanies) 

543. 555. 
" Gellatlky's, Davie," Songs, 648 

650. 6.V2. 
Janet, alleged witch- 
craft, 650. 
Geopge IV., King, his opinion of the au- 

tlior's poetry, 238, h. Lines on hli 

Visit to Scotland, 702. 703, 704. 
"German BALUAoa, translated or imi 

tated," 009 to 620. 
German hackbut-men, 70, 
language, similarity of the, to th« 

Old English and Scotli.sh. 567. 
literature, introduction of. into 

this counlryi 502. Afterwards fell into 

disrepute, 812. 
"Ghaisi's Warning, the," translated froa 

the Danish Ka'inpe Viser, 257 
Ghost of the Lady Botbwellhaugh, 603 
Gilford, village and e:isile ol. 1U7. 164. 
Gilbert, Davies, E-^c]., 557. h, 
Gili-DoirMagrevull'ch, the coneciitionot' 

249. 
Gil Mornce, ballad ol', 571. 
Qlamoiw, 29. 65, 

" Glee-Maiuen." ^o^g of the, 722. 
Glee-maidens. 231. 266. 
Glencaifn " Tlie Good Earl" of, 60L. 

603. 802. 
"Glescoe, on the Ma^acre of," 642. 
" Glenkinlas," 5H9. 
Glenfruin. conflict of. between the Mmt 

gregors and tlie Colqubouiie, 246 
Glengarry. See Macnonnell. 
Gobbn-Hall. the, 164. 
Goblin-Page, Lord Cranstoun's, b^ 
Goethe, 502. 812. 
Golagrus and Gawane. the knightly tate 

of, 544, n. 
Goldsmith. Oliver, his imiialionsof bah'an 

poetry. 559. 
"Goldthred's Song." I)92. 
Gordon, Aduin. ::allant conduct of, Ct 

HomiUlon Hill, 730. 
Culonel, the Hon. Sir Alexander, 

killed at Waterloo. 509. i 

/Grieme, or Grabaine. families of, 77, 243. 

_-'■"• ^ 

>h(abam. Rev. Dr., Notes from Wr 

Sketclies of Pv-nhshire, 185 passim 

263. 

Sir John the, 243. 291. 

SirThonia'*, Lord Lynedoch, 291, 

"Gray Brother, The," 004. 
Greta Bridge, 360. 

Rivcr^ 308. 316. 360, 361. 304. 

"Grey Mare's Tail," the, a cataraot 

161. 
Grotto on the estate of Strathaird, d» 

scriplion of. 485. 
Gmsards of Scotland, 174. 
Gunn, John, a noted Highland caterar 

story of, 262. 
"GcY Manneriho,*' Venea from, 658 



836 



JNDEX. 



H. 
Haddington, Charles, tenth Earl of, 

7U3. 
Ilaig orBemerside. family of, 578. 588. 
Ilailes, Lord, 474. 491. 495. 711. 
Hairiliee, 21. 

" Halbkrt Glendinnixg, To," 686. 
* *s Incantation," ib. 

SECOND Interview," 687. 

Halidon Hill," a dramatic sketcii, 

729. 
Halkfit, Mre.. of Wardlaw, author of 

" Hardyknute," 549. 
Uall,^:aptaiii Basil. 509, n 

■ Sir Janifs, 61. 509, n. 

Hamilton, family ^f, 598. 

Aloxander. Duke of, 703. 

. Right Hon. Lady Anne, 600. 

of Bothwetlhaugli, account of 

liis assassination of tlie Regeut Murray. 

j99. 

■ '— Lord Claud, 603. 

■ Robert, Esii-, advocate, 645, n. 

Sir Thomas, Lord Advocate 

(temp. Jac. VI.). 789. 

Right Hon. W. G. (Single- 
speech Hamilton), 395. n. 

Hardyknule, ballad of, 544. 549. 558. 
The first poem the author learnt, 558, n. 

" Harlaw, the Battle of," an ancient'bal- 

lad, 544. 
* Harold the Dauntless," 512. 

Harfager. Song of," 695. 

*' Harp, Song of the," 337. 

*' Hatteraick, Dirk, Song of," 659. 

Hawks, 76. 

Hawthornden, 605. 607, n. 

Haylt^y, William. Esq., 561. 

Hayman, Mrs., 105, n. 

*' Health to Lord Melville," 637. 

" Heart of Mid-Lothian," Verses 
from the, 677-679. 

Heixth-burniiig, 252. 

Heber, Richard, Esq., dedication of the 
sixth canto ot Marmion to, 138. 

Hebrideaii chiefs, fortresses of, 474. 

" Hellvkllyn," 633. 

Henrv VI., King of England, at Edin- 
burgii, 16D. 

Hepburn, family of, 74. See Bothwell. 

Heraldry, 72. 157. 166. 

Herd. Mr. David, his collection of Scot- 
tish songs. 549 711. 

Herder's popular ballads, or Volkslieder, 
571. 

Her tot or Herezdd, 35. n. 

Heron, William, of Ford, and his lady, 
129. 157. 170. 

• of Gilmerlon, 604. 

"Hero's Targe," a rock in Glenfinlas, 
211. 254. 

Highlanders, Scottish, their hospitality, 
243. Music, 196. 243. 245. The Bard, 
8 family officer. 243. Epithets of their 
chiefs, 245. Boai-songa, 246. Hardi- 
hood, 247. HL-nchman, ib. Tutelar 
spirits, 250. Brogue or shoe, zi. Cor- 
onach, 206. 251. Respect paid to their 
chiefs, 252. Oaths, ib. Body guards 
"nnd domestic officers of the chiefs, 
253. Cookery. 261. Cretigks or fo- 
rays, 262. Trust- worthiness, ib. Tar- 
gets and Broadswords, 264. Modes of 
inquiring into futurity, 253. Ancient 
c.usloni respecting marriage, 479. 
Hogg. Mr. James, " The Ettrick Shep- 
Inrd." his ■' Mountain Bard," 161. 
164. His story of the " Deai! Bell," 
ib. " Pilgrims of the Sun," 467, n. 
Poetic Mirror," 413. Hia ballad 
poetry, 559. 
Holy Island, or Lindisfaroe, 161. 
Konie. family of, 74. 

■ Lord Chamberlain to James IV., 

hia conduct at Flodden, 179. 
Hnmer, 89, v. ; 380. 537, 538, 539. 
Homildon-Iiill, battle of, 729. 
Horsemanship, »170. 
Jilorses, shrieking of, in agony 462. 498. 



Ilostelrie. See Inn. 
Hotspur. See Percy. 
Hot-trod, the, pursuit of Border Marau- 
ders, 75. 
"House of Aspen, The," a tragedy, 

812. 
Howard, Lord William, " Belted Will 

Howard," 70. 
Howell ap Rys, a Welsh chieftain, 377. 
Howison of Braeliead, liis adventure witli 

James V., 268. 
" Houlat, the Buke of the," 542. n. 
Hunting, 184, 185, 186. 240. 355. 600. 

613 

aerial, superstition of, 613. 

"Hunting-mass," 93. 

" Hunting Song," 638. 

" Huntsman, Lay of the Imprisoned,"^ 

236. 
Huiitly, Marquis of, the last Duke of 

Gordon. 704. 
" Hymn for the Dead." 52. 

" Funeral," 683. 

" Rkdecca's," 682. 

" to tue Virgin," 210. 

I. 

' 1 ASKED OF MY Harp," Song, 715. 



IlajXlsland of, 470. 
Incli-tJailhach ' " ' 



h (the Isle of Nuns), 251. 

Indians, llie North American. 362. 

Iiin,^4}r Hostelrie, Scottish accommoda- 
tions of an. in the 16th century, 164. 

lol of the heathen Danes, 173. 

Irisli, the ancient Tanislry, 367. Dress, 
i6.". Bards, 374. Cliiefs required to as- 
si-stEtlward I. in his Stjottish wars. 494. 

Isles ,„ Western, of Scotland, 470. 474 to 
476. 483. 

" IvANHOE," Verses from, 681-684. 



Jacobitism, the last contests of, recited 
in ballads, 557. 

James I., King of Scotland, his " Christ 
Kirk on the Green," 543. His educa- 
tion and poetry, 546. 

III., rebellion against, 168. In- 
ventory of |jis treasure and jewels, 492. 

IV. His jierson and dress, 128. 

Penance of. 1G8. His belt, 170. Ap- 
parition to, at Linlithgow, 168. Death 
of. at Flodden. 179. 

V. in minority, 244. Q,ue!ls the 

Border robbers, 247. His progress to 
tlie Isles, ib. Why called " King of 
the Commons," 265. His attachment 
to arL'herv, ib. Adventures in disguise, 
267. 

VI., his conduct respecting the 

Mures of Auchindrane, 788. 

Jamieson, Rev, Dr. John, his edition of 
" Wallace and Bruce," 414. 500, n. 

Mr. Robert, his collection of 



ballads, 55!. 588. 
JeiTrey, Francis, now Lord, liis success 

professionally and in literature, 10. 14. 

Extracts from Wu Criticisms on Scott's 

poetry. See Edinburgh Review. 
" JouK of Hazeldkan," t)60. 
Joel, aoplication of a passage from tlie 

Prophecies of. 389. 
Johnson, Dr., his ridicule of the ballad 

style, 560. ReQecUonson visiting lona, 

441, n. 
Jongleors. or Jugglers, 266. 
Julian, Count, 285. 287. 
" Juvenile Lines from Virgil," 627. 

onaThua-^^rStorm," 



ib. 



- on the Setting Sun,' 



K. 

Keith, Sir Alexander. 705. 

Kelpy, a river spirit, 250, 

"Kemble, John Philip, his Farewell 
Address on taking leave of the Edin- 
burgh stage," 671, IIiM opinion of 



," The House of Aspen" in relauon t« 

the stage, 812. 
Kendal, a contempdJary of Thomas tlK 

Bby.Tier, 546. 
" Kenilworth," Verses from. 6'J2-4. 
• :?peech of the Porter at, 

693. 
Kennedy, Sir Gilbert, of Barganie, 785. 

Sir Thomas, of Cullayue, 784. 

Ker or Carr. family of, 57. 

Kerrs and Scotts, lends of the, ib. 

" Kwmpv, ViscT, the." a cellectioii ■ 

heroic songs, 255. 
King's Caee, well and monasteiy of, 451 
Kinloch, Mr. G. R., his collection of hb 

lads, 551. 
Kirkwall, church and castle of. 78. 
" Kittle J\ritte SCcps,^' tiie, 310, n. 
Knighthood, 72. 



" Lady of the Lake." 180. 

Laidlaw, Mr. William. 621, 7i. 

Laing, Mr. Davit^ his Select Remains ol 
the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scot 
land, 543. n. 

Lancey, Sir William de. killed at Wate^ 
loo. 503. n. 

Largs, Battle of, 165. 

" Lay of the Last Minstrel," 9. 

"— Poor Louise." 721. 

" the Imprisoned Hunts- 
man." 236. 

Learmont, Tliomas, see " Thomas of Er- 
eeldoune." 

" Legend of Montrose," Verses from 
the, 681. 

Lennel house, seat of Patrick Brydone, 
Esq., 177. 

Lennox, district of the, 246. 

"Leiiort!," Biirger's, 566. 

Leprosy. 491. 

Leslie, Charles, a ball ad -singer. 551. 

Lesly, General David, at the battle of 
Marslon Moor, 358. 

"Letters in Verse" to the Duke of 
Buccleuch, 645, 646. 

" '- " to J. G. Lock- 
hart, Esq., on the composition of .Mai 
da's Epitaph, 712. 

Leven, Earl of, 357, 358. 

Lewis. M. G., some particulars respect- 
ing him. 563. His " Monk," 564. Hia 
poetry, ib. His "Tales of Wonder," 
569. Hi.-* correspondence with the au- 
thor, 572. 

Leyden. Dr. John, his " Spectre Ship," 
362. Ballad poetry. 559. A Contrib- 
utor to Lewis's "Tales of Wonder," 
569. His Ballad of" The Cloud King," 
573. His deaUi, 138, «. ; 441. 487. 

Lham-dearg, the Spirit of Glenmore, 165.. 
250. 

Lichfield Cathedral i'.ormed in the civil 
war, 179. 

Lindesay, :~ir David, of the Mount, 117. 
Edition of his works by Mr. George 
Chalmers, 167. 

Lord of the rtyres, 603. 

Lindisfarne. or Holy Island, 161. 

"Lines on Fortpne," 726. 

" to Sir Cuthbert Sharp," 

721. 

" ON Captain Wooan," G51. 

•' When with Poetry dealing,' 

719. 

" See Juvenile." 

Linlithgow Palace, descriition of, 119, «. 

Littlecote Hall, story of u murder com 
mitted in, 375. 

Llywarch Hen. a translation from th« 
heroc elegies of, 374. 

Loch Coriskin, 432, 433. 483, 484. 

Locharri, description of. 185. 
"LocHlNVAB." Lady Heron's son^ 198 
Loch Katrine, 181, n. ; 187. 
Loch of the Lowes. 96. 161. 
Loch Ranza, 441. 488. 
Loch Skene, 90. 161. 



INDEX. 



837 



■ IjOckiiart. J. G., Esq., Letter in Veree 
lo, on the (Tomjiosilion of Maiihi's Epi- 
ta|pii."7l'J. 
j 'Lockiiaut's Lt»r of Sir VValtkr 
I ScoT'i." Notes E,\|)l.lii:ilorv ami Criti- 

cal iVom. U. 15. 17, 18. 4G.'jO. .Sli. Hi, 
e-J.rt.). 10.1. 153. 180, IHI. 182, 183. *270. 
HSi. ^2K4. :i!y. 35:t. 355. 381. -lOS, 409. 
41-2. 408. 510. 51ii. 597. G02. GOfi. 621. 
6'Jti. G:.'7, tW8. 631. G37. o39. 645. 665. 
072. 721. 72G. 
* Loni Ht-nry uiui Fair Cailieriue," bal- 

lail of. 557. 
' Loiui iiK THE Isles," 412. 
' Lonl of the Isles," 470. Controversy 
ivgiinliiig ihe re[>n.'scntation ofthe, 471. 
Lorn, iliL- HousL- of. 473. 
Love, power of. 19.* The gift of heaven, 

42. 
'• LixKY iMacLeary's Tavern," Scene 

in. G49. 
y Lrcv Ashton's Song," 678. 
L>iieiloch, Lord. 29L 
"Lyrical and Miscellaneous Pik- 
Ci£S,'* in the order of their composition 
or puliticalion, G27-7^. 
Lyrical Pieces. See Songs. 
Lyulpii's Tale," 38.5. 

M. 
Macdonald, Ranald. Esfj., of ^'taffa, 

" Lines Addressed to," 645. 
Maedonell. the late Colonel Ronaldson, 

of iilengaiTy. 704. 
Macdonalds suttbcated in the Cave of 

Eigg. 487. 
MacDouguI, of [jorn, family of, 473. 47G. 
"MArDuFK's Cross." 748. 
MauDulf. law of tiie clan, iO. 
Macaliister's cave in Strathaird, descrip- 
tion of, 485. 
MucGregor, Kob Roy. 254. 6G2, n. 
"MacCreggr's Gathering," 661. 
"MacIvor's, Flora, Sono," 650. 
•' MacLean, War ^ONo, of Lach- 

LAN." High Chief of, 633. 
MacLetlan, tutor of BOniby, beheaded by 

tilt* Earl of Angus, 177. 
MacKav, Mr. Charles, of the Edinburgh 

Theatre, 713. 
MacKenzie, Colin, Esn-., of Fortmore, 

115. n. 
Henry, Es(],, his Essay on 

Gernuui IitLTatnre, 502. 

the Hon. Mrs. Stewart, 654, n. 

High Chief of Kintail,'- Fare- 
well TO," 652, I.MITATIOS ol', Ii53. 
Mackintosh. Sir James, his Opinion of the 

Lay of the Last > insirel, 24, n. ; 46, 

n. ; and L.'idy ofthe Lake, 183. n. 
" Mackri.mmon's Lament," 6~5. 
MacLeod of MacLeod, family of, 428, 

M. ; 675. 
MacLeod, Laird of, his Cruel Revenge on 

tlie Macitonalds of Eigg, 487. ■ 
MacNeil of Barra, family of, 474. 
MacPherson. Jame^, publisher of Ossian's 

Posms, 549. 568. 
'Maagk Wildfire's Songs." 677- 

676. 
' iMaggie Lauder," song of, 554. 
Masic, 6y, jtuasim, 66. 75. 165. 176. 309. 

n.; 361 364. 
' Maid op Neidpath. The." 63C. 
' Maid of Toro. The," 635. 
Muida, Battle ot, 510. 
A.'iiida's Epitaph, Letter on the Compo- 

jitior of. Uii 
*' Major Bellenden's Song," 666. 
Maiilmd MSS.. 549. 
Sir Richard, iif Lcthington, 16th 

CL-ntury. [loem by, 158. 
\fakcrs (of poetry), the. 538. .539. 
Maletaciori, infatuation of. 311. 361. 
Mallet, Uavid, his imitatbns of ballad 

,<ietry, 56((. 
Mmmnion, 784. 
March, " Black Agnes," Countess of, 

577. 



Mnrck-trrason, 37.72. I 

■• Marmion ; A Talk of Floddkn- i 
Field," 80. ' 

Marinion, family of, 156. 

Robi-ri do, 173. 

Marriott, Rev. John, dediL-atior .o liim of 
the Second Canto of Maiinion. 94. 

Marston-Moor. Battle of, 3.">7-359. 

Martin, Rev. John, niim&ti-r of Mertonn, 
1U6, n. 

Or John, his description of tlie 

We»iern Ili;{hlands, 249. 

Mary, Uueen of Scots (Epilogue). 714. 

" Massai'RE ofGlencoe," on the,G42. 

Massena, Marshal, 289, 290, ib, 

Maurice, Abbot of LiclialVray, 497. 

Mautht-Doofr, the. Isle uf Man, 79. 

Muyburgh. mound at, 385. 411. 

Mazers, drinking cups, 492, 

.Medwyii's, Captain, remarks on his Con- 
versations of Lord Byron, 15.572, 573. 

Melbourne, Lord, 572. 

.Melrose Abbey, 22. 23. GO. 61. 

:- battle' of, .56. I 

Melville, Henry, Lord Vise, -'Health | 
TO." a song on his acquittal in 1806, 
637. Deali) of, in 1811. 269. , 

Robert. Lord, 704. [ 

" Men of Pence.'* See Daoine Shi- , 

Merlin. 271. 28.5. 580, 581. 588, I 

"Mermaids and Mermen," ?ong of 
the, 695. 

Mickle, W. J., his imitation^ of ballad 
poetry, 548. 554, 559. 

Milan, artists of, their skill in armory, 
156. 

IVIillar and Chapman, their Miscellany, 
the earliest surviving specimen of the 
Scottish prtrsa, 544. 

Millar, Colonel, ofthe Guards, 509. 

Miiigan-y Castle. 470. 

Miiisirels, order and olBce of, 545. 555. 

" Minstrelsy of the Sc(tTTisn Bor- 
I DER," ^■coIt's Contributions to, r/:.. 
Introductory Remarks on Popular Po- 
etry, 537. Ajtpendix to. 553. E-say 
I oil Imitations of the Ancient Ballad, 
555. Appendix to. 571. Imitations 
: ofthe Ancient Ballad. 574-608. 
! Miiilo Crags. .50. 

I ■■ MoNAsi EKY," Verses from the, 685- 
I 690. 

[ .Monk, Lewis's Romance ofthe, 564, 
I "Monks of Bangor's .March," 672. 
' Monmouth, Duke of, 18, n. 

Moiit:igiie, dedication ol* .Marmion to, 63. 
His collection of ballad-* destroyed by 
fire, 544. 

Monthly R«?vi<?w, critical notices from, 
on the Lav, 16. Marmion, 84. 94. 96. 
102. 145. 151. 152. The Lady of the 
Lake, 221, The Vision of Don Roder- 
ick. *^2. 275, 277, Rukebv, 305. .300. 
312, 314. 332. 335. 340. 350". 354. The 
Lonl of the Isles, 424. 438. 44U. 455. 
461, 403. 407, The Field of Waterloo, 
506; and on Halidon Hill. 744. 747, 

Montrose, James, first Marquis of, 243, 

Moora, tlie invasion of Spain by, 285. 

Moore, Sir John, omission of his name in ' 
the poem of " Hon Roderick," the au- 
thor censured for, 284. 290. 

Moore, Tiiomas, Esq., Uia imitations of 
the ballad style, 559. 

Morriti, J. B. S.. Esq., letter to, on the 
death of Lord Melville and President 
Blair, 270. On the Vision of Don Rod- 
erick, 284. Didicaiion to him ol" Roke- 
by. 296. Letter on Rokeby. 319. 
" Mort<; Arlftur," romance of the, ex- 
tract from regarding the " Chapelt Per- 
ilous," 154. 

Monhain Ca.stle, description of, 3(i2. 
Morton. Earl of. Regent, 244. 601. 

Moss-troopers. 59, See Borderers. 

MotliiTwell, William, his collection oi 
balhid.s. 551. 

Mottoes, " sooner make than find them," 
665. 



'* Mottoes from the VVaverley Novel*, 

603 passhn 72o. 
Mull, the Sound of, 470. 
Mummers, Englisli, 174. 
Murder, superstition formerly resorted tt 

for the discovery ol", 773. 
Mure, John of Aucliintlrane, 784. Hit 

bOn James, 787. 
Murriiy, ThomiLs. Randolph, Earl of, al 

Bannockhurn. 460. 494. 495, 496, 497. 

the Repent, death of. 599. 

Mr. William, manager of i'M 

Theatre-^'Oy'- Eilinburgh 714, 
" My Ai^NT Makgvket's Mirb'* 

Mottoes from, 72L 
Mysteries, anuelil. 174 

.^"^"^ N, 

■Weal Naiohvallach, an Irish KiftR o 
the fourth or hftli century, 369. • 

" Neck Verse." ih?, 21. 

Necromancy, 57, 58. 75. 

Nelson. Lord, tribute to the memory of, 
84. 112. " Unplea.--ant chapter in hii 
history," 794, n. 

Newark Castle, on the Yarrow, 17. 

Nicholas, Grand-Duke (now Emperor) ol 
Ru.ssia, "Verses sung at'ter a din- 
ner given to him ;it Etlinburgh," 662. 

" No, John, I will not own the book," 
652. 

" Noble Moringer. The," 621 

" Nora's Vow." 661. 

Norham Castle. 155. 

•'Norman Horse-Shoe, The." 634. 

" The Forester's Song," 678. 

"Norna's Songs and Inianta 
TioNs," 696-700. 

North Bervyick, 135. 

O. 

'* Old Mortality," Verses from, 66C 

Oman. Mr,, 703. 

O'Neale. family of, 367, 

" On Ettrick Forest's Mountains 

Dun," 701. 
"On the Massacre of Glencok," 

frl2. 
Orelia, tlie courser of Don Roderii:k, 275. 

287. 
Orleans, Duke of, his poetical exercises it 

English, 540. 
" Ori'Uan Maid. The," 680, 
Olterbourne, BailU- of, 61. 142. 
Ovid, 10. 784. 

P. 

Padl'a, a school of necromancy, 20. 5? 

Page, the order ofthe, in chivalry, 369, 

Paisley, 601. 

■• Palmer, The," 635. 

Palmers, 159. 

'■ Pardoner's Advertisement, The,' 

691. 
Park, Thomas, his edition of Rilson* 

Collectioi; of Songs, 550. 
Passion, the ruling, 1U5. Lines fron. 

Pope crti. 105, u. 
Peden, Alexander. 004. 
Peel-town, Castle of, Isle of Man, 79 
Penance vaults. 164. 
Penrith, " Round tabic" of, 385. 410. 
Pepys, Secretarv. t is collection of baliMfa 

543. 
*»epper, Father, 567 
Percy, Bishop, his copy of '*,neti 

Chacp," 540. " Reltq'ues of .Incierl 

Poetry," 545. Imitations of the ao 

cient ballad," 559, 

Henry, at Honuldon Hill, 729. 

Thomas, his defence ofthe bisho) 

against Ritson's criticism. 548. 
" Peveril of the Peak." Motion 

from. 707-709. 
" Pharos Loqi'Ititr," 645. 
Pliilipsun. Major Rober'., called " Roblr 

the Devil." 378. 
Pibroch, the, 245. 
" Pibroch ok Donald Dftu, ' 660. 



838 



INDEX. 



Picon. Sii Thomas. 508. 

Picts. the, a. Celtic racb, 541. 

Pilgrims, 130. 

Pinkertvin, Jolin, his collection of ballads, 
549. 711. List of Scottish poets, 549. 

•' Pirate," Verses from the, 694-701. 

Pisistratus, Homer's Works collected by, 
53&, 

Pitoain Robert, Esq., editor of "Crim- 
inal Trials of Scotland," 789. E.\- 
iracts Iroiii his work, 785, 786. 789. 
Pitt Cli'b of Scotland, Songs writ- 

' ten lor the," 644, 645. 

'itl, Right Hon. William. 638.' " Among 
(liose who smiled on the adventurous 
minstrel," 14. Procured for Scott the 
office of Clerk of Hession. 80, 81. Trib- 
utes to his memory, 84. 152. His grave 
beside that of Mr. Fox, 85, 86. 

PlotcoLk, summons of, preceding the bat- 
tle oTFIoihlen, 134.«173. 655. 

*PoA.CHt:n, The," 640. 

' PfjETRV. Popular, Introductory Re- 
marks on," 537. Continuation of the 
suhjet.1 under the title of "Essay on 
the Imitations of the Ancient Ballad," 
555. 

Poetry, Romantic, Remarks on," 
379. 

" — Slate of the art of, at the end 

of the I8ih century, 561. 

Ponialowski, Count, 507. 

Ponsonby, Sir William. 508. 

Pope, lines from, ou the ruling passion, 
105, n. 

Priam. 115. 

Pringle, the late Alexander, Esq., of 
WUylhank, 95, n. 

" Proi-iiecy, The," 679. 

Ptijsc, " to sound the," 600. 602. 

Pye, Henry James, Esq., 567. 



Q.UARTERLY REVIEW, Critical notices 

from, on the Lady of the Lake, 195. 

206. 223. Don Roderick, 272. 276. 278. 

283. Rokehv, 296. 300. 350. 352. 354. 

Bridal ofTriermain. 383. 385. 387, 388. 

392. 408. An<i Lord of tlie Isles, 414. 

422. 429. 433. 437. 446. 466. 468. 
'*<iut:NTi.N DuRWARD," Verses fftim, 

709-10. 



RAt. Right lion. Sir William. 115. 
Ramsay, Sir Alexander, of Dalhonsie, 

cruel miirdiT of, 61. 
Allan, structure of stanza used 

by him, 543. As a ballad collector, 

544. His "Tea-Table Miscellany," 

73 544. And "Vision," 549. 
Captain, at the action of Fnen 

tes de Ilonoro, 290. 
Randolph, Thomas. See Murray. 
Rattliiifj Roaring Willie, the Border min 

St re I, 73. 
Raveiuslieuch Castle, 50. 78. 
Ravensworlii Castle, 223. 
" Rebhixa's Hymn," 682. 
" Receipt to make an epic poem," 380. 
' B-d Cross Knight, The," by Mickle, 

048. 
Rede, Percy, 359. 

' Rid9aunti.kt," Verses from, 71$. 
" Rciver's Wedding, The," 631. 
Repfc3..ance, tower of, 753. • 

' RBPiLvK,TnE," 639. 
Rere-Cross, on Slanmore, 365. 
' Retl-r.n to Ulster, The," 659. 
Riddell, family of, 60. 
Risingham, 359. 
Ritson, Josej)h, his criticism of Percy's 

"Rehquos," 545. His collection of 

songs, 549. 711. " Robin Hood," 550. i 
Robert the Bruce. See Bruce. | 

Robertson. Rev. Principal, his account of 

tlie death oi the Regent Murray, 599. 
Vob Roy, death-bed anecdote of, 235, n. 

Bee Macgregcr. 



" Rob Roy," Verses from. 673. 

Robin Hood, 226. 265. 538. 544. 550. | 

Rogers, Samuel, Esq., "the Bard of 

Memory," 561. [ 

Roderick, Gothic King of Spain, defeat- I 

ed and killed by the Moors, 285. 287. | 

His enchanted cavern, 286. 289. See [ 

Don Roderick. 
" ROKEBY," 292. 
Rokeby Castle, 307. 360. 370. 

family of. 360. 370. 

■■ — Felon Sow of, 371. 

Roman antiquities at Greta Bridge, 300. 

camji, at Ardoch, 263. 

" RoMANfE OF DtlNOIS," 656. .] 

Romance literature, birth of, 169. 1 

Roniilly, Sir Samuel, his opinion of tlie | 

Lady of the Lake, 230. n. ; 

Rose, William Stewart, Esq., dedication i 

to, of the First Canto of Marraion, 83. | 
Roslin. 78. 607. ! 

Ross, John, Earl of, his treaty with King | 

Edward IV., 469. | 
William, Earl of, deed containing 

his submission to King Robert Brace, 

496. 

Sir Walter, 489. 

"Round Table," 154.410. 
Roxbnrghe Club, the, 712. 

— John, D-.ike of, 543, 568. 

Rum, Island of, 487. 

Russell, Major-General Sir James, of 

Ashestiel, 80. 
Rutherford, Miss Christian, annt of Sir 

Walter Scott, 180. 626. 
— of Hunthill, family of, 76. 



S. 
St. Clair, family of, 78. 
" Saint Cloud," 654. 
Saint John, Vale of, 411. 
St. Mary's Lake, 160. 
"St. Ronan's Well," Mottoes from, 

710. 
"St. Swithin's Chair," 649. 
Saints. St. Brideof Donglao. 79. Chad, 

151. 179. Columba, 593. Cuthbert, 

161, 162. 164. Dunstan, 243. Fillan, 
1.59. 593. George, 510. Hdda, 100. 

162. Modan,243. Mungo. 20. Oran, 
593. Regulus (Scotlicc Rule), 159. 
Rosalia, 158. Serle, 225. Trimon, 798. 

" Sale Room," the, an Edinburgh peri- 
odical, 667, n. ; 671, w. 

Sallust, Extract from, on the Death of 
Catiline, 506, n. 

Sangreal, the, 154. 

Saxons, the Anglo, their language, 542. 
54.6. 554; and poetry, 682. 

" Saxon War-Song. 682. 

Scalds, antique poetry of the, 682, 

Scales-tarn, Lake of, 386. 

Schiller, 562, 563. 812. 

SchiHriim. signification of, 497, n. 

Scots Magazine, the, extracts from, 104. 
536. 594. 

Scots Greys, 704. 

Scott of Buccleuch. See Bucelench. 

of Harden, family of, 71. 16J. 174. 

Hugh, Esq., of Harden, now Lord 

PoUvarib, 174. 566, n. ; 568, n. His 
lady, 5G0. n. ; 567. Inscription for the 
monument of tlie Rev. John Scott, 
their son, 726. 

.lohn, Esq., of Gala, 415, ti. 

Sir John, of Thirlestane. 70. 

Mary, "the Flower of Yarrow," 

35.71. !61. 

Sir Michael, 24. 62, 63. 

• Miss Sophia, the althor's daugh- 
ter, 621, 7(. 

Robert, of Sandyknows, the au- 
thor's grand fatlier, 106. 

Walter, Lessndden, the aothor's 

great-grandsire, 138. 174. 

Major Sir Walter, the author's eld- 
est son, 657. 

and Kerr, feuds of the families of, 

57. 



Sea-fire, phenomenon so called, 474. 
Seaiorth, '.he last Eari of, 653, n. 
Seal, its taste for music, 418. 470. 
"Search after Happiness, the; or 

the Q.uest of Sullaun Solimauc,' 

667. 
Sealoun, Christopher, fate of, 480. 
Second-sight, account of the, 241. 593. 
" Secret Tribunal Rhymes," 73», 
" Selectors of the slain," 78. 
" Sempach, Battle of," 619. 
Serendib, 667, 
" Setting Sun," Juvenile Linesonlb% 

627. 
Seven Spears of Weddprburn. 40. 
Shields, the Castle of the, bana(J 

of, 527. 
Seward, Miss Anna, criticisms by, 91^ 

71. ; 33, n. ; 30, n. Letter to, 50, m. 

Epitaph designed for her monument, 

639. 
Seymour, Lord Webb. 375. 
SJiakspeare, his de£cri|ition of a popuiai 

song, .556. 
Shane-Dymas, an Irish cliieftain in tha 

reign of Elizabeth, 369. 
" Sharpe, Sir Cuthbert, Ll.s-ES to," 721, 
Sharpe, Charles K., Esq., of Hoddam, 

541, n.; 551.71.; 753. 
Shaw, Mr. James, notice of a list of Sii 

Walter Scott's publications prepared 

by him, 567. 
Slieale. Richard, the author or transcribei 

of "Chew Chase," 540. 554. 
"Shepherd's Tale, The." 628. 
Sheridan, TJioinas, Esq.. 365. 
Slioreswood, the priest of, 159. 
Sibbald, Mr. James, 711. 
Siddons, Mrs. Henry, Epiloqubs written 

for, 675.714. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, iiis opinion of the bal 

lad of " Chevy Chase," 539, 7i. ; 540 

556. 
Sinclair, Right Hon. Sir John, 705. 
" Sir Cliarles Baudwin," Cliatterton'i 

ballad of, 558. 
"SirCanlin," 548. 
" Sir Eger, Sir Grime, and Sir Greysteil," 

romances of, 541. 
" Sir Marlyn," a forgotten poem of 

Mickle, extract from, 554. 
"Sir Patrick Spens," old Scottish song 

of, 571. 
" Sir Tristrem," metrical romance of 

" Thomas the Rymer," 542. 558. 583. 
Skene, James, Esq., of Rubislaw, dedi- 
cation to, of tlie Fourth Canto of Mar* 

mion, 113. 
Skirving, Mr., author of a Ballad on the 

Battle of Prestonpaiis, 557. 
Sky, Island of, description of its scenery 

432. 483. 
Smailholm Tower, description of, 594. 
"Smith, Miss, Lines written for, 

671. 
Smith, ^^ir Hidney, Tribnte to, 105. 
Smythe, Professor at Cambridge, 573. 
Snakes and Serpents, 78. 
Snood, worn by Scottish maidens, 303. 

250. 
Snow, description of a man perishing tft, 

114. 166. 
Snowdoun (Stirling), 238. 208. 
"Soldier, Wake— Song," 715. 
Soltier, Sir John, 71. 
Someried, Lord of the Isles, 417. 470. 
Somerville, John, 15lh Lord, 415, n. y 

701, n. 
Lord (temp. Jac. III.), aneo 

dote of, 712, n. 
Songs— 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize, 7581 

A Hawick gill of mountain dew, 703. 

Ah 1 County Guy, the hour is nigh, 
709. 

Ah, poor Louise I the live-long day 
721. 

Allan-a-Dale has no fagot for borniic 
323. 



INDEX. 



839 



All joy was bereft me the day that yon 

left me, C30. 
An liour with thee t when earliest day, 

Atiii tiid you not hear of a mirth befell, 

6^17. 
Anii whither would yoa lead me then ! 

340. 
Anna-Maria, love, up is the sun, 683. 
As^i^t Mie, ye friends of old books and 

old wine. 710. 
^ve Miirtaf maiden mild I 210. 
A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 323. 
A weary month has wander'd o'er, 653. 
Birds of omen dark and foul, 679. 
Canny inoment, lucky fit, 658. 
Dark Alirinian. whom Irak still, 717. 
Dinas Enilinn, lament ; for the moment 

is nigh. 634. 
Donald Caird's come again, 676. 
Dust unto dust. 684. 
Enchanlresi', farewell, who so oft has 

Jecoy'd me, 702, 
False love, and hast tliou play'd me 

this? 643. 
Farewell to MacKenneth, great Earl of 

the North, 652. 
Farewell, merry maidens, to song ami 

to laugh, G97. 
Farewell i« Northmaven, 695. 
Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 605. 
Follow me, Ibllow me, 652. 
From the Brown crest of Newark its 

summons extending, 657. 
Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 659. 
Glovving with love, on fire for fame, 656. 
God protect brave Alexander, 662. 
Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 631. 
Hail to the chief who in triumph ad- 
vances, 197. 
Hail to itiy cold and clouded beam, 305. 
Hawk and o^p.-ey scroam'd for joy, 522. 
Hear what Highland Nora said, 661. 
He ii gone or. the mountain, 206. 
Hie away, hie away, 649. 
High deeds achiev'd of knightly fame, 

eai. 

Hither we come, 791. 

Hurra, hurra, our watch is done, 403. 

1 asked of my harji. "Who hath in- 
jured thy cords'?" 716. 

. climb'd the dark brow of the mighty 
Helvellyii. 633. 

tf. fares tiie bark with tackle riven, 023. 

I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelve 
month or twain, 681. 

It chanced that Cnpid on a season. 657. 

It was a' for our rightful king, 365. 

It was an English ladye brig.'it, 48. 

It was Dunois the yoong and brave, 
was bound for Palestine, 656. 

I was a wild and wayward boy. 337. 

Joy to the victors ! the sons ot old As- 
pen, 819. 

Look not thou on beauty's charming, 
078. 

Lord William was born in gilded bow- 
er, 518. 

Love wakes and weeps, 698. 

MacLeod's wizard tlag from the gray 
ca-stle sallies, 675. 

Marcii, march, Eitrick and Teviotdale, 
689. 

Measurers ofgood and evil, 724. 

Merry it is in the good green wood, 213. 

Merrily srfim we, the moon shines 
bright, 685. 

My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 
236. 

tly wayward fate 1 needs must plain, 
639. 

Not faster yonder rowers' might, 193. 

O, Bri:<nall banks are wild and fair, 319. 

O, dread was the time, and more dread- 
ful the omen, 644. 

Of all the birds on bash and tree, 692. 

Oh ! sav not. my love, with iJiat mor- 
tified 'air. 642 



SONQS. 

O, hush thee, my bahle, thy sire was a 

knight, 058. 
O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 335. 
O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 50. 
O, lovers' eye^i are sharp to see, 636. 
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake 

of Toro, 635. 
O, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, 702. 
Once again, hut how changed since my 

wand'riiigs began, 659. 
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 

701. 
On Hallow-Ma-ss Eve, ere you bonne 

ye to rest, 649. 
O, open the door, some pity to show, 

635. 
O, Robin Hood was a bowman good, 

765. 
O, tell me, harper, wherefore flow 1 

643. 
Oar vicar still preaches that«Peter and 

Foule, 230. 
O. young Lochinvar is come out of the 

west. 129. 
Pibroch of Donald Dhu, 660. 
Quake to your foundations deep, 406. 
Rash adventurer, bear thee back. 402. 
Red glows the forge in Stnguil's bounds, 

635. 
Saufen bier, und brante-wein, 639. 
She may be fair, he sang, but yut, 523. 
Since here we are set in arrav round 

the table, 637. 
Soft spread the southern summer night, 

654. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 191. 
Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, 

715. 
Po sung the old bard in the grief of his 

heart, 6.53. 
Stern eaf;le of the far northwest, 694. 
Summer-eve is gone and i)ast, 334. 
Sweet shone the sun on the- fair lake of 

Toro, 820. 
Take these flowers, which, purple wav- 
ing. 628. 
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 

52. 
The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gal- 
lant feats. 718. ' 
The Druid Uripn had daughters seven, 

527. 
The Forest of Glenmore is drear, 632. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 

208. 
Tlie herring loves the merry moonlight, 

663. 
The last of oar steers on the board^has 

been spreaii, 725. 
The monk must arise when the matins 

ring, 679. 
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's 

on the brae, 621. 
The news lias flown frae mouth to 

mouth. 702. 
The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 

339. 
The son is rising dimly red, 695, 
"The sun upon the lake is low, 754. 
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 672. 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 

628. 
Tiicre came three merry men from 

south, west, and north, 683. 
There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale, 651. 
They lid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

216. 
Though right be afl put down by 

strength, 044. 
To horse ! to horse I the standard flies, 

607. 
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Cla- 

vcr'se who spoke, 772. 
'Twaa AM-soul's eve, and Surrey's 

heart beat hi^h, 48. 
'Twas a M-Trt'thal of France, and he 

fain would honor gain, G42. 



SONOS. 

'Twas neaf the fair city of Benevent 

717. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 6.58. 

Viewless essence, thin and bare, 729. 

Wake, maid of Lorn, 415. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 638. 

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay ? 658. 

We love the shrill trumiH.'t, weloveth* 
drum's rattle, 756. 

What makes the troopers' frozen C0W» 
age muster ? 826. 

Wheel the wild dance, 653. 

When Israel of the Lord beloved, 683, 

Whence the brooch of burning gold 
424. 

When friends are met o'er merry cheer. 
773. 

When the heathen Irampet's clang. 672 

When the tempest's at the loudest, 763 

Whet the bright steel. 682. 

While the dawn on the mountain wai 
misty and gray, 338. 

Where shall the lover rest ? 108. 

Why sil'st thou by that ruin'd hall? 
662. 

Why weep ye by the tide. ladie ? 060, 

Yes, thou mayst sigh, 722. 

Young men will love thee more fair and 
more fast, 650. 
Southey, Dr. Robert, Letter from, on 

Marmion. 153, n. Lines from his Bou- 

erick contrasted with somAof Sitott'fl, 

273, n. ; 275, n. ; 280. And Pilgrim- 
age to Waterloo, 5oC. i*. ; passint 509, 

n. His Imitations of Ballad Poetry, 

559. 569. Extract from his Life ol 

Nelson, 810. 
Spain, Defence of, under the Invasion o* 

Bonaparte, 287. 

• Invasion of. by the Moors, 285. 

War with, in 1625-6, 364. 

" Speates and Razes," Story of, 712. 

Spells, 66. 

Spencer, Earl, 81. 

Spenser, Edmund, 124. 307. Eitraci 

from his " Faiirie Querni:,^^ 283. 
Spirits, intermediate class of, 58. 165. 250 

251. 361. 603. 
" Spirit's Blasted Tree," Legend of tha 

174-176. 
Staffa, Cave of. 441-2. 487. 
Stanhope, Lady Hester, 14, n, 
Stewart. Professor Dugald, 560. 566. 
Stirling Casile, 225. 264. 
Stoddart, Sir John, 13. 
Strafford, Earl of, 261. 
?trathmore. Earl of, killed at Sherift 

muir, 746, n. 
Strathbogie. See Athole. 
Stuart. Sir William, of Ochiltree, mnrdei 

of, in 1588, 244. 
Strutt, Joseph. Iiis Romance of dueen* 

hoo-hall, 265. 
" Sub-Prior, To the," 685. 
Soltann Solimaun, 667. 
S^uperstitions. Popular, 165. 787. See 

also "Fairies," "Ghosts." "Spirits.* 
Surrey, Earl of (beheaded in 1546), 77. 
Surtees, Robert, Esq., 524. 7t. 
Sutherland, Duchess of, 705. 
Swinton, Sir John, 730. Arms of the 

family of, 732. 
Swiss Guards, Massacre of the, in 1792, 

608. 
Swords, enchanted, 245. 
Sympathy, care of a wound by, 67. 



Taffhairm, a Highland mode of aagnr} 

253, 254. 
*' Tales of Wonder. Lewis's," 569. 
" "Talisman," Verses from the, 716-19 
Tanistry, Irish custom of, 367. 801. 
Tantallan Castle, 136. 172. 
Taylor, William, Esq., his version Ol 

" Lenore," 566. 
Teebir, The, the War-cry of the Sm 

cens. 274. 286. 



Tees, the River, 323. 

Teilli. the River, 185. 

*' Temi'kst, Song of the," 6iM. • 

Terry, llie late Mr. Daniel, comedian, 
658, 71.; 753. 

Theatre, the, 547. 

Themis. 10. 

Thomas of Erceldoune, or " The Rhym- 
er," account of Jiim, 574. His Prophe- 
cies, 575. 577. Legend of, G31. 

54i, 54'1 546. 

•'Tliom:is the Rhymer," a Ballad in 
Three Parl'i. 574. 

Thomson, Mr. D., of Gala.=hiels, 076, n. 

Thomson, Thomas, Esrj., Deputy-Regis- 
ter, 492. 

"TarNDKR Storm," Juvenile lines on 
a. 627. 

Tickell, Mr., his Ballad Poetry, 557. 5G0. 

" Time," 662. 

Time, 202. 

and tide, 354. 

Tinckcll, the, 234. n. ; 5G8. 

*' To X Lady, witli flowers from a Ro- 
man wall," 628. 

Town Eelo^ue, 35, n. 

Train, Mr. Josepli, his assistance in col- 
lecting information for the author, 49L 
Note from (1840), 4.58. 

Tribunal, the Secret, or Invisible, of Ger^ 
many, 812. 

Triermain. See "Bridal of Triermain." 

family of. 410. 

Trosachs. ilo, 186. 

*' Troubadour, The." G5G. 

jyouvcitrs, or Troubadours, 538. 

Tunes, attachment to. on death-beds, 267. 

Tunstall, Sir Brian, slain at Flodden, 178. 

Tnrnberry Ca.stle, 491. 

Turner. J. M. W., R.A.. 433, n. 

"Tweed River, On," 685. 

Twenge, Sir Marmaduke, at BaLnock- 
burn, 499. 

Twisel Bridge, 145. 177. 
Twist ve, twine ye," 658. 
Two Drovers," Mottoes from the, 
72J 



Tynemonth Prioiy, 164. 

Tytler, A. F. (Lord Woodhouselee), his 
Collections of Ballads, 5.V2. His ver- 
sion of" The Robbers," 563. 

P. F.. Esq., his " History of Scot- 
land," 541, n. 

U. 

Uam-Var. mooniain. 184, 185. 240. 
Uiiihank, chapel at, 65. 
Urisk, a Highland satyr, 252. 



Vai nvRiUR,or •' Selectors of the Slain," 

78. 
Valor, personification of, 276. 
Vaoghan. Right Hon R. C, 288. 
Vaux, family of, 410. 
Venetian General, anecdote of 5, 746, 11. 
Vengeance, feodal, a dreadful tale of, 

487. 
Vennachar, Loch. 185. 
'■ Violet, The." 628. 
Virgil, his magical practices, 63. 75. His 

iEneid translated by Gawain Douglas, 

Bishop of Dunkeld. 143. 
"Virgil." Juvenile Lines from, 627. 
"Vision, The," a poem, 549. 

W. 

Wales, Caroline, Princess of, 105, n. 

Wallai!e, Sir William, trial and execution 
of. 479. 

Walton, Sir John, defeated by " the good 
Lord James of Douglas." 493. 

" Wandering Willie," 636. 

War, personification of, from Childe Har- 
old, 279, n. Apostrophe to, 443. 

" War-Sono of the Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons," 607. 

*' of Lachlan, high Chief of 

MacLean," 653. 

.* Saxon," 682. 

Warbpck. Perkin. story of, 158. 

Waterloo. Battle of. 290. 502-511. 

Watson, James, his collection of ancient 
poetry, 544. 



" Waverlet," Verses from. 647-652. 

" Lines by auilior of," 65'i- 

Lines of. " Lute when in« 

autumn evening fell," 648. 
Wellington, Duke of. 2811. 'J81, 282. 289. 

291. " The Field of Waterloo," 50* 

passim; 642. 644, G-1."). 
Ducheci ot', dedication oc 

" The Field of Av'aterloo" to, 502. 
" ^VIlen with poetry dealing," 719. 
Whistling to raise a temuesl, 301. 
Wiiitby Abbey, 161. 
"White Lady of Avenel," Songs i* 

the. 685-689. 
Whilmore, John, Esq.. &c.. dedicatU 

of the Vision of Don Roderick to, £7i 
" Wild Huntsman. The," 613. 
Wilkes, John. Esq.. 182. 
" William and Helen," 609. 
Willich. Dr., teacher of German. 563. 
" Will Jones," Lewis's ballad cU 572. 
Wilson, Professor, 551, n. 
Wine, presents of, 170. 
Witchcraft. 309. n, ; 364. 
" WooAN, Captain, Lines on," 651 
Wolfian iiypothesis. 537, 71. 
Woman, apostrophe to, 149. 
Woodhouselee, Lord. See Tyller, A. V. 

Esq. 

" Woodstock," Verses from, 720-721, 

Wordsworth. William, Esq.. his poem 00 
Yarrow, 47, v.; 52, v. Letter from 
on Marmion, 153, n. Eulogium on th« 
Zaragozans, 288. Imitations of tlw 
ballad style, 559. 

Wrestling, prize at. 266. 

Wjnken de Worde, 117. 



Xeres, account ofthe Battle of, 287 



Zaharack, race of. 402. 

Zaragoza, account of the Siege of, 36 

Zernebock, 520. 

"Zetland Fiseereikn Sonb 

THK." 697. 



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